A few could swim, but not very many. Those who could swam desperately out to sea and inevitable death. Those who could not sank beneath the surface, their imploring hands reaching upward even after their heads had gone under. Columns of bubbles rose to the top of the dark water for a few moments, and then they stopped.

The albatross, its great wings motionless, drifted over them for a moment and then returned to hover over the amphitheater.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

‘AND NOW ART thou, as thou hast ever chosen to be, alone, Child of Dark,’ Cyradis said sternly.

‘The ones who were here with me were of no moment, Cyradis,’ Zandramas replied indifferently. ‘They have served their purpose, and I no longer need them.’

‘Art thou then ready to enter through the portal into the Place Which Is No More to stand in the presence of the Sardion, there to make thy choice?’

‘Of course, Holy Seeress,’ Zandramas acquiesced with surprising mildness. ‘Gladly will I join with the Child of Light that together we may enter the Temple of Torak.’

‘Watch her, Garion,’ Silk whispered. ‘The whole tone of this is wrong. She’s up to something.’

But Cyradis, it appeared, had also detected the ruse. ‘Thy sudden acceptance is puzzling, Zandramas,’ she said. ‘Vainly hast thou striven for all these weary months to avoid this meeting, and now thou wouldst rush eagerly into the grotto. What hath so altered thee? Doth perchance some unseen peril lurk within yon grot? Seekest thou still to lure the Child of Light to his doom, thinking thereby to avoid the necessity of the Choice?’

‘The answer to thy question, blind witch, doth lie behind that portal,’ Zandramas replied in a harsh voice. She turned her glittering face toward Garion. ‘Surely the great Godslayer is without fear,’ she said. ‘Or is he who slew Torak become of a sudden timid and fearful? What threat could I, a mere woman, pose to the mightiest warrior in the world? Let us then investigate this grotto together. Confidently will I deliver my safety into thy hands, Belgarion.’

‘It may not be so, Zandramas,’ the Seeress of Kell declared. ‘It is too late now for subterfuge and deceit. Only the Choice will free thee now.’ She paused and briefly bowed her head. Again Garion heard that choral murmuring. ‘Ah,’ she said at last, ‘now we understand. The passage in the Book of the Heavens was obscure, but now it is clear.’ She turned toward the portal. ‘Come forth, Demon Lord. Lurk not in darkness awaiting prey, but come forth that we may see thee.’

‘No!’ Zandramas cried hoarsely.

But it was too late. Reluctantly, almost as if being driven, the battered and half-crippled dragon limped out of the grotto, roaring and belching billows of flame and smoke.

‘Not again,’ Zakath groaned.

Garion, however, saw more than just the dragon. Even as in the snow-clogged forest outside Val Alorn when he had seen the image of Barak superimposed upon that of the dreadful bear rushing to his rescue after he had speared the boar when he was no more than fourteen, he now saw the form of the Demon Lord Mordja within the shape of the dragon. Mordja, arch-foe of Nahaz, the demon who had borne the shrieking Urvon into the eternal pit of Hell. Mordja, who with a half-dozen snakelike arms grasped a huge sword – a sword which Garion recognized all too well. The Demon Lord, encased in the form of the dragon, strode forward with monstrous step wielding Cthrek Goru, Torak’s dread sword of shadows.

The burning red clouds overhead erupted with lightning as the hideously twinned beast came at them. ‘Spread out!’ Garion shouted. ‘Silk! Tell them what to do!’ He drew a deep breath as great bolts of lightning streaked down from the roiling red sky above to crash against the sides of the terraced pyramid with earth-shattering claps of thunder. ‘Let’s go!’ Garion cried to Zakath as he once more drew Iron-grip’s sword. But then he paused, dumbfounded. Poledra, as calmly as she would if crossing a meadow, approached the awful monstrosity. ‘Thy master is the Lord of Deception, Mordja,’ she said to the suddenly immobilized creature before her, ‘but it is time for deceit to end. Thou wilt speak only truth. What is thy purpose here? What is the purpose of all of thy kind in this place?’

The Demon Lord, frozen within the form of the dragon, snarled its hatred as it twisted and writhed, attempting to break free.

‘Speak, Mordja,’ Poledra commanded. Did anyone have that kind of power?

‘I will not.’ Mordja spat out the words.

‘Thou wilt,’ Garion’s grandmother said in a dreadfully quiet voice.

Mordja shrieked then, a shriek of total agony.

‘What is thy purpose?’ Poledra insisted.

‘I serve the King of Hell!’ the demon cried.

‘And what is the purpose of the King of Hell here?’

‘He would possess the stones of power,’ Mordja howled.

‘And why?’

‘That he may break his chains, the chains in which accursed UL bound him long ’ere any of this was made.’

‘Wherefore hast thou then aided the Child of Dark, and wherefore didst thy foe Nahaz aid the Disciple of Torak? Didst not thy Master know that each of them sought to raise a God? A God which would even more securely bind him?’

‘What they sought was of no moment,’ Mordja snarled. ‘Nahaz and I contended with each other, in truth, but our contention was not on behalf of mad Urvon or sluttish Zandramas. In the instant that either of them gained Sardion would the King of Hell reach forth with my hands – or with the hands of Nahaz – and seize the stone. Then, using its power, would the one of us or the other wrest Cthrag Yaska from the Godslayer and deliver both stones to our Master. In the instant that he took up the two stones would he become the new God. His chains would break and he would contend with UL as an equal – nay, an even mightier – God, and all that is, was, or will be would be his and his alone.’

‘And what then was to be the fate of the Child of Dark or the Disciple of Torak?’

‘They were to be our rewards. Even now doth Nahaz feed eternally upon mad Urvon in the darkest pit of Hell, even as I shall feed upon Zandramas. The ultimate reward of the King of Hell is eternal torment.’

The Sorceress of Darshiva gasped in horror as she heard her soul’s fate so cruelly pronounced.

‘Thou canst not stop me, Poledra,’ Mordja taunted, ‘for the King of Hell hath strengthened my hand.’

‘Thy hand, however, is confined in the body of this rude beast,’ Poledra said. ‘Thou hast made thy choice, and in this place, a choice, once made, cannot be unmade. Here wilt thou contend alone, and thine only ally will not be the King of Hell, but no more than this mindless creature which thou hast chosen.’