Demon Lord Of Karanda

by Eddings, David

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’ Belgarath demanded angrily.

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ Garion told him, still half-sick with frustration and disappointment. He returned his attention to the armored men before him and began swinging his great sword in wide sweeps, driving them back again.

  Belgarath faced the Chandim on one side of the central aisle, concentrated for an instant, then gestured shortly. Suddenly a raging fire erupted from the stones of the floor all along the aisle.

  Something seemed to pass between the old man and Polgara. She nodded, and quite suddenly the other side of the aisle was also walled off by flame.

  Two of the Guardsmen had fallen beneath Garion’s sword, but others, accompanied by wild-eyed Karands, were rushing to the aid of their comrades, though they flinched visibly from the flames on either side of the aisle up which they were forced to attack.

  ‘Combine your wills!’ Harakan was shouting to the Chandim. ‘Smother the flames!’

  Even as he closed with the Guardsmen and the Karands, beating down their upraised swords and hacking at them with Iron-grip’s blade, Garion felt the rush and surge of combined will. Despite the efforts of Belgarath and Polgara, the fires on either side of the aisle flickered and grew low.

  One of the huge Hounds came loping through the ranks of the Guardsmen facing Garion. Its eyes were ablaze, and its tooth-studded muzzle agape. It leaped directly at his face, snapping and growling horribly, but fell twitching and biting at the floor as he split its head with his sword.

  And then Harakan thrust his way through the Guardsmen and Karands to confront Garion. ‘And so we meet again, Belgarion,’ he snarled in an almost doglike voice. ‘Drop your sword, or I will slay your friends—and your wife. I have a hundred Chandim with me, and not even you are a match for so many.’ And he began to draw in his will.

  Then, to Garion’s amazement, Velvet ran forward past him, her arms stretched toward the dread Grolim. ‘Please!’ she wailed. ‘Please don’t kill me!’ And she threw herself at Harakan’s feet, clutching at his black robe imploringly as she cringed and groveled before him.

  Thrown off balance by this sudden and unexpected display of submissiveness, Harakan let his will dissipate and he backed away, trying to shake her hand from his robe and kicking at her to free himself. But she clung to him, weeping and begging for her life.

  ‘Get her off me!’ he snapped at his men, turning his head slightly. And that briefest instant of inattention proved fatal. Velvet’s hand moved so quickly that it seemed to blur in the air. She dipped swiftly into her bodice; when her hand emerged, she held a small, bright-green snake.

  ‘A present for you, Harakan!’ she shouted triumphantly. ‘A present for the leader of the Bear-cult from Hunter!’ And she threw Zith full into his face.

  He screamed once the first time Zith bit him, and his hands came up to claw her away from his face, but the scream ended with a horrid gurgle, and his hands convulsed helplessly in the air in front of him. Squealing and jerking, he reeled backward as the irritated little reptile struck again and again. He stiffened and arched back across the altar, his feet scuffing and scrabbling on the floor and his arms flopping uselessly. He banged his head on the black stone, his eyes bulging and his swollen tongue protruding from his mouth. Then a dark froth came from his lips, he jerked several more times, and his body slid limply off the altar.

  ‘And that was for Bethra,’ Velvet said to the crumpled form of the dead man lying on the floor before the altar.

  The Chandim and their cohorts again drew back in fear as they stared at the body of their fallen pack leader.

  ‘They are few!’ Urvon shrieked at them. ‘We are many! Destroy them all! Your God commands it!’

  The Chandim gaped first at Harakan’s contorted body, then at the crowned madman on the throne, then at the terrible little snake who had coiled herself atop the altar with her head raised threateningly as she gave vent to a series of angry hisses.

  ‘That’s about enough of this,’ Belgarath snapped. He let the last of the flames die and began to refocus his will. Garion also straightened, pulling in his own will even as he felt the frightened Chandim start to focus their power for a final, dreadful confrontation.

  ‘What is all this now?’ Feldegast laughed, suddenly coming forward until he stood between Garion and his foes. ‘Surely, good masters, we can put aside all this hatred and strife. I’ll tell ye what I’ll do. Let me give ye a demonstration of me skill, an’ we’ll laugh together an’ make peace between us once an’ fer all. No man at all kin keep so great a hatred in his heart while he’s bubblin’ with laughter, don’t y’ know.’

  Then he began to juggle, seeming to pull brightly colored balls out of the air. The Grolims gaped at him, stunned by this unexpected interruption, and Garion stared incredulously at the performer, who seemed deliberately bent on self-destruction. Still juggling, Feldegast flipped his body onto the back of a heavy bench, holding himself upside down over it with one hand while he continued to juggle with his free hand and his feet. Faster and faster the balls whirled, more and more of them coming, it seemed, out of thin air. The more the balls whirled, the brighter they became until at last they were incandescent, and the inverted little man was juggling balls of pure fire.

  Then he flexed the arm that was holding him in place, tossing himself high over the bench. When his feet touched the floor, however, it was no longer Feldegast the juggler who stood there. In place of the roguish entertainer stood the gnarled, hunchbacked shape of the sorcerer Beldin. With a sudden evil laugh, he began to hurl his fireballs at the startled Grolims and their warriors.

  His aim was unerring, and the deadly fireballs pierced Grolim robes, Guardsmen’s mail coats, and Karandese fur vests with equal facility. Smoking holes appeared in the chests of his victims, and he felled them by the dozen. The throne room filled with smoke and the reek of burning flesh as the grinning, ugly little sorcerer continued his deadly barrage.

  ‘You!’ Urvon shrieked in terror, the sudden appearance of the man he had feared for so many thousands of years shocking him into some semblance of sanity, even as the terrified Chandim and their cohorts broke and fled, howling in fright.

  ‘So good to see you again, Urvon,’ the hunchback said to him pleasantly. ‘Our conversation was interrupted the last time we were talking, but as I recall, I’d just promised to sink a white-hot hook into your belly and yank out all your guts.’ He held out his gnarled right hand, snapped his fingers, and there was a sudden flash. A cruel hook, smoking and glowing, appeared in his fist. ‘Why don’t we continue with that line of thought?’ he suggested, advancing on the splotchy-faced man cowering on the throne.

  Then the shadow which had lurked behind the madman’s shoulder came out from behind the throne. ‘Stop,’ it said in a voice that was no more than a crackling whisper. No human throat could have produced that sound. ‘I need this thing,’ it said, pointing a shadowy hand in the direction of the gibbering Disciple of Torak. ‘It serves my purposes, and I will not let you kill it.’

  ‘You would be Nahaz, then,’ Beldin said in an ominous voice.

  ‘I am,’ the figure whispered. ‘Nahaz, Lord of Demons and Master of Darkness.’

  ‘Go find yourself another plaything, Demon Lord,’ the hunchback grated. ‘This one is mine.’

  ‘Will you pit your will against mine, sorcerer?’

  ‘If need be.’

  ‘Look upon my face, then, and prepare for death.’ The demon pushed back its hood of darkness, and Garion recoiled with a sharp intake of his breath. The face of Nahaz was hideous, but it was not the misshapen features alone which were so terrifying. There emanated from its burning eyes a malevolent evil so gross that it froze the blood. Brighter and brighter those eyes burned with evil green fire until their beams shot forth toward Beldin. The gnarled sorcerer clenched himself and raised one hand. The hand suddenly glowed an intense blue, a light that seemed to cascade down over his body to form a shield against the demon’s pow
er.

  ‘Your will is strong,’ Nahaz hissed. ‘But mine is stronger.’

  Then Polgara came down the littered aisle, the white lock at her brow gleaming. On one side of her strode Belgarath and on the other Durnik. As they reached him, Garion joined them. They advanced slowly to take up positions flanking Beldin, and Garion became aware that Eriond had also joined them, standing slightly off to one side.

  ‘Well, Demon,’ Polgara said in a deadly voice, ‘will you face us all?’

  Garion raised his sword and unleashed its fire. ‘And this as well?’ he added, releasing all restraints on the Orb.

  The Demon flinched momentarily, then drew itself erect again, its horrid face bathed in that awful green fire. From beneath its robe of shadow, it took what appeared to be a scepter or a wand of some kind that blazed an intense green. As it raised that wand, however, it seemed to see something that had previously escaped its notice. An expression of sudden fear crossed its hideous face, and the fire of the wand died, even as the intense green light bathing its face flickered and grew wan and weak. Then it raised its face toward the vaulted ceiling and howled—a dreadful, shocking sound. It spun quickly, moving toward the terrified Urvon. It reached out with shadowy hands, seized the gold-robed madman, and lifted him easily from the throne. Then it fled, its fire pushing out before it like a great battering ram, blasting out the walls of the House of Torak as it went.

  The crown which had surmounted Urvon’s brow fell from his head as Nahaz carried him from the crumbling house, and it clanked when it hit the floor with the tinny sound of brass.

  Part Four

  THE MOUNTAINS OF ZAMAD

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Beldin spat out a rancid oath and hurled his glowing hook at the throne. Then he started toward the smoking hole the fleeing demon had blasted out through the wall of the throne room.

  Belgarath, however, managed to place himself in front of the angry hunchback. ‘No, Beldin,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Get out of my way, Belgarath.’

  ‘I’m not going to let you chase after a demon who could turn on you at any minute.’

  ‘I can take care of myself. Now stand aside.’

  ‘You’re not thinking, Beldin. There’ll be time enough to deal with Urvon later. Right now we need to make some decisions.’

  ‘What’s to decide? You go after Zandramas and I go after Urvon. It’s all pretty much cut and dried, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not entirely. In any event, I’m not going to let you chase after Nahaz in the dark. You know as well as I do that the darkness multiplies his power—and I haven’t got so many brothers left that I can afford to lose one just because he’s irritated.’

  Their eyes locked, and the ugly hunchback finally turned away. He stumped back toward the dais, pausing long enough to kick a chair to pieces on his way, muttering curses all the while.

  ‘Is everyone all right?’ Silk asked, looking around as he resheathed his knife.

  ‘So it would seem,’ Polgara replied, pushing back the hood of her blue cloak.

  ‘It was a bit tight there for a while, wasn’t it?’ The little man’s eyes were very bright.

  ‘Also unnecessary,’ she said, giving Garion a hard look. ‘You’d better take a quick look through the rest of the house, Kheldar. Let’s make sure that it’s really empty. Durnik, you and Toth go with him.’

  Silk nodded and started back up the blood-splashed aisle, stepping over bodies as he went, with Durnik and Toth close behind him.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Ce’Nedra said, staring in bafflement at the gnarled Beldin, who was once again dressed in rags and had the usual twigs and bits of straw clinging to him. ‘How did you change places with Feldegast—and where is he?’

  A roguish smile crossed Beldin’s face. ‘Ah, me little darlin’,’ he said to her in the juggler’s lilting brogue, ‘I’m right here, don’t y’ know. An’ if yer of a mind, I kin still charm ye with me wit an’ me unearthly skill.’

  ‘But I liked Feldegast,’ she almost wailed.

  ‘All ye have t’ do is transfer yer affection t’ me, darlin’.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ she objected.

  Belgarath was looking steadily at the twisted sorcerer. ‘Have you got any idea of how much that particular dialect irritates me?’ he said.

  ‘Why, yes, brother.’ Beldin grinned. ‘As a matter of fact I do. That’s one of the reasons I selected it.’

  ‘I don’t entirely understand the need for so elaborate a disguise,’ Sadi said as he put away his small poisoned dagger.

  ‘Too many people know me by sight in this part of Mallorea,’ Beldin told him. ‘Urvon’s had my description posted on every tree and fence post within a hundred leagues of Mal Yaska for the last two thousand years, and let’s be honest about it, it wouldn’t be too hard to recognize me from even the roughest description.’

  ‘You are a unique sort of person, Uncle,’ Polgara said to him, smiling fondly.

  ‘Ah, yer too kind t’ say it, me girl,’ he replied with an extravagant bow.

  ‘Will you stop that?’ Belgarath said. Then he turned to Garion. ‘As I remember, you said that you were going to explain something later. All right—it’s later.’

  ‘I was tricked,’ Garion admitted glumly.

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Zandramas.’

  ‘She’s still here?’ Ce’Nedra exclaimed.

  Garion shook his head. ‘No. She sent a projection here—a projection of herself and of Geran.’

  ‘Couldn’t you tell the difference between a projection and the real thing?’ Belgarath demanded.

  ‘I wasn’t in any condition to tell the difference when it happened.’

  ‘I suppose you can explain that.’

  Garion took a deep breath and sat down on one of the benches. He noticed that his bloodstained hands were shaking. ‘She’s very clever,’ he said. ‘Ever since we left Mal Zeth, I’ve been having the same dream over and over again.’

  ‘Dream?’ Polgara asked sharply. ‘What kind of dream?’

  ‘Maybe dream isn’t the right word,’ he replied, ‘but over and over again, I kept hearing the cry of a baby. At first I thought that I was remembering the cry of that sick child we saw in the streets back in Mal Zeth, but that wasn’t it at all. When Silk and Beldin and I were in that room just above this one, we could see down into the throne room here and we saw Urvon come in with Nahaz right behind him. He’s completely insane now. He think’s he’s a God. Anyway, he summoned Mengha—only Mengha turned out to be Harakan, and then—’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Belgarath interrupted him. ‘Harakan is Mengha?’

  Garion glanced over at the limp form sprawled in front of the altar. Zith was still coiled atop the black stone, muttering and hissing to herself. ‘Well, he was,’ he said.

  ‘Urvon made the announcement before all this broke out,’ Beldin added. ‘We didn’t have the time to fill you in.’

  ‘That explains a great many things, doesn’t it?’ Belgarath mused. He looked at Velvet. ‘Did you know about this?’ he asked her.

  ‘No, Ancient One,’ she replied, ‘as a matter of fact, I didn’t. I just seized the opportunity when it arose.’

  Silk, Durnik, and Toth came back into the body-strewn throne room. ‘The house is empty,’ the little man reported. ‘We’ve got it all to ourselves.’

  ‘Good,’ Belgarath said. ‘Garion was just telling us why he saw fit to start his own private war.’

  ‘Zandramas told him to.’ Silk shrugged. ‘I’m not sure why he started taking orders from her, but that’s what happened.’

  ‘I was just getting to that,’ Garion said. ‘Urvon was down here telling all the Chandim that Harakan—Mengha —was going to be his first disciple. That’s when Zandramas came in—or at least she seemed to. She had a bundle under her cloak. I didn’t know it at first, but it was Geran. She and Urvon shouted at each other for a while, and Urvon finally insisted that he was a God. She said something like,
“All right. Then I will summon the Godslayer to deal with you.” That’s when she put the bundle on the altar. She opened it, and it was Geran. He started to cry, and I realized all at once that it was his cry I’d been hearing all along. I just totally stopped thinking at that point.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Belgarath said.

  ‘Well, anyway, you know all the rest.’ Garion looked around at the corpse-littered throne room and shuddered. ‘I hadn’t altogether realized just how far things went,’ he said. ‘I guess I was sort of crazy.’

  ‘The word is berserk, Garion,’ Belgarath told him. ‘It’s fairly common among Alorns. I’d sort of thought you might be immune, but I guess I was wrong.’

  ‘There was some justification for it, father,’ Polgara said.

  ‘There’s never a justification for losing your wits, Pol,’ he growled.

  ‘He was provoked.’ She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then came over and lightly placed her hands on Garion’s temples. ‘It’s gone now,’ she said.

  ‘What is?’ Ce’Nedra sounded concerned.

  ‘The possession.’

  ‘Possession?’

  Polgara nodded. ‘Yes. That’s how Zandramas tricked him. She filled his mind with the sound of a crying child. Then, when she laid the bundle that seemed to be Geran on the altar and Garion heard that same crying, he had no choice but to do what she wanted him to do.’ She looked at Belgarath. ‘This is very serious, father. She’s already tampered with Ce’Nedra, and now it’s Garion. She may try the same thing with others as well.’

  ‘What would be the point?’ he asked. ‘You can catch her at it, can’t you?’

  ‘Usually, yes—if I know what’s going on. But Zandramas is very skilled at this and she’s very subtle. In many ways she’s even better at it than Asharak the Murgo was.’ She looked around at them. ‘Now listen carefully, all of you,’ she told them. ‘If anything unusual begins to happen to you—dreams, notions, peculiar ideas, strange feelings—anything at all, I want you to tell me about it at once. Zandramas knows that we’re after her, and she’s using this to delay us. She tried it with Ce’Nedra while we were on our way to Rak Hagga, and now—’