Enchanter's End Game Part 33

Again Torak raised Cthrek Goru, but a strange hunger flickered across his steel-encased face.

"Yield!" he roared.

Garion stared up at the huge form towering over him, his mind racing.

"I have no wish to kill thee, boy," Torak said, almost pleading. "Yield and I will spare thy life."

And then Garion understood. His enemy was not trying to kill him, but was striving instead to force him to submit. Torak's driving need was for domination! This was where the real struggle between them lay!

"Throw down thy sword, Child of Light, and bow before me," the G.o.d commanded, and the force of his mind was like a crus.h.i.+ng weight.

"I will not," Garion gasped, wrenching away from that awful compulsion. "You may kill me, but I will not yield."

Torak's face twisted as if his perpetual agony had been doubled by Garion's refusal.

"Thou must, " he almost sobbed. "Thou art helpless before me. Submit to me."

"No!" Garion shouted, and, taking advantage of Torak's chagrin at that violent rejection, he rolled out from under the shadow of Cthrek Goru and sprang to his feet. Everything was clear now, and he knew at last how he could win.

"Hear me, maimed and despised G.o.d," he grated from between clenched teeth. "You are nothing. Your people fear you, but they do not love you. You tried to deceive me into loving you; you tried to force Aunt Pol to love you; but I refuse you even as she did. You're a G.o.d, but you are nothing. In all the universe there is not one person - not one thing - that loves you. You are alone and empty, and even if you kill me, I will still win. Unloved and despised, you will howl out your miserable life to the end of days."

Garion's words struck the maimed G.o.d like blows, and the Orb, as if echoing those words, blazed anew, las.h.i.+ng at the Dragon-G.o.d with its consuming hatred. This was the EVENT for which the Universe had waited since the beginning of time. This was why Garion had come to this decaying ruin - not to fight Torak, but to reject him.

With an animal howl of anguish and rage, the Child of Dark raised Cthrek Goru above his head and ran at the Rivan King. Garion made no attempt to ward off the blow, but gripped the hilt of his flaming sword in both hands and, extending his blade before him, he lunged at his charging enemy.

It was so easy. The sword of the Rivan King slid into Torak's chest like a stick into water, and as it ran into the G.o.d's suddenly stiffening body, the power of the Orb surged up the flaring blade.

Torak's vast hand opened convulsively, and Cthrek Goru tumbled harmlessly from his grip. He opened his mouth to cry out, and blue flame gushed like blood from his mouth. He clawed at his face, ripping away the polished steel mask to reveal the hideously maimed features that had lain beneath. Tears started from his eyes, both the eye that was and the eye that was not, but the tears were also fire, for the sword of the Rivan King buried in his chest filled him with its flame.

He lurched backward. With a steely slither, the sword slid out of his body. But the fire the blade had ignited within him did not go out. He clutched at the gaping wound, and blue flame spurted out between his fingers, spattering in little burning pools among the rotting stones about him.

His maimed face, still streaked with fiery tears, contorted in agony. He lifted that burning face to the heaving sky and raised his vast arms. In mortal anguish, the stricken G.o.d cried to heaven, "Mother!" and the sound of his voice echoed from the farthest star.

He stood so for a frozen moment, his arms upraised in supplication, and then he tottered and fell dead at Garion's feet.

For an instant there was absolute silence. Then a howling cry started at Torak's dead lips, fading into unimaginable distance as the dark Prophecy fled, taking the inky shadow of Cthrek Goru with it.

Again there was silence. The racing clouds overhead stopped in their mad plunge, and the stars that had appeared among the tatters of that cloud went out. The entire universe shuddered - and stopped. There was a moment of absolute darkness as all light everywhere went out and all motion ceased. In that dreadful instant all that existed - all that had been, all that was, all that was yet to be was wrenched suddenly into the course of one Prophecy. Where there had always been two, there was now but one.

And then, faint at first, the wind began to blow, purging away the rotten stink of the City of Night, and the stars came on again like suddenly reilluminated jewels on the velvety throat of night. As the light returned, Garion stood wearily over the body of the G.o.d he had just killed. His sword still flickered blue in his hand, and the Orb exulted in the vaults of his mind. Vaguely he was aware that in that shuddering moment when all light had died, both he and Torak had returned to their normal size, but he was too tired to wonder about it.

From the shattered tomb not far away, Belgarath emerged, shaken and drawn. The broken chain of his medallion dangled from his tightly clenched hand, and he stopped to stare for a moment at Garion and the fallen G.o.d.

The wind moaned in the shattered ruins, and somewhere, far off in the night, the Hounds of Torak howled a mournful dirge for their fallen master.

Belgarath straightened his shoulders; then, in a gesture peculiarly like that which Torak had made in the moment of his death, he raised his arms to the sky.

"Master!" he cried out in a huge voice. "It is finished!"

Chapter Twenty-four.

IT WAS OVER, but there was a bitterness in the taste of Garion's victory. A man did not lightly kill a G.o.d, no matter how twisted or evil the G.o.d might be. And so Belgarion of Riva stood sadly over the body of his fallen enemy as the wind, smelling faintly of the approaching dawn, washed over the decaying ruins of the City of Night.

"Regrets, Garion?" Belgarath asked quietly, putting his hand on his grandson's shoulder.

Garion sighed. "No, Grandfather," he said. "I suppose not - not really. It had to be done, didn't it?"

Belgarath nodded gravely.

"It's just that he was so alone at the end. I took everything away from him before I killed him. I'm not very proud of that."

"As you say, it had to be done. It was the only way you could beat him."

"I just wish I could have left him something, that's all."

From the ruins of the shattered iron tower, a sad little procession emerged. Aunt Pol, Silk, and Ce'Nedra were bringing out the body of Durnik the smith, and walking gravely beside them came Errand.

A pang of almost unbearable grief ran through Garion. Durnik, his oldest friend, was pale and dead, and in that vast internal upheaval that had preceded the duel with Torak, Garion had not even been able to mourn.

"It was necessary, you understand," Belgarath said sadly.

"Why? Why did Durnik have to die, Grandfather?" Garion's voice was anguished, and tears stood openly in his eyes.

"Because his death gave your Aunt the will to resist Torak. That's always been the one flaw in the Prophecy - the possibility that Pol might yield. All Torak needed was one person to love him. It would have made him invincible."

"What would have happened if she had gone to him?"

"You'd have lost the fight. That's why Durnik had to die." The old man sighed regretfully. "I wish it could have been otherwise, but it was inevitable."

The three who had borne Durnik from the broken tomb gently laid his still form on the ground, and Ce'Nedra sadly joined Belgarath and Garion. Wordlessly, the tiny girl slipped her hand into Garion's, and the three of them stood, silently watching as Aunt Pol, past tears now, gently straightened Durnik's arms at his sides and then covered him with her cloak. She sat then upon the earth, took his head into her lap and almost absently stoked his hair, her head bowed over his in her grief.

"I can't bear it," Ce'Nedra suddenly sobbed, and she buried her face in Garion's shoulder and began to weep.

And then there was light where there had been only darkness before. As Garion stared, a single beam of brilliant blue light descended from the broken and tattered cloud rolling overhead. The entire ruin seemed bathed in its intense radiance as the light touched the earth. Like a great, glowing column, the beam of light reached down to the earth from the night sky, was joined by other beams, red and yellow and green and shades Garion could not even name. Like the colors at the foot of a sudden rainbow, the great columns of light stood side by side on the other side of Torak's fallen body. Then, indistinctly, Garion perceived that a glowing, incandescent figure stood within the center of each column of light. The G.o.ds had returned to mourn the pa.s.sing of their brother. Garion recognized Aldur, and he could easily identify each of the others. Mara still wept, and dead-eyed Issa seemed to undulate, serpentlike, as he stood within his glowing column of pale green light. Nedra's face was shrewd, and Chaldan's proud. Belar, the blondhaired, boyish G.o.d of the Alorns had a roguish, impudent look about him, though his face, like those of his brothers, was sad at the death of Torak. The G.o.ds had returned to earth in glowing light and with sound as well. The reeking air of Cthol Mishrak was suddenly alive with that sound as each colored beam of light gave off a different note, the notes joining in a harmony so profound that it seemed the answer to every question that had ever been asked.

And finally, joining the other columns of light, a single, blindingly white beam slowly descended, and within the center of that radiance stood the white-robed form of UL, that strange G.o.d whom Garion had seen once in Prolgu.

The figure of Aldur, still embraced in its glowing blue nimbus, approached the ancient G.o.d of Ulgo.

"Father," Aldur said sadly, "our brother, thy son Torak, is slain."

s.h.i.+mmering and incandescent, the form of UL, father of the other G.o.ds, moved across the rubble-strewn ground to stand over the silent body of Torak.

"I tried to turn thee from this path, my son," he said softly, and a single tear coursed its way down his eternal cheek. Then he turned back to Aldur. "Take up the form of thy bother, my son, and place it upon some more suitable resting place. It grieves me to see him lie so low upon the earth."

Aldur, joined by his brethren, took up the body of Torak and placed it upon a large block of stone lying amid the ancient ruins, and then, standing in a quiet gleaming circle about the bier, they mourned the pa.s.sing of the G.o.d of Angarak.

Unafraid as always, seemingly not even aware that the glowing figures which had descended from the sky were not human, Errand walked quite confidently to the s.h.i.+ning form of UL. He reached out his small hand and tugged insistently at the G.o.d's robe.

"Father," he said.

UL looked down at the small face.

"Father," Errand repeated, perhaps echoing Aldur, who had, in his use of that name, revealed at last the true ident.i.ty of the G.o.d of Ulgo. "Father," the little boy said again. Then he turned and pointed at the silent form of Durnik. "Errand!" It was in some strange way more a command than a request.

The face of UL became troubled. "It is not possible, child," he replied.

"Father," the little boy insisted, "Errand."

UL looked inquiringly at Garion, his eyes profoundly unsettled. "The child's request is serious," he said gravely, speaking not to Garion but to that other awareness, "and it places an obligation upon me - but it crosses the uncrossable boundary."

"The boundary must remain intact," the dry voice replied through Garion's lips. "Thy sons are pa.s.sionate, Holy UL, and having once crossed this line, they may be tempted to do so again, and perhaps in one such crossing they may change that which must not be changed. Let us not provide the instrumentality whereby Destiny must once more follow two divergent paths."

UL sighed.

"Wilt thou and thy sons, however, lend of your power to my instrument so that he may cross the boundary?"

UL looked startled at that.

"Thus will the boundary be protected, and thy obligation shall be met. It can happen in no other way."

"Let it be as thou wilt," UL agreed. He turned then and a peculiar look pa.s.sed between the father of the G.o.ds and his eldest son, Aldur. Aldur, still bathed in blue light, turned from his sad contemplation of his dead brother toward Aunt Pol, who was still bowed over Durnik's body.

"Be comforted, my daughter," he told her. "His sacrifice was for thee and for all mankind."

"That is slight comfort, Master," she replied, her eyes full of tears. "This was the best of men."

"All men die, my daughter, the best as well as the worst. In thy life thou halt seen this many times."

"Yes, Master, but this is different."

"In what way, beloved Polgara?" Aldur seemed to be pressing her for some reason.

Aunt Pol bit her lip. "Because I loved him, Master," she replied finally.

The faintest touch of a smile appeared on Aldur's lips. "Is that so difficult to say, my daughter?"

She could not answer, but bowed again over Durnik's lifeless form.

"Wouldst thou have us restore this man to thee, my daughter?" Aldur asked then.

Her face came up sharply. "That isn't possible, Master," she said. "Please don't toy with my grief like this."

"Let us however, consider that it may be possible," he told her. "Wouldst thou have us restore him?"

"With all my heart, Master."

"To what end? What task hast thou for this man that demands his restoration?"

She bit her lip again. "To be my husband, Master," she blurted finally with a trace of defiance in her voice.

"And was that also so very difficult to say? Art thou sure, however, that this love of throe derives not from thy grief, and that once this good man is restored, thy mind might not turn away from him? He is, thou must admit, most ordinary."

"Durnik has never been ordinary," she flared with sudden heat. "He is the best and bravest man in the world."

"I meant him no disrespect, Polgara, but no power loth infuse him. The force of the Will and the Word is not in him."

"Is that so important, Master?"

"Marriage must be a joining of equals, my daughter. How could this good, brave man be husband to thee, so long as thy power remains?"

She looked at him helplessly.

"Couldst thou, Polgara, limit thyself? Wouldst thou become his equal? With power no more than his?"

She stared at him, hesitated, then blurted the one word, "Yes."

Garion was shocked - not so much by Aunt Pol's acceptance but rather by Aldur's request. Aunt Pol's power was central to her very being. To remove it from her would leave her with nothing. What would she be without it? How could she even live without it? It was a cruel price to demand, and Garion had believed that Aldur was a kindly G.o.d.

"I will accept thy sacrifice, Polgara," Aldur was saying. "I will speak with my father and my brothers. For good and proper reasons, we have denied ourselves this power, and we must all agree to it before any of us might attempt this violation of the natural order of things." And he returned to the sorrowful gathering about Torak's bier.

"How could he do that?" Garion, his arm still about Ce'Nedra, demanded of his grandfather.

"Do what?"

"Ask her to give up her power like that? It will destroy her."

"She's much stronger than you think, Garion," Belgarath a.s.sured him, "and Aldur's reasoning is sound. No marriage could survive that kind of inequality."

Among the glowing G.o.ds, however, one angry voice was raised. "No!" It was Mara, the weeping G.o.d of the Marags, who were no more. "Why should one man be restored when all my slaughtered children still lie cold and dead? Did Aldur hear my pleas? Did he come to my aid when my children died? I will not consent."

"I hadn't counted on that," Belgarath muttered. "I'd better take steps before this goes any further." He crossed the littered ground and bowed respectfully. "Forgive my intrusion," he said, "but would my Master's brother accept a woman of the Marags as a gift in exchange for his aid in restoring Durnik?"

Mara's tears, which had been perpetual, suddenly stopped, and his face became incredulous. "A Marag woman?" he demanded sharply. "None such exist. I would have known in my heart if one of my children had survived in Maragor."

"Of a certainty, Lord Mara," Belgarath agreed quickly. "But what of those few who were carried out of Maragor to dwell in perpetual slavery-"

"Knowest thou of such a one, Belgarath?" Mara asked with a desperate eagerness.

The old man nodded. "We discovered her in the slave pens beneath Rak Cthol, Lord Mara. Her name is Taiba. She is but one, but a race may be restored by such a one as she - particularly if she be watched over by a loving G.o.d."

"Where is Taiba, my daughter?"