Castle of Wizardry

quietly in the corner of the little room, Errand, dressed all in white linen, gravely watched.
    "You look very nice, Garion," Aunt Pol said, reaching out to smooth his sandy hair back from his forehead.
    "Shouldn't we go inside?" Garion asked. He had seen others, grayclad Rivans and the more brightly garbed visitors entering the hall.
    "We will, Garion," she replied. "All in good time." She turned to Belgarath. "How long?" she asked.
    "Another quarter-hour or so," he replied.
    "Is everything ready?"
    "Ask Garion," the old man told her. "I've taken care of everything I can. The rest is up to him."
    Aunt Pol turned to Garion then, her eyes very serious and the white lock at her brow gleaming silver in the darkness of her hair. "Well, Garion," she asked, "are you ready?"
    He looked at her, baffled. "I had the oddest dream last night," he said. "Everyone kept asking me that same question. What does it mean, Aunt Pol? Am I ready for what?"
    "That will become clearer in a bit," Belgarath told him. "Take out your amulet. You'll wear it on the outside of your clothes today."
    "I thought it was supposed to be out of sight."
    "Today's different," the old man replied. "As a matter of fact, today's unlike any day I've ever seen - and I've seen a lot of them."
    "Because it's Erastide?"
    "That's part of it." Belgarath reached inside his robe and drew out his own silver medallion. He glanced at it briefly. "It's getting a little worn," he noted. Then he smiled. "-but then, so am I, I suppose."
    Aunt Pol drew out her amulet. She and Belgarath each reached out to take Garion's hands and then to join their own.
    "It's been a long time coming, Polgara," Belgarath said.
    "Yes it has, father," Aunt Pol agreed.
    "Any regrets?"
    "I can live with them, Old Wolf"
    "Let's go in then."
    Garion started toward the door.
    "Not you, Garion," Aunt Pol told him. "You'll wait here with Errand. You two will come in later."
    "You'll send somebody for us?" he asked her. "What I mean is, how will we know when we're supposed to come in?"
    "You'll know," Belgarath told him. And then they left him alone with Errand.
    "They didn't give us very complete instructions, did they?" Garion said to the child. "I hope we don't make any mistakes."
    Errand smiled confidently, reached out and put his small hand in Garion's. At his touch, the song of the Orb filled Garion's mind again, sponging away his worries and doubts. He could not have said how long he stood holding the child's hand and immersed in that song.
    "It's come at last, Belgarion."The voice seemed to come from outside somehow, no longer confined within Garion's mind, and the look on Errand's face made it quite clear that he also could hear the words.
    "Is this what I'm supposed to do?" Garion asked.
    "It's part of it."
    "What are they doing in there?" Garion looked rather curiously toward the door.
    "They're getting the people in the Hall ready for what's going to happen. "
    "Will they be ready?"
    "Will you?" There was a pause. "Are you ready, Belgarion?"
    "Yes, " Garion replied. "Whatever it is, I think I'm ready for it."
    "Let's go then."
    "You'll tell me what to do?"
    "If it's necessary. "
    With his hand still holding Errand's, Garion walked toward the door. He raised his other hand to push it open, but it swung inexplicably open ahead of him before he touched it.
    There were two guards at the huge, carved door a few steps down the hall, but they seemed frozen into immobility as Garion and Errand approached. Once again Garion raised his hand, and the immense doors to the Hall of the Rivan King swung silently open in response to his hand alone.
    The Hall of the Rivan King was a huge, vaulted throne room with massive and ornately carved wooden buttresses supporting the ceiling beams. The walls were festooned with banners and green boughs, and hundreds of candles burned in iron sconces. Three great stone firepits were set at intervals in the floor; instead of logs, blocks of peat glowed in the pits, radiating an even, fragrant warmth. The Hall was crowded, but there was a broad avenue of blue carpet leading from the doors to the throne. Garion's eyes, however, scarcely noted the crowd. His thoughts seemed suspended by the song of the Orb, which now filled his mind completely. Bemused, freed of all thought or fear or hint of self consciousness, he walked with Errand close beside him toward the front of the Hall where Aunt Pol and Belgarath stood, one on each side of the throne.
    The throne of the Rivan