Demon Lord of Karanda

parchment fell out from between its leaves. The young man bent, picked it up, and glanced at it.
    "What's that?" Belgarath demanded.
    "It's a note," Eriond replied. "It's for you." He handed the parchment and the book to the old man.
    Belgarath read the note. His face went suddenly pale and then beet red. He ground his teeth together with the veins swelling in his face and neck. Garion felt the sudden building up of the old sorcerer's will.
    "Father!" Polgara snapped, "No! Remember that we aren't alone here!"
    He controlled himself with a tremendous effort, then crumpled the parchment into a ball and hurled it at the floor so hard that it bounced high into the air and rolled across the room. He swung back the hand holding the book as if he were about to send it after the ball of parchment, but then seemed to think better of it. He opened the book at random, turned a few pages, and then began to swear sulfurously. He shoved the book at Garion.
    "Here," he said, "hold on to this." Then he began to pace up and down, his face as black as a thundercloud, muttering curses and waving his hands in the air.
    Garion opened the book, tilting it to catch the light. He saw at once the reason for Belgarath's anger. Whole passages had been neatly excised -not merely blotted out, but cut entirely from the page with a razor or a very sharp knife. Garion also started to swear.
    Silk curiously went over, picked up the parchment, and looked at it. He swallowed hard and looked apprehensively at the swearing Belgarath. "Oh, my," he said.
    "What is it?" Garion asked.
    "I think we'd all better stay out of your grandfather's way for a while," the rat-faced man replied. "It might take him a little bit to get hold of himself."
    "Just read it, Silk," Polgara said. "Don't editorialize." Silk looked again at Belgarath, who was now at the far end of the room pounding on the stone wall with his fist.
    'Belgarath,' " he read. " 'I have beaten thee, old man. Now I go to the Place Which Is No More for the final meeting. Follow me if thou canst. Perhaps this book will help thee.' "
    "Is it signed?" Velvet asked him.
    "Zandramas," he replied. "Who else?"
    "That is a truly offensive letter," Sadi murmured. He looked at Belgarath, who continued to pound his fist on the wall in impotent fury. "I'm surprised that he's taking it so well -all things considered."
    "It answers a lot of questions, though," Velvet said thoughtfully.
    "Such as what?" Silk asked.
    "We were wondering if Zandramas was still here.
    Quite obviously, she's not. Not even an idiot would leave that kind of message for Belgarath and then stay around where he could get his hands on her."
    "That's true," he agreed. "There's no real point in our staying here, then, is there? The Orb has picked up the trail again, so why don't we just slip out of the house again and go after Zandramas?"
    "Without findin' out who's here?" Feldegast objected. "Me curiosity has been aroused, an' I'd hate t' go off with it unsatisfied." He glanced across the room at the fuming Belgarath. "Besides, it's going t' be a little whilebefore our ancient friend there regains his composure. I think I'll go along t' the far end of the hall an' see if I kin find a place where I kin look down into the lower part of the house -just t' answer some burnin' questions which have been naggin' at me." He went to the table and lighted one of the candles from his little lantern.
    "Would ye be wantin' t' come along with me, Prince Kheldar?" he invited.
    Silk shrugged. "Why not?"
    "I'll go, too," Garion said. He handed the book to Polgara and then pointedly looked at the raging Belgarath. "Is he going to get over that eventually?"
    "I'll talk with him, dear. Don't be too long."
    He nodded, and then he, Silk, and the juggler quietly left the library.
    There was a room at the far end of the hall. It was not particularly large, and there were shelves along the walls. Garion surmised that it had at one time been a storeroom or a linen closet. Feldegast squinted appraisingly at the leaf-strewn floor, then closed his lantern.
    The leaves had piled deep in the corners and along the walls, but in the sudden darkness a faint glow shone up through them, and there came the murmur of voices from below.
    "Me vile-tempered old friend seems t' have been right," Feldegast whispered. "' Twouldappear that the mortar has quite crumbled away along that wall. 'Twill be but a simple matter t' brush the leaves out of the way an' give ourselves some convenient