Demon Lord of Karanda

Pol," Durnik objected.
    She smiled. "They won't even pay any attention to me, Durnik." She dismounted and walked a short way up the path. Then, momentarily, she was surrounded with a kind of glowing nimbus, a hazy patch of light that had not been there before. When the light cleared, a great snowy owl hovered among the trees and then ghosted away on soft, silent wings.
    "For some reason that always makes my blood run cold," Sadi murmured.
    They waited while the measured drumming continued.
    Garion dismounted and checked his cinch strap. Then he walked about a bit, stretching his legs.
    It was perhaps ten minutes later when Polgara returned, drifting on white wings under the low-hanging branches. When she resumed her normal shape, her face was pale and her eyes were filled with loathing. "Hideous! " she said. "Hideous!"
    "What is it, Pol?" Durnik's voice was concerned.
    "There's a woman in labor in that temple."
    "I don't know that a temple is the right sort of place for that, but if she needed shelter-" The smith shrugged.
    "The temple was chosen quite deliberately," she replied. "The infant that's about to be born isn't human."
    "But-"
    "It's a demon." Ce'Nedra gasped.
    Polgara looked at Belgarath. "We have to intervene, father," she told him. "This i>must be stopped."
    "How can it be stopped?" Velvet asked in perplexity. "I mean, if the woman's already in labor . . ." She spread her hands.
    "We may have to kill her," Polgara said bleakly. "Even that may not prevent this monstrous birth. We may have to deliver the demon child and then smother it."
    "No!" Ce'Nedra cried. "It's just a baby! You can't kill it"
    "It's not that kind of baby, Ce'Nedra. It's half human and half demon. It's a creature of this world and a spawn of the other. If it's allowed to live, it won't be possible to banish it. It will be a perpetual horror."
    "Garion!" Ce'Nedra cried. "You can't let her."
    "Polgara's right, Ce'Nedra," Belgarath told her. "The creature can't be allowed to live."
    "How many Karands are gathered up there?" Silk asked.
    "There are a half dozen outside the temple," Polgara replied. "There may be more inside."
    "However many they are, we're going to have to dispose of them," he said. "They're waiting for the birth of what they believe is a God, and they'll defend the newborn demon to the death."
    "All right, then," Garion said bleakly', "let's go oblige them."
    "You're not condoning this?" Ce'Nedra exclaimed.
    "I don't like it," he admitted, "but I don't see that we've got much choice." He looked at Polgara. "There's absolutely no way it could be sent back to the place where demons originate?" he asked her.
    "None whatsoever," she said flatly. " This world will be it's home. It wasn't summoned and it has no master.
    Within two years, it will be a horror such as this world has never seen. It must be destroyed."
    "Can you do it, Pol?" Belgarath asked her.
    "I don't have any choice, father," she replied. "I have to do it."
    "All right, then," the old man said to the rest of them.
    "We have to get Pol inside that temple -and that means dealing with the Karands."
    Silk reached inside his boot and pulled out his dagger. "I should have sharpened this," he muttered, looking ruefully at his jagged blade.
    "Would you like to borrow one of mine?" Velvet asked him.
    "No, that's all right, Liselle," he replied. "I've got a couple of spares." He returned the knife to his boot and drew another from its place of concealment at the small of his back and yet a third from its sheath down the back of his neck.
    Durnik lifted his axe from its loop at the back of his saddle. His face was unhappy. "Do we really have to do this, Pol?" he asked.
    "Yes, Durnik. I'm afraid we do."
    He sighed. "All right, then," he said. "Let's go get it over with."
    They started forward, riding at a slow walk to avoid alerting the fanatics ahead.
    The Karands were sitting around a large, hollowed-out section of log, pounding on it with clubs in rhythmic unison. It gave forth a dull booming sound. They were dressed in roughly tanned fur vests and cross-tied leggings of dirty sackcloth. They were raggedly bearded, and their hair was matted and greasy. Their faces were hideously painted, but their eyes seemed glazed and their expressions slack-lipped.
    "I'll go first," Garion muttered to the others.
    "Shouting a challenge, I suppose," Silk whispered.
    "I'm not an assassin, Silk," Garion replied quietly. "One or two of them might be rational enough to run, and that means