Demon Lord of Karanda

immediately silent. Slowly the Grolim pushed back his hood and let his robe fall to the platform. He wore only a loincloth, and his head had been shaved. His body was covered from crown to toe with elaborate tattoos.
    Silk winced. "That must have really hurt," he muttered.
    "Prepare ye all to look upon the face of your God," the Grolim announced in a large voice, then bent to inscribe the designs on the platform before the altar.
    "That's what I thought," Belgarath whispered. "That circle he drew isn't complete. If he were really going to raise a demon, he wouldn't have made that mistake." The Grolim straightened and began declaiming the words of the incantation in a rolling, oratorical style.
    "He's being very cautious," Belgarath told them. "He's leaving out certain key phrases. He doesn't want to raise a real demon accidentally. Wait." The old man smiled bleakly. "Here he goes."
    Garion also felt the surge as the Grolim's will focused and then he heard the familiar rushing sound.
    "Behold the Demon Lord Nahaz," the tattooed Grolim shouted, and a shadow-encased form appeared before the altar with a flash of fire, a peal of thunder, and a cloud of sulfur-stinking smoke. Although the figure was no larger than an ordinary man, it looked very substantial for some reason.
    "Not too bad, really," Belgarath admitted grudgingly.
    "It looks awfully solid to me, Belgarath," Silk said nervously.
    "It's only an illusion, Silk," the old man quietly reassured him. "A good one, but still only an illusion."
    The shadowy form on the platform before the altar rose to its full height and then pulled back its hood of darkness to reveal the hideous face Garion had seen in Torak's throne room at Ashaba.
    As the crowd fell to its knees with a great moan, Belgarath drew in his breath sharply. "When this crowd starts to disperse, don't let the Grolim escape," he instructed. "He's actually seen the real Nahaz, and that means that he was one of Harakan's cohorts. I want some answers out of him." Then the old man drew himself up. "Well, I guess I might as well get started with this," he said. He stepped up in front of the platform. "Fraud!" he shouted in a great voice. " Fraud and fakery!"
    The Grolim stared at him, his eyes narrowing as he saw the designs drawn on his face. "On your knees before the Demon Lord," he blustered.
    "Fraud!" Belgarath denounced him again. He stepped up onto the platform and faced the stunned crowd. "This is no wizard, but only a Grolim trickster," he declared.
    "The Demon Lord will tear all your flesh from your bones," the Grolim shrieked.
    "All right," Belgarath replied with calm contempt. "Let's see him do it. Here. I'll even help him." He pulled back his sleeve, approached the shadowy illusion hovering threateningly before the altar and quite deliberately ran his bare arm into the shadow's gaping maw. A moment later, his hand emerged, coming, or so it appeared, out of the back of the Demon Lord's head. He pushed his arm further until his entire wrist and forearm were sticking out of the back of the illusion. Then, quite deliberately, he wiggled his fingers at the people gathered before the altar.
    A nervous titter ran through the crowd.
    "I think you missed a shred or two of flesh, Nahaz," the old man said to the shadowy form standing before him." There still seems to be quite a bit of meat clinging to my fingers and arm." He pulled his arm back out of the shadow and then passed both hands back and forth through the Grolim's illusion. "It appears to lack a bit of substance, friend," he said to the tattooed man. "Why don't we send it back where you found it? Then I'll show you and your parishoners here a real demon."
    He put his hands derisively on his hips, leaned forward slightly from the waist, and blew at the shadow. The illusion vanished, and the tattooed Grolim stepped back fearfully.
    "He's getting ready to run, Silk whispered to Garion. "You get on that side of the platform, and I'll get on this. Thump his head for him if he comes your way."
    Garion nodded and edged around toward the far side of the platform.
    Belgarath raised his voice again to the crowd. "You fall upon your knees before the reflection of the Demon Lord," he roared at them. "What will you do when I bring before you the King of Hell?" He bent and quickly traced the circle and pentagram about his feet. The tattooed priest edged further away from him.
    "Stay, Grolim," Belgarath said with a cruel laugh. "The King of Hell is always hungry,