Demon Lord of Karanda

just receiving instructions," Garion explained lamely.
    "Instructions? From whom?"
    "You wouldn't believe it. I was told to give you some information." He drew in a deep breath. "Urgit isn't a Murgo," he said flatly.
    "What are you talking about?"
    "I said that Urgit isn't a Murgo -at least not entirely.
    His mother was, of course, but his father was not Taur Urgas."
    "You're lying!"
    "No, I'm not. We found out about it while we were at the Drojim Palace in Rak Urga. Urgit didn't know about it either."
    "I don't believe you, Belgarion!" Zakath's face was livid, and he was nearly shouting.
    "Taur Urgas is dead," Garion said wearily. "Urgit made sure of that by cutting his throat and burying him head down in his grave. He also claims that he had every one of his brothers -the real sons of Taur Urgas- killed to make himself secure on the throne. I don't think there's one drop of Urga blood left in the world."
    Zakath's eyes narrowed. "It's a trick. You've allied yourself with Urgit and brought me this absurd lie to save his life."
    "Use the Orb, Garion," the voice instructed.
    "How?"
    "Take it off the pommel of the sword and hold it in your right hand. It'll show Zakath the truths that he needs to know."
    Garion rose to his feet. "If I can show you the truth, will you look?" he asked the agitated Mallorean Emperor.
    "Look? Look at what?"
    Garion walked over to his sword and peeled off the soft leather sleeve covering the hilt. He put his hand on the Orb, and it came free with an audible click. Then he turned back to the man at the table. "I'm not exactly sure how this works," he said. "I'm told that Aldur was able to do it, but I've never tried it for myself. I think you're supposed to look into this." He extended his right arm until the Orb was in front of Zakath's face.
    "What is that?"
    "You people call it Cthrag Yaska," Garion replied.
    Zakath recoiled, his face blanching.
    "It won't hurt you -as long as you don't touch it."
    The Orb, which for the past months had rather sullenly obeyed Garion's continued instruction to restrain itself, slowly began to pulsate and glow in his hand, bathing Zakath's face in its blue radiance. The Emperor half lifted his hand as if to push the glowing stone aside.
    "Don't touch it," Garion warned again. "Just look."
    But 'Zakath's eyes were already locked on the stone as its blue light grew stronger and stronger. His hands gripped the edge of the table in front of him so tightly that his knuckles grew white. For a long moment he stared into that blue incandescence. Then, slowly, his fingers lost their grip on the table edge and fell back onto the arms of his chair. An expression of agony crossed his face. "They have escaped me," he groaned with tears welling out of his closed eyes, "and I have slaughtered tens of thousands for nothing." The tears began to stream down his contorted face.
    "I'm sorry, Zakath," Garion said quietly, lowering his hand. "I can't change what's already happened, but you had to know the truth."
    "I cannot thank you for this truth," Zakath said, his shoulders shaking in the storm of his weeping. "Leave me, Belgarion. Take that accursed stone from my sight."Garion nodded with a great feeling of compassion and shared sorrow. Then he replaced the Orb on the pommel of his sword, re-covered the hilt, and picked up the great weapon. "I'm very sorry, Zakath," he said again, and then he quietly went out of the room, leaving the Emperor of boundless Mallorea alone with his grief.

CHAPTER THREE
    "Really, Garion, I'm perfectly fine," Ce'Nedra objected again.
    "I'm glad to hear that."
    "Then you'll let me get out of bed?"
    "No."
    "That's not fair," she pouted.
    "Would you like a little more tea?" he asked, going to the fireplace, taking up a poker, and swinging out the iron arm from which a kettle was suspended.
    "No, I don't," she replied in a sulky little voice. "It smells, and it tastes awful."
    "Aunt Pol says that it's very good for you. Maybe if you drink some more of it, she'll let you get out of bed and sit in a chair for a while." He spooned some of the dried, aromatic leaves from an earthenware pot into a cup, tipped the kettle carefully with the poker, and filled the cup with steaming water.
    Ce'Nedra's eyes had momentarily come alight, but narrowed again almost immediately. "Oh, very clever, Garion," she said in a voice heavy with sarcasm. "Don't patronize me."
    "Of course not," he agreed blandly, setting the cup on the stand beside the bed. "You probably ought