Guardians of the West

as Garion and Errand entered and came to join him by the fireside.
    "So are you, Grandfather," Garion said.
    "I had a peculiar dream," the old man replied. "I've been trying to shake it off for several hours now. For some reason I dreamed that the Orb had turned red."
    "It did," Errand told him quietly.
    Belgarath looked at him sharply.
    "Yes. We both saw it, Grandfather," Garion said. "We were in the throne room a few hours ago, and the Orb suddenly turned red. Then that voice that I've got in here-" He tapped his forehead. "-said to beware of Zandramas."
    "Zandramas?" Belgarath said with a puzzled look. "Is that a name or a thing or what?"
    "I don't really know, Grandfather," Garion replied, "but both Errand and I heard it, didn't we, Errand?" Errand nodded, his eyes still on the bread and cheese.
    "What were the two of you doing in the throne room at that hour?" Belgarath asked, his eyes very intent.
    "I was asleep," Garion answered. Then his face flushed slightly. "Well, sort of asleep. Ce'Nedra and I talked until quite late. We haven't talked very much lately, and so we had a lot of things to say to each other. Anyway, he told me to get up and go to the throne room."
    Belgarath looked at Errand. " And you?"
    "He woke me up," Errand replied, "and he-"
    "Hold it," Belgarath said sharply. "Who woke you up?"
    "The same one who woke Garion."
    "You know who he is?"
    "Yes."
    "And you know what he is?"
    Errand nodded.
    "Has he ever spoken to you before?"
    "No."
    "But you knew immediately who and what he is?"
    "Yes. He told me that he needed me in the throne room, so I got dressed and went. When I got there, the Orb turned red, and the voice said to beware of Zandramas."
    Belgarath was frowning. "You're both absolutely positive that the Orb changed color?"
    "Yes, Grandfather," Garion assured him, "and it sounded different, too. It usually makes this kind of ringing noise -like the sound a bell makes after you strike it. This was altogether different."
    " And you're sure that it turned red? I mean it wasn't just a darker shade of blue or something?"
    "No, Grandfather. It was definitely red."
    Belgarath got up out of his chair, his face suddenly grim. "Come with me," he said shortly and started toward the door.
    "Where are we going?" Garion asked.
    "To the library. I need to check on something."
    "On what?"
    "Let's wait until I read it. This is important, and I want to be sure that I've got it right."
    As he passed the table, Errand picked up the piece of cheese and broke off part of it. He took a large bite as he followed Belgarath and Garion from the room. They went quickly through the dim, torchlit corridors and up a steep, echoing flight of narrow stone steps. In the past few years Belgarath's expression had become rather whimsical and touched with a sort of lazy self-indulgence. All trace of that was gone now, and his eyes were intent and very alert. When they reached the library, the old man took a pair of candles from a dusty table and lighted them from the torch hanging in an iron ring just outside the door. Then he came back inside and set one of the candles down. "Close the door, Garion," he said, still holding the other candle. "We don't want to be disturbed."
    Wordlessly, Garion shut the solid oak door. Belgarath went over to the wall lifted his candle and began to run his eyes over the row upon row of dusty, leather-bound books and the neatly stacked, silk-wrapped scrolls. "There," he said, pointing to the top shelf. "Reach that scroll down for me, Garion -the one wrapped in blue silk."
    Garion stretched up on his tiptoes and took down the scroll. He looked at it curiously before handing it to his grandfather. "Are you sure?" he asked. "This isn't the Mrin Codex, you know."
    "No," Belgarath told him. "It isn't. Don't get your attention so locked onto the Mrin Codex that you ignore all the others." He set down his candle and carefully untied the silver tasseled cord binding the scroll. He stripped off the blue silk cover and began to unroll the crackling parchment, his eyes running quickly over the ancient script. "Here it is," he said at last. "'Behold,' '' he read, " 'in the day that Aldur's Orb burns hot with crimson fire shall the name of the Child of Dark be revealed.' "
    "But Torak was the Child of Dark," Garion protested. "What is that scroll?"
    "The Darine Codex," Belgarath told him. "It's not always as reliable as the Mrin, but it's the only one that mentions this particular event."
    "What does it