King of The Murgos

through which the slave had just been dragged. The young man's face bore an expression of almost regretful determination as he entered and walked directly toward the astonished priest. "I'm sorry," he said quite firmly, "but you can't do this any more."
    "Seize this desecrator," the priest at the altar shouted. "It shall be his heart which shall sizzle in the coals!"
    A dozen Grolims leaped to their feet, but suddenly froze, caught in that same stasis which locked Garion's muscles.
    "This can't continue," Eriond said in that same determined voice. "I know how much it means to all of you, but it just can't go on. Someday—very soon, I think—you'll all understand."
    There was no sound, no rushing surge such as Garion had come to expect, but the yawning fire pit before the altar suddenly roared to a furnace note, sending leaping flames and glowing sparks shooting upward to lick at the very vaults of the ceiling. The suffocatingly hot Sanctum suddenly cooled as if a cleansing breeze had just swept through it. Then the seething fire guttered briefly like a dying candle— and went out. The glowing brazier at the side of the altar also flared into blinding incandescence, and its steel body grew suddenly soft, drooping and sagging as it began to collapse under its own weight. With a flicker, it also went out.
    The priest dropped his knife in horror and leaped to the still-glowing brazier. Irrationally, he put forth his hands as if he would force the softened metal back into its original shape, but he howled in pain as the red-hot steel seared deeply into his flesh.
    Eriond regarded the dead fires with a look of satisfaction, then turned to the stunned Grolims still holding the naked slave. "Let that man go," he told them.
    They stared at him.
    "You might as well," Eriond said almost conversationally. "You can't sacrifice him without the fires, and the fires won't burn any more. No matter what you do, you won't ever be able to start them again."
    "Done!" the voice in Garion's mind said in a tone of such exultation that it buckled his knees.
    The burned priest, still moaning and cradling his charred hands at his chest, raised his ashen face. "Seize him!" he shrieked, pointing at Eriond with a blackened hand. "Seize him and take him to Chabat!"

CHAPTER TWELVE
    There was no longer any need for stealth. Alarm bells rang in every quarter of the Temple, and frightened Grolims scurried this way and that, shouting contradictory orders to each other. Garion ran among them, desperately looking for Belgarath and Silk.
    As he rounded a corner, a wild-faced Grolim caught him by the arm. "Were you there in the Sanctum when it happened?" he demanded.
    "No," Garion lied, trying to free his arm.
    "They say that he was ten feet tall, and that he blasted a dozen priests into nothingness before he extinguished the fires."
    "Oh?" Garion said, still trying to free himself from the Grolim's grasp.
    "Some people say that it was Belgarath the Sorcerer himself."
    "I find that hard to believe."
    "Who else would have that much power?" The Grolim stopped suddenly, his eyes going very wide. "You know what this means, don't you?" he asked in a trembling voice.
    "What?"
    "The Sanctum will have to be rededicated, and that requires Grolim blood. Dozens of us will have to die before the Sanctum is purified."
    "I really have to go," Garion told him, tugging at the arm the man held fast in both hands.
    "Chabat will wade to the hips in our blood," the priest moaned hysterically, ignoring Garion's words.
    There was really no choice. Things were much too urgent for diplomacy. Garion feigned a frightened expression as he looked past the babbling Grolim's shoulder. "Is that her coming?" he whispered hoarsely.
    The Grolim turned his head to look in fright back over his shoulder. Garion carefully measured him and then smashed his fist into the unprotected side of the terrified man's face. The Grolim slammed back against the wall, his eyes glazed and vacant. Then he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
    "Neat," Silk said from a dark doorway a few yards up the hall, "but the reason for it escapes me."
    "I couldn't get loose from him," Garion explained, bending to take hold of the unconscious man. He dragged him into a shadowy alcove and propped him up in a sitting position. "Have you got any idea where Grandfather is?"
    "He's in here," Silk replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the door behind him. "What happened?"
    "I'll tell you in a minute. Let's get in