King of The Murgos

of the Grolims opened a barred door and gestured for them to enter.
    "Is this really necessary, good Priest?" Sadi protested. The Grolim put his hand threateningly on his sword hilt. "Calm yourself, sir," Sadi said. "I was merely asking.

    Inside! Now!"
    They all filed into the cell, and the black-robed priest slammed it behind them. The sound of the key grating in the lock seemed very loud for some reason.
    "Garion," Ce'Nedra said in a frightened little voice, "What's happening? Why are they doing this?"
    He put his arm comfortingly about her shoulders. "Eriond got into trouble," he explained. "Sadi's going to try to talk us all out of this.

    What if he can't?

    Then we'll do it the other way." Silk looked around at the dimly lit cell with a disdainful sniff. "Dungeons always show such a lack of imagination," he remarked, scuffing at the moldy straw littering the floor with one foot.
    "Have you had such a wide experience with dungeons, Kheldar?" Velvet asked him.
    "I've been in a few from time to time." He shrugged. "I've never found it convenient to stay for more than a few hours." He raised up on his tiptoes to peer out through the small barred window in the door. "Good," he said, "no guards." He looked at Belgarath. "Do you want me to open this?" he asked, tapping on the door with one knuckle. "I don't think we can accomplish very much from in here."
    "Please be patient, Prince Kheldar," Sadi said. "If we break out of this cell, I'll never be able to smooth this over."
    "I've got to find out what they've done with Eriond,"
    Polgara told the eunuch firmly. "Go ahead and open it, Silk,"
    "Polgara?" a light, familiar voice came from the next cell. "Is that you?"
    "Eriond!" she said with relief. "Are you all right?

    I'm fine, Polgara. They put chains on me, but they aren't too uncomfortable."
    "Why did you do that—what you did in the Sanctum?

    I didn't like those fires."
    "I didn't either, but—"
    "I really didn't like them, Polgara. That sort of thing has to be stopped, and we have to start somewhere."
    "How did you put them out?" Belgarath asked through the barred window in the door. "Garion was there when you did it and he says that he didn't hear or feel anything."
    "I'm not sure, Belgarath. I don't think I actually did anything special to make them go out. I just decided that I didn't want them to burn any more, so I sort of let them know how I felt, and they just went out."
    "That's all?"
    "As closely as I can remember, yes."
    Belgarath turned from the door, his face baffled. "When we get out of here, that boy and I are going to have a very long talk about this. I've meant to do that about a half-dozen times, and every time I make up my mind, I get smoothly diverted." He looked at Garion. "The next time you talk to your friend, tell him to stop that. It irritates me."
    "He already knows that, Grandfather. I think that's why he does it."
    Somewhere down the corridor outside, a heavy iron door clanged open, and there came the sound of marching feet.
    "Grolims," Silk said quietly from the barred window.
    "Who else?" Belgarath asked sourly.
    The approaching group stopped outside, and a key grated in the lock of Eriond's cell. The door creaked open. "You, boy," a harsh voice barked. "Come with us."
    "Father," Polgara whispered urgently.
    The old man held up one hand. "Wait," he muttered.
    Then someone rattled a key in the lock of their cell door, and it also clanged open. "Agachak has returned," the Grolim in the open doorway announced curtly. "You will come out of there now."
    "Splendid," Sadi said with relief. "Whatever this is all about, I'm sure it can be cleared up in just a few minutes."
    "No talking!" The Grolim turned abruptly and started down the corridor while a dozen of his fellows fell in behind the prisoners with drawn weapons.
    Agachak, the Hierarch of Rak Urga, was a cadaverous-looking man with a long beard. He sat upon a throne like chair in a large room lighted by glaring torches and hung with dark maroon drapes. The Hierarch's hooded robe was bloodred, and his sunken eyes burned beneath their shaggy gray brows.
    Eriond, still in chains, sat calmly on a rough wooden stool before him, and the slim priestess, Chabat, her purple-lined hood pushed back and the red scars on her cheeks seeming to reflect the torchlight, stood at her master's elbow with a look of cruel triumph on her face.
    "Which one of you is Ussa of Sthiss Tor?" the Hierarch demanded in a hollow-sounding voice.
    Sadi stepped