Magician's Gambit

snatching away his words.
    "The door's as solid as the mountain itself," Barak said, hammering with his fist again.
    "We've got to get out of this wind," Aunt Pol declared, one of her arms protectively about Ce'Nedra's shoulders.
    "Well, Garion?" Mister Wolf asked.
    "It's easy," Garion replied. "I just have to find the right spot." He ran his fingers over the icy iron, not knowing just what he was looking for. He found a spot that felt a little different. "Here it is." He put his right hand on the spot and pushed lightly. With a vast, grating groan, the door began to move. A line that had not even been visible before suddenly appeared like a razor-cut down the precise center of the pitted iron surface, and flakes of rust showered from the crack, to be whipped away by the wind.
    Garion felt a peculiar warmth in the silvery mark on the palm of his right hand where it touched the door. Curious, he stopped pushing, but the door continued to move, swinging open, it seemed, almost in reponse to the presence of the mark on his palm. It continued to move even after he was no longer touching it. He closed his hand, and the door stopped moving.
    He opened his hand, and the door, grating against stone, swung open even wider.
    "Don't play with it, dear," Aunt Pol told him. "Just open it."
    It was dark in the cave beyond the huge door, but it seemed not to have the musty smell it should have had. They entered cautiously, feeling at the floor carefully with their feet.
    "Just a moment," Durnik murmured in a strangely hushed voice. They heard him unbuckling one of his saddlebags and then heard the rasp of his flint against steel. There were a few sparks, then a faint glow as the smith blew on his tinder. The tinder flamed, and he set it to the torch he had pulled from his saddlebag. The torch sputtered briefly, then caught. Durnik raised it, and they all looked around at the cave.
    It was immediately evident that the cave was not natural. The walls and floor were absolutely smooth, almost polished, and the light of Durnik's torch reflected back from the gleaming surfaces. The chamber was perfectly round and about a hundred feet in diameter. The walls curved inward at they rose, and the ceiling high overhead seemed also to be round. In the precise center of the floor stood a round stone table, twenty feet across, with its top higher than Barak's head. A stone bench encircled the table. In the wall directly opposite the door was a circular arch of a fireplace. The cave was cool, but it did not seem to have the bitter chill it should have had.
    "Is it all right to bring in the horses?" Hettar asked quietly.
    Mister Wolf nodded. His expression seemed bemused in the flickering torchlight, and his eyes were lost in thought.
    The horses' hooves clattered sharply on the smooth stone floor as they were led inside, and they looked around, their eyes wide and their ears twitching nervously.
    "There's a fire laid in here," Durnik said from the arched fireplace. "Shall I light it?"
    Wolf looked up. "What? Oh-yes. Go ahead."
    Durnik reached into the fireplace with his torch, and the wood caught immediately. The fire swelled up very quickly, and the flames seemed inordinately bright.
    Ce'Nedra gasped. "The walls! Look at the walls!" The light from the fire was somehow being refracted through the crystalline structure of the rock itself, and the entire dome began to glow with a myriad of shifting colors, filling the chamber with a soft, multihued radiance.
    Hettar had moved around the circle of the wall and was peering into another arched opening. "A spring," he told them. "This is a good place to ride out a storm."
    Durnik put out his torch and pulled off his cloak. The chamber had become warm almost as soon as he had lighted the fire. He looked at Mister Wolf. "You know about this place, don't you?" he asked.
    "None of us has ever been able to find it before," the old man replied, his eyes still thoughtful. "We weren't even sure it still existed."
    "What is this strange cave, Belgarath?" Mandorallen asked.
    Mister Wolf took a deep breath. "When the Gods were making the world, it was necessary for them to meet from time to time to discuss what each of them had done and was going to do so that everything would fit together and work in harmony - the mountains, the winds, the seasons and so on." He looked around. "This is the place where they met."
    Silk, his nose twitching with curiosity, had climbed up onto the bench surrounding the huge table.