Magician's Gambit

moved confidently, seeming to know precisely where he was going. Somewhere from far out on the dim lake, Garion heard a faint splash, a fish perhaps or the sound of a dislodged pebble from far above falling into the water. The echo of the singing they had heard when they entered the cavern still lingered, curiously loud in some places and very faint in others.
    Two Ulgos waited for them near the entrance to one of the galleries. They bowed and spoke briefly to Belgarath. Like the men who had met them in the portal chamber, both were short and heavy-shouldered. Their hair was very pale and their eyes large and almost black.
    "We'll leave the horses here," Belgarath said. "We have to go down some stairs. These men will care for them."
    The colt, still trembling, had to be told several times to stay with his mother, but he finally seemed to understand. Then Garion hurried to catch up to the others, who had already entered the mouth of one of the galleries.
    There were doors in the walls of the gallery they followed, doors opening into small cubicles, some of them obviously workshops of one kind or another and others just as obviously arranged for domestic use. The Ulgos inside the cubicles continued at their tasks, paying no attention to the party passing in the gallery. Some of the pale-haired people were working with metal, some with stone, a few with wood or cloth. An Ulgo woman was nursing a small baby.
    Behind them in the cavern they had first entered, the sound of the chanting began again. They passed a cubicle where seven Ulgos, seated in a circle, were reciting something in unison.
    "They spend a great deal of time in religious observances," Belgarath remarked as they passed the cubicle. "Religion's the central fact of Ulgo life."
    "Sounds dull," Barak grunted.
    At the end of the gallery a flight of steep, worn stairs descended sharply, and they went down, their hands on the wall to steady themselves.
    "It would be easy to get turned around down here," Silk observed. "I've lost track of which direction we're going."
    "Down," Hettar told him.
    "Thanks," Silk replied dryly.
    At the bottom of the stairs they entered another cavern, once again high up in the wall, but this time the cavern was spanned by a slender bridge, arching across to the other side. "We cross that," Belgarath told them and led them out onto the bridge that arched through the half light to the other side.
    Garion glanced down once and saw a myriad of gleaming openings dotting the cavern walls far below. The openings did not appear to have any systematic arrangement, but rather seemed scattered randomly. "There must be a lot of people living here," he said to his grandfather.
    The old man nodded. "It's the home cave of one of the major Ulgo tribes," he replied.
    The first disharmonic phrases of the ancient hymn to UL drifted up to them as they neared the other end of the bridge. "I wish they'd find another tune," Barak muttered sourly. "That one's starting to get on my nerves."
    "I'll mention that to the first Ulgo I meet," Silk told him lightly. "I'm sure they'll be only too glad to change songs for you."
    "Very funny," Barak said.
    "It probably hasn't occurred to them that their song isn't universally admired."
    "Do you mind?" Barak asked acidly.
    "They've only been singing it for five thousand years now."
    "That'll do, Silk," Aunt Pol told the little man.
    "Anything you say, great lady," Silk answered mockingly.
    They entered another gallery on the far side of the cavern and followed it until it branched. Belgarath firmly led them to the left.
    "Are you sure?" Silk asked. "I could be wrong, but it seems like we're going in a circle."
    "We are."
    "I don't suppose you'd care to explain that."
    "There's a cavern we wanted to avoid, so we had to go around it."
    "Why did we have to avoid it?"
    "It's unstable. The slightest sound there might bring the roof down."
    "Oh."
    "That's one of the dangers down here."
    "You don't really need to go into detail, old friend," Silk said, looking nervously at the roof above. The little man seemed to be talking more than usual, and Garion's own sense of oppression at the thought of all the rock surrounding him gave him a quick insight into Silk's mind. The sense of being closed in was unbearable to some men, and Silk, it appeared, was one of them. Garion glanced up also, and seemed to feel the weight of the mountain above pressing down firmly on him. Silk, he decided, might not be the only one disturbed by the