Sorceress of Darshiva

so."
    Belgarath fished around inside his tunic and pulled out a tattered scrap of paper. He looked at it. "This is it," he grunted. He held the paper out in front of him. " 'Behold:' " he read. " 'In the days which shall follow the ascension of the Dark God into the heavens shall the King of the East and the King of the South do war upon each other, and this shall be a sign unto ye that the day of the meeting is at hand. Hasten therefore unto the Place Which Is No More when battles do rage upon the plains of the South. Take with thee the chosen sacrifice and a King of Angarak to bear witness to what shall come to pass. For lo, whichever of ye cometh into the presence of Cthrag Sardius with the sacrifice and an Angarak king shall be exalted above all the rest and shall have dominion over them. And know further that in the moment of sacrifice shall the Dark God be reborn, and he shall triumph over the Child of Light in the instant of his rebirth.' "
    "What a fascinating piece of gibberish," Beldin said. "Where did you come by it?"
    "We picked it up in Cthol Murgos." Belgarath shrugged. "It's a part of the Grolim Prophecies of Rak Cthol. I told you about it before."
    "No," Beldin disagreed, "as a matter of fact, you didn't."
    "I must have."
    "I'm sorry, Belgarath," the grubby little man said from between clenched teeth, "you didn't."
    "What an amazing thing." Belgarath frowned. "It must have completely slipped my mind."
    "We knew it was going to happen eventually, Pol," Beldin said. "The old boy's finally slipped over the line into senility.''
    "Be nice, uncle," she murmured.
    "Are you positive I didn't tell you about this?" Belgarath said a little plaintively.
    "There's no such thing as positive," Beldin replied, automatically, it seemed.
    "I'm awfully glad you said that," Belgarath said just a bit smugly.
    "Stop that."
    "Stop what?"
    "Don't try to use my own prejudices against me. Where does this Grolim insanity put us?"
    "Grolims obey orders beyond the point of reason."
    "So do we, when you get down to it."
    "Perhaps, but at least we question the orders now and then. Grolims don't. They follow instructions blindly. When we were in Rak Urga, we saw the Hierarch Agachak bullying King Urgit about this. Agachak knows that he has to have an Angarak king in tow if he's going to have any chance at all when he gets to this place of the final meeting. He's going to take Urgit, even if he has to drag him by the hair. Up until now, Zandramas hasn't bothered herself about the requirement."
    "She must be planning to kill Zakath, then," Durnik said, "and then put this archduke on the throne in his place."
    "She won't even have to do that, Durnik. All you need to be called a king in Angarak society is a hint of royal blood, a coronation ceremony, and recognition by a major Grolim priest. Back in the old days, every clan-chief was a king. It didn't really matter that much, because all the power was in the hands of Torak anyway. They all had crowns and thrones, though. Anyway, Zandramas is a recognized Grolim priest—or priestess, in this case. Otrath is of royal blood. A coronation, spurious or not, would qualify him as a King of Angarak, and that would satisfy the prophecy."
    "It still seems a little questionable to me," Durnik said.
    "This comes from a man whose people elected a rutabaga farmer as their first king," Beldin said.
    "Actually, Fundor the Magnificent wasn't a bad king," Belgarath said. "At least, once he got the hang of it all. Farmers always make good kings. They know what's important. At any rate, Otrath will be king enough to fulfill the prophecy, and that means that Zandramas has everything she needs now. She has Geran and an Angarak king.''
    "Do we need one, too?" Durnik asked. "An Angarak king, I mean?"
    "No. We'd need an Alorn King. I think Garion qualifies."
    "It wasn't this complicated last time, was it?"
    "Actually it was. Garion was already the Rivan King as well as the Child of Light. Torak was both king and God, and he was the Child of Dark."
    "Who was the sacrifice, then?"
    Belgarath smiled affectionately at the good man. "You were, Durnik," he said gently. "Remember?"
    "Oh," Durnik said, looking a bit embarrassed. "I forget about that sometimes."
    "I wouldn't be at all surprised," Beldin growled. "Getting killed is the sort of thing that might tend to make one's memory wander just a bit."
    "That's enough of that, uncle," Polgara said dangerously, putting a protective arm about Durnik's