The Seeress of Kell

suspiciously.
    "Just hovering. You know how albatrosses are. I don't think they move their wings more than once a week. The fog is starting to thin. Why don't we just ease around and stand on one of these terraces just above that amphitheater and let this murk dissipate. Seeing a group of dark figures emerging out of the fog should give her quite a turn, wouldn't you think?"
    "Did you see my baby?" Ce'Nedra asked, her heart in her voice.
    "He's hardly a baby anymore, little girl. He's a sturdy little lad with curls as blond as Eriond's used to be. I gathered from his expression that he's not very fond of the company he's in, and judging from the look of him, he's going to grow up to be as bad-tempered as the rest of his family. Garion could probably go down there and hand him the sword, and then we could all sit back and watch him deal with the problem."
    "I'd rather not have him start killing people until after he loses his baby teeth," Garion said firmly. "Is there anybody else there?"
    "Judging from his wife's description, the Archduke Otrath is among the group. He's wearing a cheap crown and sort of secondhand royal robes. There's not too much in the way of intelligence in his eyes."
    "That one is mine," Zakath grated. "I’ve never had the opportunity to deal with high treason on a personal level before."
    "His wife will be eternally in your debt." Beldin grinned.
    "She might even decide to journey to Mal Zeth to offer her thanks among other things in person. She's a lush wench, Zakath. I'd advise that you get plenty of rest."
    "Methinks I care not for the turn this conversation hath taken," Cyradis said primly. "The day wears on. Let us proceed."
    "Anythin' yer heart desires, me little darlin'." Beldin grinned.
    Cyradis smiled in spite of herself.
    Again they all spoke with that jocular bravado. They were approaching what was probably the most important Event in all of time, and making light of it was a natural human response. Silk led the way out of the niche, his soft boots making no sound on the wet stones under their feet. Garion and Zakath, however, had to move with some care to avoid clinking. The sharply mounting stone terraces were each uniformly about ten feet tall, but at regular intervals there were stairways leading from one terrace to the one above. Silk led them up about three levels and then began circling the truncated pyramid. When they reached the northeast corner, he paused. "We'd better be very quiet now," he whispered. "We're only about a hundred yards from that amphitheater. We don't want some sharp-eared Grolim to hear us."
    They crept around the corner and made their way carefully along the north face for several minutes. Then Silk stopped and leaned out over the edge to peer down into the fog. "This is it," he whispered. "The amphitheater's a rectangular indentation in the side of the peak. It runs from the beach up to that portal or whatever you want to call it. If you look over the edge, you'll see that the terraces below us break off back there a ways. The amphitheater is right below us. We're within a hundred yards of Zandramas right now."
    Garion peered down into the fog, almost wishing that by a single act of will he could brush aside the obscuring mist so that he could look at the face of his enemy.
    "Steady," Beldin whispered to him. "It's going to come soon enough. Let's not spoil the surprise for her."
    Disjointed voices came up out of the fog harsh, guttural Grolim voices. The fog seemed to muffle them, so Garion could not pick out individual words, but he didn't really have to.
    They waited.
    The sun by now had risen above the eastern horizon, and its pale disk was faintly visible through the fog and the roiling cloud that was the aftermath of the storm. The fog began to eddy and swirl. Gradually the mist overhead dissolved, and now Garion could see the sky. A thick blanket of dirty-looking scud lay over the reef but extended only a few leagues to the east. Thus it was that the sun, low on the eastern horizon, shone on the underside of the clouds and stained them an angry reddish orange with its light. It looked almost as if the sky had taken fire.
    "Colorful," Sadi murmured, nervously passing his poisoned dagger from one hand to the other. He set his red leather case down and opened it. Then he took up the earthenware bottle, worked the stopper out, and laid it on its side. "There should be mice on this reef," he said, "or the eggs of seabirds. Zith and her babies will be