The Seeress of Kell

the water's edge, obviously bent on following the hulking Grolim into whose face Sadi had thrown that strange powder of his. They floundered out into the now gently rolling waves, and one by one stepped off into deep water.
    A few could swim, but not very many. Those who could swam desperately out to sea and inevitable death. Those who could not sank beneath the surface, their imploring hands reaching upward even after their heads had gone under. Columns of bubbles rose to the top of the dark water for a few moments, and then they stopped.
    The albatross, its great wings motionless, drifted over them for a moment and then returned to hover over the amphitheater.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
    "And now art thou, as thou hast ever chosen to be, alone, Child of Dark," Cyradis said sternly.
    "The ones who were here with me were of no moment, Cyradis," Zandramas replied indifferently. "They have served their purpose, and I no longer need them."
    “Art thou then ready to enter through the portal into the Place Which Is No More to stand in the presence of the Sardion, there to make thy choice?"
    "Of course, Holy Seeress," Zandramas acquiesced with surprising mildness. “Gladly will I join with the Child of Light that together we may enter the Temple of Torak."
    "Watch her, Garion," Silk whispered. "The whole tone of this is wrong. She's up to something."
    But Cyradis, it appeared, had also detected the ruse. "Thy sudden acceptance is puzzling, Zandramas," she said. "Vainly hast thou striven for all these weary months to avoid this meeting, and now thou wouldst rush-eagerly into the grotto. What hath so altered thee? Doth perchance some unseen peril lurk within yon grot? Seekest thou still to lure the Child of Light to his doom, thinking thereby to avoid the necessity of the Choice?"
    "The answer to thy question, blind witch, doth lie behind that portal," Zandramas replied in a harsh voice. She turned her glittering face toward Garion. "Surely the great Godslayer is without fear," she said. "Or is he who slew Torak become of a sudden timid and fearful? What threat could. I, a mere woman, pose to the mightiest warrior in the world? Let us then investigate this grotto together. Confidently will I deliver my safety into thy hands, Belgarion."
    "It may not be so, Zandramas,” the Seeress of Kell declared. "It is too late now for subterfuge and deceit. Only the Choice will free thee now." She paused and briefly bowed her head. Again Garion heard that choral murmuring. "Ah," she said at last, "now we understand. The passage in the book of the heavens was obscure, but now it is clear." She aimed toward the portal. "Come forth, Demon Lord. Lurk not in darkness awaiting prey, but come forth that we may see thee."
    "No!" Zandramas cried hoarsely.
    But it was too late. Reluctantly, almost as if being driven, the battered and half-crippled dragon limped out of the grotto, roaring and belching billows of flame and smoke. "Not again," Zakath groaned.
    Garion, however, saw more than just the dragon. Even as in the snow-clogged forest outside Val Alorn when he had seen the image of Barak superimposed upon that of the dreadful bear rushing to his rescue after he had speared the boar when he was no more than fourteen, he now saw the form of the Demon Lord Mordja within the shape of the dragon. Mordja, archfiend of Nahaz, the demon that had borne the shrieking Urvon into the eternal pit of Hell. Mordja, who with a half-dozen snakelike arms grasped a huge sword a sword that Garion recognized all too well. The Demon Lord, encased in the form of the dragon, strode forward with monstrous steps wielding Cthrek Goru, Torak's dread sword of shadows.
    The burning red clouds overhead erupted with lightning as the hideously twinned beast came at them. "Spread out!" Garion shouted. "Silk! Tell them what to do!" He drew a deep breath as great bolts of lightning streaked down from the roiling red sky above to crash against the sides of the terraced pyramid with earth-shattering claps of thunder. "Let's go!" Garion cried to Zakath as he once more drew Iron-grip's sword. But then he paused, dumbfounded. Poledra, as calmly as she would if crossing a meadow, approached the awful monstrosity. "Thy Master is the Lord of Deception, Mordja," she said to the suddenly immobilized creature before her, "but it is time for deceit to end. Thou wilt speak only truth. What is thy purpose here? What is the purpose of all of thy kind in this place?"
    The Demon Lord, frozen