The plot is mine.
Chapter 18
The Mimbrates hit the Morindim with a resounding crash, driving the wave backward as the lance-like charge of Mimbrates parted the foe like a gleaming wedge of steel. Asturian arrows buried themselves in the soft flesh beneath the black robes, and Morindim screamed, clutching at the long arrow shafts, before sinking to the earth, their eyes rolling up. The Chereks met the rear of the horde with a fateful outcome. Morindim fell, their necks twisted at strange angles or limbs completely severed from their bodies, fountaining blood onto the dirt that was rapidly staining red. The Asturian arrows clanged off Mimbrate armor and dove into black robes, avoiding the Chereks. Morindim skillfully aimed their deadly knives to the joints and cracks in the Mimbrate armor, and the faces of the Chereks.
Chereks stiffened where they fought and fell. One crazy beserker got a shallow gash on his cheek, and fought for a full five minutes, all the while rapidly succumbing to the poison, his limbs stiffening as he staggered at his opponents. Garion watched him with horrified fascination as he swung his mighty ax even as he slowly died from the poison.
The thought ran through his head that he had never actually been in a war. During the Battle of Thull Mardu and that whole campaign against the Angaraks, he had been nowhere near it. He had been sneaking around with Belgarath and Silk trying to get to Cthol Mishrak before Torak woke up.
But this thought only drew his eyes to the black shape hovering over the battle. Zedar was acting nothing at all like he thought he would. Didn't he feel anger, rage? Didn't he want to be free? What was going to happen when the war was over? What if Belgarath tried to imprison him again? The whole situation would be terribly awkward. They would probably just have to let him go free. His spirits were broken, anyway. His Master, under who's cruel oppression he had given away all he loved and betrayed his first Master, was dead. And so he had become an apostate for nothing.
What would he feel? Garion's eyes followed the raven. How much would his life hurt him?
But the sounds of battle soon drew Garion's thought, and he turned back to watch the mass of fighting men on the ground. The sheets of deadly arrows were scything through the ranks, but there were always more black robes, always more Morindim to crowd in and fill the gaps. How many were there, anyway? The dying littered the field, some groaning, others lying deathly still as their lifeblood seeped.
Suddenly all the Chereks leaped for cover among the rocks and the Mimbrates galloped to safety, leaving the Morindim exposed. Garion watched as the next step of the plan unfolded. A strange rumbling noise could be heard throughout the gorge, echoing slightly. Rocks on the sides began to roll slightly.
There was a yell from within the Morindim, "Avalanche!"
But it was far worse than an avalanche. As the cause of the rumbling came pounding down the gorge in a rushing wave of black and brown, they flinched back in dismay. The bulls of the Algars were stampeding. The colossal wave of pounding hooves bore down on the Morindim as they stared. From behind the cows came a shrill, piercing scream, and for a moment as they reared, Hettar's long scalp-lock and Relara's flowing hair were seen---on the backs of Hrulgrin. The carnivore horses screamed out their defiance to the sky, desperately trying to rid themselves of their Sha-Dar riders. The cows, panicked by the shrieks of their pursuers, blindly crashed into the Morindim, trampling them under hard hooves.
In the wake of the cattle and the Hrulgin, the golden armor of the Tolnedran legions gleamed as they advanced. The cattle were gone down the gorge, and the Hrulgin had vanished, as the wall of shields neared the trampled Morindim. The ones left who could stand or the ones who had slain the cattle that were bearing down on them were on their feet, their knives flashing.
"Spears!" came a bellow. Sharp spear points shot out through the gaps in the shields on that command. "Forward run!" was barked. The Tolnedrans broke into a jog, driving the Morindim back as they went.
"Ready," Zedar's quiet voice sounded in Garion's mind, and he turned to the hidden Rivan infantry and gave the signal. The infantry emerged from the hiding places to block the way of the Morindim as they advanced, their specially borrowed shields at the ready. Knives clanged off the shields of both Rivan and Tolnedran, and long, waving pikes were seen as the Drasnians massed behind the infantry. The legions were running now, and the Morindim were driven back from that deadly wall, beginning to be crushed up between the two forces. But then they stopped and all the Morindim covered their eyes, as the Western armies watched in bewilderment.
There was a fiery explosion above them, in the air, and a great flash of light. The armies cried out and cringed, blinking to try to clear the spots from their eyes. Garion shot a swift order to Beltira and Belkira's joint mind, and Durnik's familiar awareness. "They're blinded. Retreat, we'll send the Nadraks and the Algars in."
"Right," Belkira's thought came back, and there was a horn blown. The Rivans and the Drasnians retreated, the Tolnedran backing away to cover. The Morindim stood alone.
"Now!" Belgarath's voice barked to Senji and Pelath, and the cavalry drummed out from behind the rocks, watching the Morindim carefully for any sign of another explosion. Belgarath continued talking quickly, "That explosion was the first demonstration that we're not going to be able to fight them off with mere force. We're going to have to use the Will and the Word, but we'll try to hold off as long as we possibly can."
There was another explosion, but this was behind the Algars, and the rocks that clattered down blocked the pass.
"That might have done the job for us," Senji told them. "I think we'd better withdraw the armies and take this into our hands now."
"All right," Belgarath agreed slowly. "Withdraw the Nadraks and Algars."
The Nadraks and Algars wheeled and were gone among the rocks. The black raven swung lower to wait for the nine hawks that climbed the winds toward him. The ten sorcerers spread out in a strange formation, and joined wills.
"The leader," Belgarath's voice was tense. "I don't feel a shield. We'd better get him while we can."
Their blow was unexpected. Their minds found the mounted black figure and struck quickly at it, with the sting of a lash. The sudden blow broke through any shield that might have been there.
A black cloud of smoke enveloped the leader, and they all felt a hot surge of triumph.
And then he started laughing.
The smoke gradually cleared away, and they all could see the black-robed figure, his chilling laughter that seemed hot and cold at the same time echoing throughout the chasm. He threw back his hood, and they all could see lank hair as black as coal, and icy blue eyes that pierced the ten sorcerers above. He was laughing, laughing in defiance. What had happened?
"It didn't do anything!" Garion cried out in their minds.
But Belgarath had already taken the next step. "The Morindim! We'll have to pick them off, one by one!"
"We'll never get done in time!" Beltira said.
"We'll have to try."
The combined might of the ten sorcerers struck down at the shield, and felt it give way. Their burning thought made a Morindim falter, then another, and another. They heard the laughter stop as the leader saw his men slowly collapse, one by one.
The fire burning in the pass faded away, and the Morindim marched on, ignoring the fact that one by one, they were falling.
"Not enough time!" yelled Senji, in anguish.
The Morindim were marching down the pass, toward the unprotected land of Sendaria.
They had failed.
Belgarath let out a shriek of absolute despair and fury, stroking up to an unbearable height as his calls of rage echoed.
A black winged form dove toward the Morindim.
"I should have known," snarled Poledra, and she clasped her wings tightly to her body as she prepared to dive after Zedar.
"NO!" Eriond's voice crackled in their minds, and they all winced at the force of it. Poledra drew up short, and they all hung in place, watching as the raven dove to the Morindim. The Morindim stopped, waiting for orders. The leader's gaze followed Zedar.
Absolute silence fell.
And as the raven drew up, in his place was a man, an old man whose beard and hair were as silvery as frost. In shock, the Morindim drew away as he landed gently on the ground in their midst. Anguish and shame were written over his face.
"MASTER!" his call rang throughout the gorge, a clarion call of grief and sadness.
And a god responded.
A soft blue glow permeated the gorge, as the incandescent form of Aldur appeared, shining as he stood above them all, seemingly in midair. "Yes, my son?" His voice was filled with sorrow, and yet infinite love.
Tears were streaming down Zedar's face, mingling with his beard, and his voice rang with anguish. "I betrayed you, Master! I betrayed you! I betrayed my brothers! I BETRAYED YOU ALL!"
"Zedar," Aldur's voice was gentle. "You did what you had to do. If you had not, all the world would have perished, for the prophecies would never have been fulfilled. You were needed to do what you did. You saved the world, my son."
Zedar turned his face to his first Master. "Do you….. do you forgive me, Master?"
"Of course, my son, I forgive you."
Zedar looked up to where Belgarath hovered. "Belgarath?"
The hawks suddenly dropped to the cliff edge, and they suddenly were all in their real forms.
Belgarath looked down at the form of his apostate brother, and a thousand thoughts and memories flashed across his mind, his face inscrutable.
A panicked, accented voice spoke.
"He made the sun come up! Then he raised a Demon Lord! My clan will have no further part in this!"
"They must! Belgarath must not be permitted to reach Mallorea! We must stop him!"
"There's nothing I can do. My clan is scattered to the winds. I could not gather them together again even if I wanted to. Belgarath is too powerful. I will not face him again."
"Think of what you're giving up, Etchquaw. Will you be the slave of the king of hell for the rest of your life?"
"Morindland is cold and dark, Zedar. I do not fear the flames of hell."
"But you could have a god! My Master will accept you if you will do only this one small thing for him!"
"You have my final word, Zedar. I will have nothing more to do with this Belgarath. Tell your Master what I have said. Tell Torak to find someone else to contest with your brother Belgarath."
Hot, blinding rage. Then more memories, his own voice, speaking.
"We had a problem, Belsambar. We were all looking for solutions."
"But I was the one who rained fire on the Angaraks. You wouldn't have, not even Beldin would have, but I did. And when we started burning my kinsmen, Torak went mad. He wouldn't have broken the world and drowned all those people if I hadn't driven him to it."
"We all did things he didn't like, Belsambar. You can't take all the credit."
"You're missing my point, Belgarath. We were all corrupted by events. The world turned cruel, and that made us cruel as well. The world's no longer fair. It's no more than a rotten, wormy husk of what it once was. Eternal night is coming, and nothing we can do will hold it back."
"Go to bed, Belsambar. Things won't look so bad in the morning when the sun comes up."
"If it comes up. Goodbye, Belgarath."
"Don't you mean good night?"
"Perhaps."
A horrible vacancy, wrenching at his soul. Then time flew onward, and a light, dreamy voice spoke.
"All right, listen carefully. I don't think I'll have time to repeat this. Zedar came to me and said that he was speaking for Torak. He said that the Rivan King was the only thing standing between Torak and something he wanted, and he'd give anything to the person who removed him. The offer was fairly simple. If I'd kill the Rivan King, Torak would marry me, and we'd rule the world jointly---forever. Zedar also told me that Torak would protect me from your Alorns. Did you happen to see the Dragon God on your way to Sthiss Tor?"
"We must have missed him."
"I wonder what can be keeping him."
"Surely you weren't gullible enough to believe all that?"
"How old would you say I am?"
"That's impossible to tell, Salmissra. You take drugs that keep you from aging."
"It may look look that way, but it's not really true. Actually, I'm fifty-seven, and none of my predecessors has lived much past sixty. There are twenty little girls out in the jungle training to take my place when I die. I believed Zedar because I wanted to believe him. I suppose we never outlive our belief in fairy stories, do we? I didn't want to die, and Zedar seemed to be offering me a chance to live forever. I wanted that so much that I chose to believe what he told me…
"The notion of conferring immortality on his handmaiden doesn't seem to have occurred to Issa, so I've only got about three more years to live. Zedar knew that, of course, and he used it to dupe me. I wish there was some way I could pay him back for that. He got everything he wanted from me, and all I got was a cup of foul-tasting poison."
Regret and sorrow. Slowly, other pieces drifted up.
The same dreamy voice spoke again.
"Are you going to kill Zedar?"
And an ominous, powerful voice that reeked of darkness.
"I will not accept that, Zedar."
His own voice spoke.
"I'm going to kill Zedar."
And again.
"I'm going to give brother Zedar a quick lesson in good manners."
And then again, strangely regretful.
"Some promises can't be kept, Beldin."
But the thing that rose before all other memories was strange, ridiculous in comparison to all the others.
Zedar's voice spoke.
"Oh, puissant and all-knowing God, I have come a thousand leagues to behold thy glory and to worship thee."
"Puissant? Quit trying to show off your education, man. Now get up and stop this caterwauling. I'm no more a god than you are."
"Art thou not the great God Aldur?"
"I'm his disciple, Belgarath. What is all this nonsense?"
"It is to please the God. Tell me truly, dost thou think he will find this poor offering of mine acceptable?"
"I can't think of a single think you could have done that would offend him more. Don't be an idiot! You'll burn yourself!"
"It must be hidden. I would rather die than offend mighty Aldur."
"Just get out of my way."
"What?"
"Stand clear, unless you want to take a trip with your goat.
"You're going to wear out your clothes if you keep doing that, and my Master won't find it very amusing."
"I pray thee, mighty disciple of most high Aldur, instruct me that I offend not the god."
"Be truthful, and don't try to impress him with false show and flowery speech. Believe me, friend, he can see straight into your heart, so there's no way you can deceive him. I'm not sure which god you worshipped before, but Aldur's like no other god in the whole world."
"And how may I become his disciple, as thou art?"
"First you become his pupil, and that's not easy."
"What must I do to become his pupil?"
"You must become his servant…
"If it turns out that he doesn't please thee, I'll take him outside and turn him into a carrot, and that'll be the end of it."
"That was unkindly said, Belgarath."
"Forgive me, Master."
"Thou shalt instruct him, Belgarath. Should it come to pass that he be apt, inform me."
"I will, Master."
"What is thy current study, my son?"
"I examine the reason for mountains, Master."
"Lay aside thy mountains, Belgarath, and study man instead."
His own voice.
"Sometimes promises can't be kept, Beldin."
Can't be kept…
"I'll support it, if necessary. I'll hold up our brother's tower until the end of days, if need be."
"Warn Beldin and Belsambar about Belzedar. Sometimes he's a little impulsive."
"Herein lies the past, and the present, and the future, also. This is but a small part of the virtue of the Orb. With it may man--or the earth herself---be healed or destroyed. Whatsoever man or god would do, though it be beyond even the power of the Will and the Word, with this Orb may it come to pass. The Orb hath revealed the future unto me, my son. It shall be the cause of much contention and great suffering and vast destruction..."
Contention and great suffering and vast destruction...
Belgarath took a deep breath, and spoke, his voice strangely gentle. "You betrayed the Master, Zedar. But you did it because you were drawn in because of your love for him. I forgive you."
"We forgive you, Belzedar," the twins spoke, love and innocence shining in their pure faces.
"I forgive you for killing me, Zedar," Durnik's voice rang out, honest and grave, "for if you had not, I would never had been able to marry my Pol."
"I forgive you, Zedar," Aunt Pol's rich voice came, "because you only did what the Prophecies had decreed you must."
"I forgive you, Zedar," Garion's voice came unbidden, ringing out with the voice of the Rivan King, "for all that you have done to this world."
"Your brothers forgave you, Zedar," Belgarath said. "Beldin forgave you, because you loved him so much you offered to hold up his tower. Belmakor forgave you, because he knew he annoyed you much more than you annoyed him. Belsambar forgave you, because he, too, knew what must be done. They forgave you, Zedar."
Poledra sighed. "I forgive you, Zedar."
Aldur smiled gently at Zedar, all the love he had for his wayward son shining on his face. "We forgive you, Belzedar. We love you, and we forgive you, for anything you've ever done."
The tears ran unchecked down Belzedar's face, but now they were tears of joy. And as he drew himself up, he seemed tall and strong once again, towering above the Morindim. And he lifted his hands to the sky, and gave the ultimate sacrifice for those who loved him. He cried out two words.
"BE NOT!"
Garion gaped, and then realized that the Will had been directed inwards, the Word focused on himself. And Zedar's skin began to glow with unbearable heat, and his skin began to split apart, to reveal a burning core.
And the look on his face was not of pain or anguish, but of love and glory and exaltation.
And the sorcerer Belzedar exploded, in a immense ball of flame that incinerated the Morindim where they stood, and charred everything exposed in the gorge to ashes, and scorched the rocks, and a horrible earthquake shook the ground and rattled the mountains, and there was a ripping, tearing noise that sounded like the scream of a mountain as it was torn apart. And as the concussion faded away, all that was left was the Morindim leader, standing untouched in the gorge, alone.
His eyes dilated with hate, and he screamed out, "CURSE YOU!" in a ringing voice.
Then he vanished.
And silence fell.