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  Belgarath was sweating as Garion came into sight around a bend in the ravine a goodly way above and ducked back out of the old man's sight. Another rock, somewhat larger than the first, came bounding and crashing down the narrow ravine, bouncing off the walls and leaping into the air each time it struck the rocky streambed. About twenty yards above Belgarath, it struck solidly and spun into the air. The old man gestured irritably, grunting with the effort, and the rock sailed out in a long arc, clearing the walls of the ravine and falling out of sight.

  Garion quickly crossed the streambed and went down several yards more, staying close against the rocky wall and peering back to be sure he was concealed from his grandfather.

  When the next rock came bouncing and clashing down toward them, Garion gathered his will. He'd have to time it perfectly, he knew, and he peered around a corner, watching the old man intently. When Belgarath raised his hand, Garion pushed his own will in to join his grandfather's, hoping to slip a bit of unnoticed help to him.

  Belgarath watched the rock go whirling far out over the plain below, then he turned and looked sternly down the ravine. "All right, Garion," he said crisply, "step out where I can see you."

  Somewhat sheepishly Garion went out into the center of the streambed and stood looking up at his grandfather.

  "Why is it that you can never do what you're told to do?" the old man demanded.

  "I just thought I could help, that's all."

  "Did I ask for help? Do I look like an invalid?"

  "There's another rock coming."

  "Don't change the subject. I think you're getting above yourself, young man."

  "Grandfather!" Garion said urgently, staring at the large rock bounding down the ravine directly for the old man's back. He threw his will under the rock and hurled it out of the ravine.

  Belgarath looked up at the stone soaring over his head. "Tacky, Garion," he said disapprovingly, "very tacky. You don't have to throw them all the way to Prolgu, you know. Stop trying to show off."

  "I got excited," Garion apologized. "I pushed a little too hard."

  The old man grunted. "All right," he said a bit ungraciously, "as long as you're here anyway but stick to your own rocks. I can manage mine, and you throw me off balance when you come blundering in like that."

  "I just need a little practice, that's all."

  "You need some instruction in etiquette, too," Belgarath told him, coming on down to where Garion stood. "You don't just jump in with help until you're asked. That's very bad form, Garion."

  "Another rock coming," Garion informed him politely. "Do you want to get it or shall I?"

  "Don't get snippy, young man," Belgarath told him, then turned and flipped the approaching rock out of the ravine.

  They moved on down together, taking turns on the rocks the Murgos were rolling down the ravine. Garion discovered that it grew easier each time he did it, but Belgarath was drenched with sweat by the time they neared the bottom. Garion considered trying once again to slip his grandfather a bit of assistance, but the old sorcerer glared at him so fiercely as he started to gather in his will that he quickly abandoned the idea.

  "I wondered where you'd gone," Aunt Pol said to Garion as the two clambered out over the rocks at the mouth of the ravine to rejoin the rest of the party. She looked closely at Belgarath. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "I'm just fine," he snapped. "I had all this assistance - unsolicited, of course." He glared at Garion again.

  "When we get a bit of time, we're going to have to give him some lessons in controlling the noise," she observed. "He sounds like a thunderclap."

  "That's not all he has to learn to control." For some reason the old man was behaving as if he'd just been dreadfully insulted.

  "What now?" Barak asked. "Do you want to light signal fires and wait here for Hettar and Cho-Hag?"

  "This isn't a good place, Barak," Silk pointed out. "Half of Murgodom's going to come pouring down that ravine very shortly."

  "The passage is not wide, Prince Kheldar," Mandorallen observed.

  "My Lord Barak and I can hold it for a week or more if need be."

  "You're backsliding again, Mandorallen," Barak told him.

  "Besides, they'd just roll rocks down on you," Silk said. "And they're going to be dropping boulders off the edge up there before long. We're probably going to have to get out on the plain a ways to avoid that sort of thing."

  Durnik was staring thoughtfully at the mouth of the ravine. "We need to send something up there to slow them down, though," he mused. "I don't think we want them right behind us."

  "It's a little hard to make rocks roll uphill," Barak said.

  "I wasn't thinking of rocks," Durnik replied. "We'll need something much lighter."

  "Like what?" Silk asked the smith.

  "Smoke would be good," Durnik answered. "The ravine should draw just like a chimney. If we build a fire and fill the whole thing with smoke, nobody's going to come down until the fire goes out."

  Silk grinned broadly. "Durnik," he said, "you're a treasure."

  Chapter Five

  THERE WERE BUSHES, scrub and bramble for the most part, growing here and there along the base of the cliff, and they quickly fanned out with their swords to gather enough to build a large, smoky fire. "You'd better hurry," Belgarath called to them as they worked. "There are a dozen Murgos or more already halfway down the ravine."

  Durnik, who had been gathering dry sticks and splintered bits of log, ran back to the mouth of the ravine, knelt and began striking sparks from his flint into the tinder he always carried. In a few moments he had a small fire going, the orange flames licking up around the weathered gray sticks. Carefully he added larger pieces until his fire was a respectable blaze. Then he began piling thornbushes and brambles atop it, critically watching the direction of the smoke. The bushes hissed and smoldered fitfully at first, and a great cloud of smoke wafted this way and that for a moment, then began to pour steadily up the ravine. Durnik nodded with satisfaction. "Just like a chimney," he observed. From far up the cut came shouts of alarm and a great deal of coughing and choking.

  "How long can a man breathe smoke before he chokes to death?" Silk asked.

  "Not very long," Durnik replied.

  "I didn't think so." The little man looked happily at the smoking blaze. "Good fire," he said, holding his hands out to the warmth.

  "The smoke's going to delay them, but I think it's time to move on out," Belgarath said, squinting at the cloud-obscured ball of the sun hanging low over the horizon to the west. "We'll move on up the face of the escarpment and then make a run for it. We'll want to surprise them a bit, to give us time to get out of range before they start throwing rocks down on us."

  "Is there any sign of Hettar out there?" Barak asked, peering out at the grassland.

  "We haven't seen any yet," Durnik replied.

  "You do know that we're going to lead half of Cthol Murgos out onto the plain?" Barak pointed out to Belgarath.

  "That can't be helped. For right now, we've got to get out of here. If Taur Urgas is up there, he's going to send people after us, even if he has to throw them off the cliff personally. Let's go."

  They followed the face of the cliff for a mile or more until they found a spot where the rockfall did not extend so far out onto the plain. "This will do," Belgarath decided. "As soon as we get to level ground, we ride hard straight out. An arrow shot off the top of that cliff will carry a long way. Is everybody ready?" He looked around at them. "Let's move, then."

  They led their horses down the short, steep slope of rock to the grassy plain below, mounted quickly and set off at a dead run.

  "Arrow!" Silk said sharply, looking up and back over his shoulder. Garion, without thinking, slashed with his will at the tiny speck arching down toward them. In the same instant he felt a peculiar double surge coming from either side of him. The arrow broke into several pieces in midair.

  "If you two don't mind!" Belgarath said irritably to Garion
and Aunt Pol, half reining in his horse.

  "I just didn't want you to tire yourself, father," Aunt Pol replied coolly. "I'm sure Garion feels the same way."

  "Couldn't we discuss it later?" Silk suggested, looking apprehensively back at the towering escarpment.

  They plunged on, the long, brown grass whipping at the legs of their horses. Other arrows began to fall, dropping farther and farther behind them as they rode. By the time they were a half mile out from the sheer face, the arrows were sheeting down from the top of the cliff in a whistling black rain.

  "Persistent, aren't they?" Silk observed.

  "It's a racial trait," Barak replied. "Murgos are stubborn to the point of idiocy."

  "Keep going," Belgarath told them. "It's just a question of time until they bring up a catapult."

  "They're throwing ropes down the face of the cliff," Dumik reported, peering back at the escarpment. "As soon as a few of them get to the bottom, they'll pull the fire clear of the ravine and start bringing horses down."

  "At least it slowed them down a bit," Belgarath said.

  Twilight, hardly more than a gradual darkening of the cloudy murk that had obscured the sky for several days, began to creep across the Algarian plain. They rode on.

  Garion glanced back several times as he rode and noticed moving pinpoints of light along the base of the cliff. "Some of them have reached the bottom, grandfather," he called to the old man, who was pounding along in the lead. "I can see their torches."

  "It was bound to happen," the sorcerer replied.

  It was nearly midnight by the time they reached the Aldur River, lying black and oily-looking between its frosty banks.

  "Does anybody have any idea how we're going to find that ford in the dark?" Durnik asked.

  "I'll find it," Relg told him. "It isn't all that dark for me. Wait here."

  "That could give us a certain advantage," Silk noted. "We'll be able to ford the river, but the Murgos will flounder around on this side in the dark for half the night. We'll be leagues ahead of them before they get across."

  "That was one of the things I was sort of counting on," Belgarath replied smugly.

  It was a half an hour before Relg returned. "It isn't far," he told them.

  They remounted and rode through the chill darkness, following the curve of the river bank until they heard the unmistakable gurgle and wash of water running over stones. "That's it just ahead," Relg said.

  "It's still going to be dangerous fording in the dark," Barak pointed out.

  "It isn't that dark," Relg said. "Just follow me." He rode confidently a hundred yards farther upriver, then turned and nudged his horse into the shallow rippling water.

  Garion felt his horse flinch from the icy chill as he rode out into the river, following closely behind Belgarath. Behind him he heard Durnik coaxing the now-unburdened pack animals into the water.

  The river was not deep, but it was very wide - almost a half mile and in the process of fording, they were all soaked to the knees.

  "The rest of the night promises to be moderately unpleasant," Silk observed, shaking one sodden foot.

  "At least you've got the river between you and Taur Urgas," Barak reminded him.

  "That does brighten things up a bit," Silk admitted.

  They had not gone a half mile, however, before Mandorallen's charger went down with a squeal of agony. The knight, with a great clatter, tumbled in the grass as he was pitched out of the saddle. His great horse floundered with threshing legs, trying futilely to rise.

  "What's the matter with him?" Barak demanded sharply.

  Behind them, with another squeal, one of the packhorses collapsed. "What is it?" Garion asked Durnik, his voice shrill.

  "It's the cold," Durnik answered, swinging down from his saddle. "We've ridden them to exhaustion, and then we made them wade across the river. The chill's settled into their muscles."

  "What do we do?"

  "We have to rub them down - all of them - with wool."

  "We don't have time for that," Silk objected.

  "It's that or walk," Durnik declared, pulling off his stout wool cloak and beginning to rub vigorously at his horse's legs with it.

  "Maybe we should build a fire," Garion suggested, also dismounting and beginning to rub down his horse's shivering legs.

  "There isn't anything around here to burn," Durnik told him. "This is all open grassland."

  "And a fire would set up a beacon for every Murgo within ten miles," Barak added, massaging the legs of his gray horse.

  They all worked as rapidly as possible, but the sky to the east had begun to pale with the first hints of dawn before Mandorallen's horse was on his feet again and the rest of their mounts were able to move.

  "They won't be able to run," Durnik declared somberly. "We shouldn't even ride them."

  "Durnik," Silk protested, "Taur Urgas is right behind us."

  "They won't last a league if we try to make them run," the smith said stubbornly. "There's nothing left in them."

  They rode away from the river at a walk. Even at that pace, Garion could feel the trembling of his horse under him. They all looked back frequently, watching the dark-shrouded plain beyond the river as the sky grew gradually lighter. When they reached the top of the first low hills, the deep shadow which had obscured the grasslands behind them faded and they were able to see movement. Then, as the light grew stronger, they saw an army of Murgos swarming toward the river. In the midst of them were the flapping black banners of Taur Urgas himself.

  The Murgos came on in waves until they reached the far bank of the river. Then their mounted scouts ranged out until they located the ford. The bulk of the army Taur Urgas had brought down to the plain was still on foot, but clusters of horses were being driven up from the rear as rapidly as they could be brought down the narrow cut leading from the top of the escarpment.

  As the first units began splashing across the ford, Silk turned to Belgarath. "Now what?" the little man asked in a worried voice.

  "We'd better get off the top of this hill," the old man replied. "I don't think they've seen us yet, but it's just a question of time, I'm afraid." They rode down into a little swale just beyond the hill. The overcast which had obscured the sky for the past week or more had begun to blow off, and broad patches of pale, icy blue had begun to appear, though the sun had not yet come up.

  "My guess is that he's going to hold the bulk of his army on the far side," Belgarath told them after they had all dismounted. "He'll bring them on across as their horses catch up. As soon as they get to this side, they're going to spread out to look for us."

  "That's the way I'd do it," Barak agreed.

  "Somebody ought to keep an eye on them," Durnik suggested. He started back up the hill on foot. "I'll let you know if they start doing anything unusual."

  Belgarath seemed lost in thought. He paced up and down, his hands clasped together behind his back and an angry look on his face. "This isn't working out the way I'd expected," he said finally. "I hadn't counted on the horses playing out on us."

  "Is there any place we can hide?" Barak asked.

  Belgarath shook his head. "This is all grassland," he replied. "There aren't any rocks or caves or trees, and it's going to be impossible to cover our tracks." He kicked at the tall grass. "This isn't turning out too well," he admitted glumly. "We're all alone out here on exhausted horses." He chewed thoughtfully at his lower lip. "The nearest help is in the Vale. I think we'd better turn south and make for it. We're fairly close."

  "How close?" Silk asked.

  "Ten leagues or so."

  "That's going to take all day, Belgarath. I don't think we've got that long."

  "We might have to tamper with the weather a bit," Belgarath conceded. "I don't like doing that, but I might not have any choice." There was a distant low rumble somewhere off to the north. The little boy looked up and smiled at Aunt Pol. "Errand?" he asked.

  "Yes, dear," she replied absently.

  "Can
you pick up any traces of Algars in the vicinity, Pol?" Belgarath asked her.

  She shook her head. "I think I'm too close to the Orb, father. I keep getting an echo that blots things out more than a mile or so away."

  "It always has been noisy," he grunted sourly.

  "Talk to it, father," she suggested. "Maybe it will listen to you."

  He gave her a long, hard look - a look she returned quite calmly. "I can do without that, miss," he told her finally in a crisp voice.

  There was another low rumble, from the south this time. "Thunder?" Silk said, looking a bit puzzled. "Isn't this an odd time of year for it?"

  "This plain breeds peculiar weather," Belgarath said. "There isn't anything between here and Drasnia but eight hundred leagues of grass."

  "Do we try for the Vale then?" Barak asked.

  "It looks as if we'll have to," the old man replied.

  Durnik came back down the hill. "They're coming across the river," he reported, "but they aren't spreading out yet. It looks as if they want to get more men across before they start looking for us."

  "How hard can we push the horses without hurting them?" Silk asked him.

  "Not very," Durnik replied. "It would be better to save them until we absolutely have to use up whatever they've got left. If we walk and lead them for an hour or so, we might be able to get a canter out of them - for short periods of time."

  "Let's go along the back side of the crest," Belgarath said, picking up the reins of his horse. "We'll stay pretty much out of sight that way, but I want to keep an eye on Taur Urgas." He led them at an angle back up out of the swale.