Hettar laughed quietly.
“I hate to fly in the face of tradition,” Garion said, “but I’m not going to let a lot of people get killed unnecessarily just for the sake of an old custom.”
A hazy ground fog, glowing in the moonlight, lay low on the broad, open expanse between the edge of the forest and the towering walls of Jarviksholm. Off to the east, the first pale glimmer of the approaching dawn stained the velvet sky. There were ruddy torches along the top of the heavy battlements of the city. By their light Garion could see a number of armed men.
“How close do you need to get to break in the gate?” Silk whispered to Garion.
“The closer the better,” Garion replied.
“All right. We’ll have to move up a bit, then. The fog and the tall grass should help.”
“I’ll go along with you,” Barak said. “Is it likely to make much noise?”
“Probably.” Garion said.
The big man turned to Hettar and Mandorallen. “Use that as your signal. When Garion knocks the gate down, you start the charge.”
Hettar nodded.
Garion drew in a deep breath. “All right,” he said, “let’s go.” Crouched low, the three of them started across the open field toward the city. When they were no more than a hundred yards from the gate, they sank down in the tall grass.
“Garion,”
Durnik’s thought came from out of the growing light,”we’ve captured all the catapults.”
“Can you see the ones on the north cliffs yet?”
“It’s probably going to be just a few more minutes.”
“Tell Brendig to start just as soon as he can make them out.”
They waited as the eastern sky grew steadily lighter. Then a series of solid thuds came from beyond the city, followed after an interval by the sound of heavy rocks crashing through timbers and by startled shouts and cries of pain.
“We’ve started,”
Durnik reported.
“Garion,”
Polgara’s thought came to him,”are you in position?”
“Yes, Aunt Pol.”
“We’re going to start up the inlet now.”
“Let me know when you’re in sight of the city.”
“Be carefully, Garion.”
“I will.”
“What’s happening?” Barak whispered, eyeing the men atop the city walls.
“They’ve started dropping rocks on the north cliff,” Garion replied softly, “and Anheg’s got the fleet moving.”
Barak ground his teeth together. “I told him to wait until all the catapults were out of action.”
“Don’t worry so much about that ship of yours,” Silk murmured. “It’s very hard to aim a catapult when you’re dodging boulders.”
“Somebody might get lucky.”
They waited tensely as the light slowly grew stronger. Garion could smell the salt tang of the sea and the heavy odor of evergreens as he surveyed the stout gate.
“We can see the city now, Garion,”
Aunt Pol reported.
Shouts of alarm came from inside the city, and Garion saw the armed men atop the walls running along the parapet, making for the seaward side of Jarviksholm. “Are we ready?” he whispered to his two friends.
“Let’s do it,” Silk said tensely.
Garion rose to his feet and concentrated. He felt something that was almost like an inrushing of air as he drew in and concentrated his will. He seemed to be tingling all over as the enormous force built up in him. Grimly he drew Iron-grip’s sword, which he had left sheathed until now in order to conceal that telltale blue fire. The Orb leaped joyously into flame. “Here we go,” he said from between clenched teeth. He pointed the sword at the gate, standing solid and impenetrable-looking a hundred yards in front of him. “Burst!” he commanded, and all his clenched-in will surged into the sword and out through its flaming tip.
The one thing that he had overlooked, of course, was the Orb’s desire to be helpful. The force which struck the gates of Jarviksholm was, to put it very mildly, excessive. The logs disappeared entirely, and chunks and splinters of that tar-smeared gate were later found as much as five miles distant.
The solid stone wall in which the gate had been mounted also blew apart, and many of the huge, rough-hewn blocks sailed like pebbles to splash into the harbor and the inlet far from the city. Most of the back wall of Jarviksholm crumbled and fell in on itself. The noise was awful.
“Belar!” Barak swore in amazement as he watched the nearly absolute destruction.
There was a stunned silence for a moment, and then a great shout came from the edge of the woods as Hettar and Mandorallen led the charge of the massed Rivans and Chereks into the stunned city.
It was not what warriors call a good fight. The Bear-cult was not composed entirely of able-bodied men. It had also attracted into its ranks old men, women, and children. Because of the raging fanaticism of the cult, the warriors entering the city frequently found it necessary to kill those who might otherwise have been spared. By late afternoon, there were only a few small pockets of resistance remaining in the northwest quarter of Jarviksholm, and much of the rest of the city was on fire.
Garion, half-sickened by the smoke and the slaughter, stumbled back through the burning city, over that shattered wall, and out into the open fields beyond. He wandered, tired and sick, for a time until he came across Silk, seated comfortably on a large rock, casually watching the destruction of the city.
“Is it just about finished?” the little man asked.
“Nearly,” Garion replied. “They only have a few buildings left in their control.”
“How was it?”
“Unpleasant. A lot of old people and women and children got killed.”
“That happens sometimes.”
“Did Anheg say what he was going to do with the survivors? I think there’s been enough killing already.”
“It’s hard to say,” Silk replied. “Our Cherek cousins tend sometimes to be a bit savage, though. Some things are likely to happen in the next day or so that you probably won’t want to watch -like that.” He pointed toward the edge of the wood where a crowd of Chereks were working on something. A long pole was raised and set into the ground. A crosspiece was attached to the top of the pole, and a man was tied by his outspread arms to that crosspiece.
“No!”
Garion exclaimed.
“I wouldn’t interfere, Garion,” Silk advised. “Itis Anheg’s kingdom, after all, and he can deal with traitors and criminals in any way he sees fit.”
“That’s barbaric!”
“Moderately so, yes. As I said, though, Chereks have a certain casual brutality in their nature.”
“But shouldn’t we at least question the prisoners first?”
“Javelin’s attending to that.”
Garion stared at the crowd of soldiers working in the last ruddy light of the setting sun. “I’m sorry.” he said, choking in revulsion, “but that’s going entirely too far. I’m going to put a stop to it right now.”
“I’d stay out of it, Garion.”
“Oh, no -not when he starts crucifying women!”
“He’swhat?” Silk turned to stare at the soldiers. Suddenly the blood drained from the little man’s face, and he sprang to his feet. With Garion close on his heels, he ran across the intervening turf. “Have you lost your mind entirely?” he demanded hotly of the bony Chief of Drasnian Intelligence, who sat calmly at a rough table in the center of a group of soldiers.
“What seems to be your problem, Kheldar?”
“Do you know who that is that you just crucified?”
“Naturally. I questioned her myself.” His fingers moved almost idly, but Silk stood directly in front of the table, cutting off Garion’s view of the thin man’s hands.
“Get her down from there!” Silk said, though his voice seemed for some reason to have lost the edge of its outrage.
“Why don’t you attend to your own business, Kheldar?” Javelin suggested. “Leave me to mine.” He turned to a burly Cherek standing nearby. “Prince Kheldar and the Rivan King will be leaving now.” he said coldly. “Would you escort them, please. I think that they should be somewhere at least a quarter of a mile from here.”
“I’ll kill him,” Silk fumed as he and Garion were herded away. “I’ll kill him with my own two bare hands.”
As soon as the soldiers had led them to a spot some distance from Javelin and had turned to go back to their grisly work, however, the little man regained his composure with astonishing speed.
“What was that all about?” Garion asked.
“The girl he just crucified is his own niece, Liselle,” Silk replied quite calmly.
“You can’t be serious!”
“I’ve known her since she was a child. He promised to explain later. His explanation had better be very good, though, or I’m going to carve out his tripes.” He removed a long dagger from under his pearl-gray doublet and tested the edge with his thumb.
It was after dark when Javelin came looking for them. “Oh, put that away, Kheldar,” he said disgustedly, looking at Silk’s dagger.