“Not a bad little fight,” Barak declared, coming into the room with his blood-stained sword still in his hand. He dropped his dented shield in a corner and came over to the window.
“I didn’t care much for it,” Garion replied, pointing at the windrows of the dead lying below. “Killing people is a very poor way of changing their minds.”
“They started this war, Garion. You didn’t.”
“No,” Garion corrected. “Ulfgar started it. He’s the one I actually want.”
“Then we’ll have to go get him for you,” Barak said, carefully wiping his sword with a bit of tattered cloth.
During the course of the day, there were several more furious counterattacks from inside the city, but the results were much the same as had been the case with the first. Garion’s positions were too secure and too well covered by archers to fall to these sporadic sorties.
“They don’t actually fight well in groups, do they?” Durnik said from the vantage point of the upper story of that half-ruined house.
“They don’t have that kind of discipline,” Silk replied. The little man was sprawled on a broken couch in one corner of the room, carefully peeling an apple with a small, sharp knife. “Individually, they’re as brave as lions, but the concept of unified action hasn’t quite seeped into their heads yet.”
“That was an awfully good shot,” Barak congratulated Lelldorin, who had just loosed an arrow through the shattered window.
Lelldorin shrugged. “Child’s play. Now, that fellow creeping along the roof-line of the house several streets back -that’s a bit more challenging.” He nocked another arrow, drew, and released all in one smooth motion.
“You got him,” Barak said.
“Naturally”
As evening approached, Polgara and Beldin returned to the camp outside the city. “Well,” the gnarled sorcerer said with a certain satisfaction, “you won’t have to worry about the pikemen for a while.” He held out his twisted hands to one of Yarblek’s glowing braziers.
“You didn’t hurt them, did you?” Porenn asked quickly.
“No.” He grinned. “We just bogged them down. They were going through a marshy valley, and we diverted a river into it. The whole place is a quagmire now. They’re perched on hummocks and in the branches of trees waiting for the water to subside.”
“Won’t that stall Brendig as well?” Garion asked.
“Brendig’s marching around that valley.” Polgara assured him, sitting near one of the braziers with a cup of tea. “He should be here in a few days.” She looked at Vella. “This tea is really excellent,” she said.
“Thank you, Lady Polgara,” the dark-haired dancer replied. Her eyes were fixed on Ce’Nedra’s copper curls, radiant in the golden candlelight. She sighed enviously. “If I had hair like that, Yarblek could sell me for double the price.”
“I’d settle for half,” Yarblek muttered, “just to avoid all those incidental knifings.”
“Don’t be such a baby, Yarblek,” she told him. “I didn’t really hurt you all that much.”
“You weren’t the one who was doing the bleeding.”
“Have you been practicing your curses, Vella?” Beldin asked.
She demonstrated -at some length.
“You’re getting better,” he congratulated her.
For the next two days, Garion’s forces worked to heap obstructions along the rubble-choked perimeter of the north quarter of Rheon to prevent a counterattack in force from crossing that intervening space. Garion and his friends observed the process from a large window high up in the house which they had converted into a headquarters.
“Whoever’s in charge over there doesn’t seem to have a very good grasp of basic strategy,” Yarblek noted. “He’s not making any effort to block offhis side of that open space to keep us out of the rest of his city.” Barak frowned. “You know, Yarblek, you’re right. That should have been his first move after we secured this part of town.”
“Maybe he’ s too arrogant to believe that we can take more of his houses,” Lelldorin suggested.
“Either that or he’s laying traps for us back out of sight,” Durnik added.
“That’s possible, too,” Barak agreed. “More than possible. Maybe we ought to do a little planning before we start any more attacks.”
Before we can plan anything, we have to know exactly what kind of traps Ulfgar has waiting for us,” Javelin said.
Silk sighed and made a wry face. ” All right. After dark I’ll go have a look.”
“I wasn’t really suggesting that, Kheldar.”
“Of course you weren’t.”
It’s a very good idea, though. I’m glad you thought of it.”
It was some time after midnight when Silk returned to the large, firelit room in Garion’s headquarters. “It’s a very unpleasant night out there,” the little man said, shivering and rubbing his hands together. He went over to stand in front of the fire.
“Well, are they planning any surprises for us?” Barak asked him, lifting a copper tankard.
“Oh, yes,” Silk replied. “They’re building walls across the streets several houses back from our perimeter and they’re putting them just around corners so you won’t see them until you’re right on top of them.”
“With archers and tubs of boiling pitch in all the houses nearby?” Barak asked glumly.
“Probably.” Silk shrugged. “Do you have any more of that ale? I’m chilled to the bone.”
“We’ll have to work on this a bit,” Javelin mused.
“Good luck,” Barak said sourly, going to the ale keg. “Ihate fighting in towns. Give me a nice open field any time.”
“But the towns are where all the loot is,” Yarblek said to him.
“Is that all you ever think about?”
“We’re in this life to make a profit, my friend,” the rawboned Nadrak replied with a shrug.
“You sound just like Silk.”
“I know. That’s why we went into partnership.”
It continued to snow lightly throughout the following day. The citizens of Rheon made a few more probing attacks on Garion’s defensive perimeter, but for the most part they contented themselves with merely shooting arrows at anything that moved.
About midmorning the next day, Errand picked his way over the rubble of the fallen north wall and went directly to the house from which Garion was directing operations.
When he entered, his young face was tight with exhilaration, and he was panting noticeably. “That’s exciting,” he said.
“What is?” Garion asked him.
“Dodging arrows.”
“Does Aunt Pol know you’re here?”
“I don’t think so. I wanted to see the city, so I just came.”
“You’re going to get us both in trouble, do you know that?”
Errand shrugged. “A scolding doesn’t hurt all that much. Oh, I thought you ought to know that Hettar’s here -or he will be in an hour or so. He’s just a few miles to the south.”
“Finally!” Garion said with an explosive release of his breath. “How did you find out?”
“Horse and I went out for a ride. He gets restless when he’s penned up. Anyway, we were up on that big hill to the south, and I saw the Algars coming.”
“Well, let’s go meet them.”
“Why don’t we?”
When Garion and his young friend reached the top of the hill south of Rheon, they saw wave upon wave of Algar clansmen flowing over the snowy moors at a brisk canter. A single horseman detached himself from the front rank of that sea of horses and men and pounded up the hill, his long black scalplock flowing behind him. “Good morning, Garion,” Hettar said casually as he reined in. “You’ve been well, I trust?”
“Moderately ” Garion grinned at him.
“You’ve got snow up here.”
Garion looked around in feigned astonishment. “Why, I do believe you’re right. I hadn’t even noticed that.”
Another rider came up the hill, a man in a shabby, hooded cloak. “Where’s your Aunt, Garion?” the man called when he was halfway up the hill.
“Grandfather?” Garion exclaimed with surprise. “I thought you were going to Mar Terrin.”
Belgarath made an indelicate sound. ” I did,” he replied as he reined in his horse, “and it was an absolutely wasted trip. I’ll tell you about it later. What’s been going on here?”
Briefly Garion filled them in on the events of the past several weeks.
“You’ve been busy,” Hettar noted.
“The time goes faster when you keep occupied.”
“Is Pol inside the city, then?” Belgarath asked him.
“No. She and Ce’Nedra and the other ladies are staying in the camp we built when we first got here. The cultists have been counterattacking against our positions inside, so I didn’t think it was entirely safe for them to be there.”
“That makes sense. Why don’t you round up everybody and bring them to the camp. I think we need to talk about a few things.”
“All right, Grandfather.”
It was shortly after noon when they gathered in the main tent in the Rivan encampment outside the city.
“Were you able to find anything useful, father?” Polgara asked Belgarath as the old man entered the tent.
Belgarath sprawled in a chair. “Some tantalizing hints was about all,” he replied. “I get the feeling that Anheg’s copy of the Ashabine Oracles has been rather carefully pruned somewhere along the way -or more likely at the very beginning. The modifications seem to be a part of the original text.”