David and Leigh Eddings – Belgarath the Sorcerer

give you enough warning so that you can seal up the mouths of your

caves.”

“I appreciate that, Ancient One.”

Then Pol and I went back up through the caves to the ruins of Prolgu.

“Now what?” she asked me.

I considered it.

“Since we’re this close anyway, why don’t we fly over and see how far

Torak’s managed to penetrate before we go back to Riva?

And I’d also like to get some idea of just how big this army of his

really is.”

“Whatever you say, father.” It always makes me a little nervous when

Pol agrees with me without any arguments.

It was cloudy over Algaria, but at least it wasn’t raining. You have

no idea of how difficult it is trying to fly with wet feathers, and

I’ve never really been comfortable as a duck. Ducks are probably no

sillier than other birds, but they look so ridiculous.

Beltira had told me that Torak had penetrated as far as Lake Atun in

northern Algaria. That had been almost a week ago, however, and he’d

come quite a bit farther south. He’d crossed the Aldur River upstream

from Aldurford, and his army was spread out on the grasslands of

central Algaria now. They weren’t very hard to find, since there were

quite a lot of them.

They weren’t moving very fast, however. Pol and I saw a number of

engagements down there. As Beltira had said, Algar cavalry units were

slashing at the flanks of that huge army, and their attacks went quite

a bit farther than simple harassment. Algars are the finest horsemen

in the world, and their long centuries of patient breeding had produced

superb horses. In addition to the Malloreans, Torak’s army also

included Murgos, Nadraks, and Thulls, and those were the units that

were bearing the brunt of the Algar attacks.

They weren’t very good at it, from what I saw. The Algars were simply

too fast for them. Central Algaria is rolling country, and there are a

lot of hills and grassy ravines that provide cover for the cavalry

units. In most cases, the Angaraks didn’t see the Algars coming until

it was too late. Torak’s army was moving slowly south, and the trail

behind them was littered with their dead. That didn’t mean anything to

Kal Torak, of course, but it did seem to concern his generals. They

weren’t moving very fast, and they had whole platoons of scouts ranging

out ahead and along the flanks. From what I was able to see, those

scouts weren’t getting very much information back to the generals. Like

all cavalry units the world over, the Algars carried short bows in

addition to their lances and sabers.

A cavalry bow doesn’t have the range that the long bows of the Asturian

Arends have, but a man on a fast horse doesn’t need range. He can get

close enough to do the job. Not very many Angarak scouts returned.

In effect, what was happening down there was a running battle, and it

was very one-sided. Torak was taking appalling casualties, but he

pressed on firmly. In addition to the scouts, the army had foragers

out, looking for cows to feed that horde. The foragers were having an

even worse time of it than the scouts were, since every herd of cattle

they came across had dozens of Algar bowmen concealed in it. The

Algars also amused themselves by stampeding cattle herds through the

Mallorean ranks, and that slowed the advance even more.

It was going to take Kal Torak a long time to reach the Stronghold.

Those stampedes were effective, I’ll grant you, but they goaded Torak’s

generals into an action that ultimately caused an economic disaster in

the West. At first, the foragers had gone out to round up the cows,

intending to drive them along as a moving food source. After a few of

those stampedes, though, they started to kill every cow they came

across.

It was a long time after the war was over before the Algarian herds

even reached a fraction of their former numbers. Beef was very scarce

in the west for years.

After we’d seen enough of that slow-moving battle, Pol and I turned and

flew west toward Sendaria and the coast. I wanted to get back to Riva

so that I could have a talk with Cho-Ram. The Mrin clearly stated that

the Stronghold wouldn’t fall, but it never hurts to be careful. Garel

was inside that fortress, after all.

It was raining in Riva when we got there. Isn’t that a surprise? The

foul weather triggered by that eclipse had been very unusual elsewhere,

but it’s always raining in Riva.

Ran Borune had sent word to the Alorn kings about Urvon’s army, and

they were very concerned about it.

“Where are they right now?”

Rhodar asked me when Pol and I joined them in our customary conference

room.

“I’m not sure,” I replied.

“Pol and I’ve been moving around quite a bit. The twins always stay in

the Vale, so Beldin usually makes his reports to them. I’ll talk with

them about it later, but right now we’ve got some things to discuss and

a few decisions to make. Then I want to go check out the defenses of

the Stronghold.”

“The Stronghold’s secure, Belgarath,” Cho-Ram assured me.

“You don’t have to go there.”

“Just a precaution, Cho-Ram. What kind of a force have you got

inside?”

“Three clans and the Drasnian pike men we managed to rescue.

There are plenty of people inside to hold it. Besides, the walls are

thirty feet thick, and no scaling ladder in the world could reach the

top of them.”

“I think that’s what Fleet-foot had in mind when he designed the

place,” I told him.

“We know that the Stronghold won’t fall, but Torak’s probably going to

keep hammering at it for several years before he gives up. That gives

us some time to get ready for his next move. The Mrin says that the

final battle’s going to be in Arendia, so it might not be a bad idea

for us to move these sessions to Tol Honeth.”

“Why Tol Honeth?” Brand asked.

“It’s closer to the battleground, for one thing, and that’s where the

Tolnedran generals are, for another.”

“The Tolnedrans aren’t going to be much use, Belgarath,” Eldrig

protested.

“Ran Borune’s going to be concentrating on his southern border.

He’s not going to send any legions to Arendia.”

“We’re planning a campaign, Eldrig, and those Tolnedran generals know

just about all there is to know about strategy and tactics. Their

advice could be useful.”

“We’re not completely incompetent, Belgarath,” he objected.

“We’ve won every war we’ve ever been in so far, haven’t we?”

“That’s been pure luck, Eldrig. I don’t want to hurt your feelings,

but you Alorns have a habit of just making your wars up as you go

along. Let’s do this one professionally–just for the sake of novelty,

if nothing else.”

It took Pol and me a little while to persuade the Alorn kings to go to

Tol Honeth to seek the advice to the Tolnedran High Command, but they

eventually agreed. Then my daughter and I left the Isle and flew

across Sendaria, over Ulgoland, and on to the Algarian Stronghold. This

time we didn’t really have any choice. We had to use the form of

ducks.

I’ve referred to the Stronghold as a man-made mountain, and that comes

fairly close. It looks like a walled city from the outside, but it’s

not, since there aren’t any buildings inside. Such Algars as live

there have constructed rooms and halls and corridors inside the walls

themselves.

The open space inside those walls is nothing more than an elaborate

maze.

A tragedy, however, had occurred. It was one of those stupid accidents

that crop up from time to time. Garel, heir to the Rivan throne, had

gone out horseback riding, and his horse had stumbled; Iron-grip’s heir

fell and broke his neck when he hit the ground. Idiocy! What in the

name of all seven Gods was he doing on a horse?

Fortunately, he’d already secured the succession; the line was still

intact, although Gelane was only five years old. But that was all

right.

Everybody grows up–eventually.

I spoke with the boy and found, that like all the rest, he had

uncommonly good sense. We’ve been lucky in that. If stupidity had

cropped up in the Rivan line, we’d have been in a great deal of

trouble.

“Can’t I do something, grandfather?” the earnest little boy asked

me.

“This is my responsibility, after all.” That startled me.

“What did you tell him, Pol?” I asked suspiciously.

“Everything, father,” she replied calmly.

“He’s entitled to know what this is all about.”

“He doesn’t need that information, Poll I thought we agreed to that.”

She shrugged.

“I changed my mind. He is the Rivan King, father. If all our

elaborate plans fall apart, he might have to take up the sword.”

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