“It’s really all right, Belgarath,” Eriond told the infuriated old man. “You didn’t want the sound to lead the Grolims to us, so we just made it general through the whole region. Nobody could have pinpointed its source.”
Belgarath blinked. Then he frowned for a moment.
“What about all the light?” he asked in a more mollified tone of voice.
“It’s more or less the same with that,” Eriond explained calmly. “If you’ve got a single blue fire in the mountains on a dark night, everybody can see it. If the whole sky catches on fire, though, nobody can really tell where it’s coming from.”
“It does sort of make sense, Grandfather,” Garion said.
“Are they all right, father?” Polgara asked from behind the old man.
“What could possibly have hurt them? Garion can level mountains with that sword of his. He very nearly did, as a matter of fact. The whole Karandese range rang like a bell.” He looked up at the still‑flickering sky. “Can you turn that off!” he asked.
“Oh,” Garion said. He reversed his sword and re-sheathed it in the scabbard strapped across his back. The fire in the sky died.
“We really had to do it that way, Belgarath,” Eriond continued. “We needed the light and the sound to frighten off the demon and we had to do it in such a way the Grolims couldn’t follow it, so‑“ He spread both hands and shrugged.
“Did you know about this?” Belgarath asked Garion.
“Of course, Grandfather,” Garion lied.
Belgarath grunted. “ All right. Come back inside,” he said.
Garion bent slightly toward Eriond’s ear. “Why didn’t you tell me what we were going to do?” he whispered.
“There wasn’t really time, Belgarion.”
“The next time we do something like that, take time. I almost dropped the sword when the ground started shaking under me.”
“That wouldn’t have been a good idea at all.”
“I know.”
A fair number of rocks had been shaken from the ceiling of the cave and lay on the sandy floor. Dust hung thickly in the air.
“What happened out there?” Silk demanded in a shaky voice.
“Oh, not much,” Garion replied in a deliberately casual voice. “We just chased it away, that’s all.”
“There wasn’t really any help for it, I guess,” Belgarath said, “but just about everybody in Katakor knows that something’s moving around in these mountains, so we’re going to have to start being very careful.”
“How much farther is it to Ashaba?” Sadi asked him.
“About a day’s ride.”
“Will we make it in time?”
“Only just. Let’s all get some sleep.”
Garion had the same dream again that night. He was not really sure that it was a dream, since dreaming usually involved sight as well as sound, but all there was to this one was that persistent, despairing wail and the sense of horror with which it filled him. He sat up on his bunk, trembling and sweat‑covered. After a time, he drew his blanket about his shoulders, clasped his arms about his knees, and stared at the ruddy coals in the fireplace until he dozed off again.
It was still cloudy the following morning, and they rode cautiously back down the ravine to the rutted track leading up into the foothills of the mountains. Silk and Feldegast ranged out in front of them as scouts to give them warning should any dangers arise.
After they had ridden a league or so, the pair came back down the narrow road. Their faces were sober, and they motioned for silence.
“There’s a group of Karands camped around the road up ahead,” Silk reported in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper.
“An ambush?” Sadi asked him.
“No,” Feldegast replied in a low voice. “They’re asleep fer the most part. From the look of things, I’d say that they spent the night in some sort of religious observance, an’ so they’re probably exhausted ‑or still drunk.”
“Can we get around them?” Belgarath asked.
“It shouldn’t be too much trouble,” Silk replied. “We can just go off into the trees and circle around until we’re past the spot where they’re sleeping.”
The old man nodded. “Lead the way,” he said.
They left the road and angled off into the timber, moving at a cautious walk.
“What sort of ceremony were they holding?” Durnik asked quietly.
Silk shrugged. “It looked pretty obscure,” Silk told him. “They’ve got an altar set up with skulls on posts along the back of it. There seems to have been quite a bit of drinking going on ‑as well as some other things.”
“What sort of things?”
Silk’s face grew slightly pained. “They have women with them,” he answered disgustedly.” There’s some evidence that things got a bit indiscriminate.”
Durnik’s cheeks suddenly turned bright red.
“Aren’t you exaggerating a bit, Kheldar?” Velvet asked him.
“No, not really. Some of them were still celebrating.”
“A bit more important than quaint local religious customs, though,” Feldegast added, still speaking quietly, “be the peculiar pets the Karands was keepin’.”
“Pets?” Belgarath asked.
“Perhaps ’tis not the right word, Ancient One, but sittin’ round the edges of the camp was a fair number of the Hounds ‑an’ they was makin’ no move t’ devour the celebrants.”
Belgarath looked at him sharply. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve seen enough of the Hounds of Torak t’ recognize ’em when I see ’em.”
“So there is some kind of an alliance between Mengha and Urvon,” the old man said.
“Yer wisdom is altogether a marvel, old man. It must be a delight beyond human imagination t’ have the benefit of ten thousand years experience t’ guide ye in comin’ t’ such conclusions.”
“Seven thousand,” Belgarath corrected.
“ Seven‑ ten‑ what matter?”
“ Seven thousand,” Belgarath repeated with a slightly offended expression.
CHAPTER SlXTEEN
They rode that afternoon into a dead wasteland, a region foul and reeking, where white snags poked the skeleton-like fingers of their limbs imploringly at a dark, roiling sky and where dank ponds of oily, stagnant water exuded the reek of decay. Clots of fungus lay in gross profusion about the trunks of long‑dead trees and matted-down weeds struggled up through ashy soil toward a sunless sky.
“It looks almost like Cthol Mishrak, doesn’t it?” Silk asked, looking about distastefully.
“We’re getting very close to Ashaba,” Belgarath told him. “Something about Torak did this to the ground.”
“Didn’t he know?” Velvet said sadly.
“Know what?” Ce’Nedra asked her.
“That his very presence befouled the earth?”
“No,” Ce’Nedra replied, “I don’t think he did. His mind was so twisted that he couldn’t even see it. The sun hid from him, and he saw that only as a mark of his and not as a sign of its repugnance for him.”
It was a peculiarly astute observation, which to some degree surprised Garion. His wife oftentimes seemed to have a wide streak of giddiness in her nature which made it far too easy to think of her as a child, a misconception reinforced by her diminutive size. But he had frequently found it necessary to reassess this tiny, often willful little woman who shared his life. Ce’Nedra might sometimes behave foolishly, but she was never stupid. She looked out at the world with a clear, unwavering vision that saw much more than gowns and jewels and costly perfumes. Quite suddenly he was so proud of her that he thought his heart would burst.
“How much farther is it to Ashaba?” Sadi asked in a subdued tone. “I hate to admit it, but this particular swamp depresses me.”
“You?” Durnik said. “I thought you liked swamps.”
“A swamp should be green and rich with life, Goodman, “ the eunuch replied. “There’s nothing here but death.” He looked at Velvet. “Have you got Zith, Margravine?” he asked rather plaintively. “I’m feeling a bit lonesome just now.”
“She’s sleeping at the moment, Sadi,” she told him, her hand going to the front of her bodice in an oddly protective fashion. “She’s safe and warm and very content. She’s even purring.”
“Resting in her perfumed little bower.” He sighed. “There are times when I envy her.”
“Why, Sadi,” she said, blushing slightly, lowering her eyes, and then flashing her dimples at him.
“Merely a clinical observation, my dear Liselle,” he said to her rather sadly. “There are times when I wish it could be otherwise, but . . .” He sighed again.
“Do you really have to carry that snake there?” Silk asked the blond girl.
“Yes, Kheldar,” she replied, “as a matter of fact, I do.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Ancient One,” Sadi said to Belgarath. “How much farther is it to Ashaba?”
“It’s up there,” the old sorcerer replied shortly, pointing toward a ravine angling sharply up from the reeking wasteland. “We should make it by dark.”
“A particularly unpleasant time to visit a haunted house,” Feldegast added.
As they started up the ravine, there came a sudden hideous growling from the dense undergrowth to one side of the weedy track, and a huge black Hound burst out of the bushes, its eyes aflame and with foam dripping from its cruel fangs. “Now you are mine!” it snarled, its jaws biting off the words.