“Let’s go!” Garion barked, and he charged toward the oncoming Guardsmen. These were more serious opponents than the Darshivan soldiers had been, so the choices in dealing with them were greatly reduced. One, somewhat larger than his fellows and astride a heavy-bodied warhorse, was leading the charge, and Garion cut him out of his saddle with a single stroke of Iron-grip’s great sword.
Garion heard the sound of steel on steel off to his left, but he dared not take his eyes off the still-charging Guardsmen. He chopped two more from their saddles, and Chretienne crashed into the horse of a third, sending the rider and his mount tumbling. Then Garion was through the ranks of their enemies, and he wheeled around.
Zakath was being hard pressed by two mailed men. He had, it appeared, already felled a third; but then the other two had come at him, one from either side. Garion kicked at Chretienne’s flanks, intending to go to his friend’s aid, but Toth was already there. With one huge hand he plucked one of Zakath’s attackers from his saddle and hurled him headfirst at a large boulder at the side of the road. Zakath turned on his other enemy, deftly parried a couple of strokes, then smoothly ran the man through.
Silk’s daggers were already doing their deadly work. One Guardsman was aimlessly riding around in a circle, doubled over in his saddle and clutching at the dagger hilt protruding from his stomach. The acrobatic little Drasnian then leaped from his horse and landed behind the saddle of a confused Guardsman. With a wide sweep of his arm, Silk drove a dagger into the side of the man’s neck. Blood gushed from the Guardsman’s mouth as he fell to the ground.
The remaining two armored men tried to flee, but Durnik and Beldin were already on them, clubbing at them with cudgel and axe. They tumbled senselessly from their horses and lay twitching in the dirt of the road.
“Are you all right?” Garion asked Zakath.
“I’m fine, Garion.” The Mallorean was breathing hard, though.
“Your training seems to be coming back to you.”
“I had a certain amount of incentive.” Zakath looked critically at the bodies littering the road. “When this is all over, I think I’ll order this organization disbanded,” he said. “The notion of private armies offends me for some reason.”
“Did any of them get away?” Silk asked, looking around.
“Not a one,” Durnik told him.
“Good. We wouldn’t want somebody going for help.” Silk frowned. “What were they doing this far south?” he asked.
“Probably trying to stir up enough trouble to draw the Darshivan troops away from Urvon’s main body,” Belgarath replied. “I think we’ll have to be alert from now on. This whole area could be crawling with soldiers at any time now.” He looked at Beldin. “Why don’t you have a look around?” he said. “See if you can find out what Urvon’s up to and where the Darshivans are. We don’t want to get caught between them.”
“It’s going to take a while,” the hunchback replied. “Darshiva’s a fairly large place.”
“You’d better get started, then, hadn’t you?”
They took shelter that night in the ruins of another village. Belgarath and Garion scouted the surrounding region, but found it to be deserted. The following morning, the two wolves ranged out ahead of the rest of the party, but again they encountered no one.
It was almost evening when Beldin returned. “Urvon outflanked your army,” he told Zakath. “He’s got at least one general who knows what he’s doing. His troops are in the Dalasian Mountains now, and they’re coming south at a forced march. Atesca had to stay near the coast to meet the Darshivans and their elephants.”
“Did you see Urvon?” Belgarath asked him.
Beldin cackled an ugly little laugh. “Oh, yes. He’s absolutely mad now. He’s got two dozen soldiers carrying him on a throne and he’s doing parlor tricks to demonstrate his divinity. I doubt if he could focus enough of his will right now to wilt a flower.”
“Is Nahaz with him?”
Beldin nodded. “Right beside him, whispering in his ear. I’d say he needs to keep a tight grip on his plaything. If Urvon starts giving the wrong orders, his army could wind up wandering around in those mountains for a generation.”
Belgarath frowned. “This doesn’t exactly fit,” he said. “Every bit of information we picked up pointed to the probability that Nahaz and Mordja were concentrating on each other.”
“Maybe they’ve already had it out,” the hunchback shrugged, “and Mordja lost.”
“I doubt it. That sort of thing would have made a lot of noise, and we’d have heard it.”
“Who knows why demons do anything?” Beldin scowled, scratching at his matted hair. “Let’s face it, Belgarath,” he said. “Zandramas knows that she has to go to Kell, and so does Nahaz. I think this is turning into a race. We’re all trying to be the first one to get to Cyradis.”
“I get the feeling that I’m overlooking something,” Belgarath said. “Something important.”
“You’ll think of it. It might take you a couple of months, but you’ll think of it.”
Belgarath ignored that.
The heavy pall of smoke and ash began to subside as evening drew on, but the prevailing gloom of thick overcast remained. Darshiva was still a land of dead trees, fungus, and stagnant water. Increasingly, that last became a problem. The supplies of water they had carried with them from the Mallorean camp on the shores of the Magan had long since been exhausted. As night fell, the others continued along the road, and Belgarath and Garion ranged ahead as wolves again, searching this time not so much for trouble as for fresh water. Their sharp noses easily detected the stale reek of long-standing pools, and they passed them without slowing.
It was in a blasted forest of long-dead trees that Garion encountered another wolf. She was gaunt and bedraggled, and she limped painfully on her left front paw. She looked at him warily, baring her teeth in warning.
He sat down on his haunches to show his peaceable intent.
“What is it you do here?” she asked him in the language of wolves.
“I am going from one place to another place,” he replied politely. “I have no intention to hunt in the place which is yours. I seek only clean water to drink.”
“Clean water comes from the ground on the other side of that high place.” She glanced toward a hill deeper in the forest. “Drink your fill.”
“I have others with me as well,” he told her.
“Your pack?” She came cautiously closer to him and sniffed. “You have the scent of the man-things about you,” she accused.
“Some of those in my pack are man-things,” he admitted. “Where is your pack?”
“Gone,” she told him. “When there were no longer creatures to hunt in this place, they went into the mountains.” She licked at her injured foot. “I could not follow.”
“Where is your mate?”
“He no longer runs or hunts. I visit his bones sometimes.” She said it with such simple dignity that a lump caught in Gar-ion’s throat.
“How do you hunt with that hurt in your paw?”
“I lie in wait for unwary things. All are very small. I have not eaten my fill for many seasons.”
“Grandfather,” Garion sent his thought out. “I need you.”
“Trouble?” the old man’s thought came back.
“Not that kind. Oh, I found water, by the way, but don’t come in here running. You’ll frighten her.”
“Her?”
“You’ll understand when you get here.”
“To whom were you speaking?” she asked.
“You heard?” He was startled.
“No, but your manner was that of one who was speaking.”
“We can talk of that after some time has passed. My pack-leader is coming to this place. He must make the decisions.”
“That is only proper.” She lay down on her belly and continued to lick at her paw.
“How did you come to be hurt?”
“Hie man-things conceal things beneath the leaves. I stepped on one of those things, and it bit my paw. Its jaws were very strong.”
Belgarath came trotting through the dead forest. He stopped and dropped to his haunches, his tongue lolling out.
The she-wolf laid her muzzle submissively on the ground in a gesture of respect.
“What’s the problem?” Belgarath’s thought came to Garion.
“She caught her foot in a trap. Her pack left her behind, and her mate died. She’s crippled and starving.”
“It happens sometimes.”
“I’m not going to leave her behind to die.”
Belgarath gave him a long, steady look. “No,” he replied. “I don’t imagine you would—and I’d think less of you if you did.” He approached the she-wolf. “How is it with you, little sister?” he asked in the language of wolves, sniffing at her.
“Not well, revered leader,” she sighed. “I will not hunt much longer, I think.”