“And that’s not very far off,” Barak agreed, glancing at the slowly moving band of sunlight just touching the hill along which they moved. “We’ve probably got half an hour at the most. I think it’s getting to the point where we’re going to have to gamble on the horses. Maybe if we switch mounts every mile or so, we can get some more distance out of them.”
The rumble that came then could not possibly have been thunder. The ground shook with it, and it rolled on and on endlessly from both the north and south.
And then, pouring over the crests of the hills surrounding the valley of the Aldur like some vast tide suddenly released by the bursting of a mighty dam, came the clans of the Algars. Down they plunged upon the startled Murgos thickly clustered along the banks of the river, and their great war cry shook the very heavens as they fell like wolves upon the divided army of Taur Urgas.
A lone horseman veered out of the great charge of the clans and came pounding up the hillside toward Garion and his friends. As the warrior drew closer, Garion could see his long scalp lock flowing behind him and his drawn sabre catching the first rays of the morning sun. It was Hettar. A vast surge of relief swept over Garion. They were safe.
“Where have you been?” Barak demanded in a great voice as the hawk-faced Algar rode closer.
“Watching,” Hettar replied calmly as he reined in. “We wanted to let the Murgos get out a ways from the escarpment so we could cut them off. My father sent me to see how you all are.”
“How considerate,” Silk observed sardonically. “Did it ever occur to you to let us know you were out there?”
Hettar shrugged. “We could see that you were all right.” He looked critically at their exhausted mounts. “You didn’t take very good care of them,” he said accusingly.
“We were a bit pressed,” Durnik apologized.
“Did you get the Orb?” the tall man asked Belgarath, glancing hungrily down toward the river where a vast battle had been joined.
“It took a bit, but we got it,” the old sorcerer replied.
“Good.” Hettar turned his horse, and his lean face had a fierce look on it. “I’ll tell Cho-Hag. Will you excuse me?” Then he stopped as if remembering something. “Oh,” he said to Barak, “congratulations, by the way.”
“For what?” the big man asked, looking puzzled.
“The birth of your son.”
“What?” Barak sounded stunned. “How?”
“In the usual way, I’d imagine,” Hettar replied.
“I mean how did you find out?”
“Anheg sent word to us.”
“When was he born?”
“A couple months ago.” Hettar looked nervously down at the battle which was raging on both sides of the river and in the middle of the ford as well. “I really have to go,” he said. “If I don’t hurry, there won’t be any Murgos left.” And he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks and plunged down the hill.
“He hasn’t changed a bit,” Silk noted.
Barak was standing with a somewhat foolish grin on his big, redbearded face.
“Congratulations, my Lord,” Mandorallen said to him, clasping his hand.
Barak’s grin grew broader.
It quickly became obvious that the situation of the encircled Murgos below was hopeless. With his army cut in two by the river, Taur Urgas was unable to mount even an orderly retreat. The forces he had brought across the river were quickly swarmed under by King Cho-Hag’s superior numbers, and the few survivors of that short, ugly melèe plunged back into the river, protectively drawn up around the red and black banner of the Murgo king. Even in the ford, however, the Algar warriors pressed him. Some distance upriver Garion could see horsemen plunging into the icy water to be carried down by the current to the shallows of the ford in an effort to cut off escape. Much of the fight in the river was obscured by the sheets of spray kicked up by struggling horses, but the bodies floating downstream testified to the savagery of the clash.
Briefly, for no more than a moment, the red and black banner of Taur Urgas was confronted by the burgundy-and-white horse-banner of King Cho-Hag, and then the two were swept apart.
“That could have been an interesting meeting,” Silk noted. “ChoHag and Taur Urgas have hated each other for years.”
Once the king of the Murgos regained the east bank, he rallied what forces he could, turned, and fled back across the open grassland toward the escarpment with Algar clansmen hotly pursuing him. For the bulk of his army, however, there was no escape. Since their horses had not yet descended the narrow ravine from the top of the escarpment, they were forced to fight on foot. The Algars swept down upon them in waves, sabres flashing in the morning sun. Faintly, Garion could hear the screams. Sickened finally, he turned away, unable to watch the slaughter any longer.
The little boy, who was standing close beside Aunt Pol with his hand in hers, looked at Garion gravely. “Errand,” he said with a sad conviction.
By midmorning the battle was over. The last of the Murgos on the far bank of the river had been destroyed, and Taur Urgas had fled with the tattered remnants of his army back up the ravine. “Good fight,” Barak observed professionally, looking down at the bodies littering both banks of the river and bobbing limply in the shallows downstream from the ford.
“The tactics of thy Algar cousins were masterly,” Mandorallen agreed. “Taur Urgas will take some time to recover from this morning’s chastisement.”
“I’d give a great deal to see the look on his face just now.” Silk laughed. “He’s probably frothing at the mouth.”
King Cho-Hag, dressed in steel-plated black leather and with his horse-banner streaming triumphantly in the bright morning sun, came galloping up the hill toward them, closely surrounded by the members of his personal guard. “Interesting morning,” he said with typical Algar understatement as he reined in. “Thanks for bringing us so many Murgos.”
“He’s as bad as Hettar,” Silk observed to Barak.
The king of the Algars grinned openly as he slowly dismounted. His weak legs seemed almost to buckle as he carefully put his weight on them, and he held onto his saddle for support. “How did things go in Rak Cthol?” he asked.
“It wound up being rather noisy,” Belgarath replied.
“Did you find Ctuchik in good health?”
“Moderately. We corrected that, however. The whole affair set off an earthquake. Most of Rak Cthol slid off its mountaintop, I’m afraid.”
Cho-Hag grinned again. “What a shame.”
“Where’s Hettar?” Barak asked.
“Chasing Murgos, I imagine,” Cho-Hag replied. “Their rear guard got cut off, and they’re out there trying to find someplace to hide.”
“There aren’t very many hiding places on this plain, are there?” Barak asked.
“Almost none at all,” the Algar king agreed pleasantly.
A dozen or so Algar wagons crested a nearby hill, rolling toward them through the tall, brown grass. They were square-boxed conveyances, looking not unlike houses on wheels. They had roofs, narrow windows, and steps at the rear leading up to the doorway on the back of each wagon. It looked, Garion thought, almost like a moving city as they approached.
“I imagine Hettar’s going to be a while,” Cho-Hag noted. “Why don’t we have a bit of lunch? I’d like to get word to Anheg and Rhodar about what’s happened here as soon as possible, but I’m sure you’ll want to pass a few things along as well. We can talk while we eat.”
Several of the wagons were drawn up close together and their sides were let down and joined to form a spacious, low-ceilinged dining hall. Braziers provided warmth, and candles illuminated the interior of the quickly assembled hall, supplementing the bright winter sunlight streaming in through the windows.
They dined on roasted meat and mellow ale. Garion soon found that he was wearing far too many clothes. It seemed that he had not been warm in months, and the glowing braziers shimmered out a welcome heat. Although he was tired and very dirty, he felt warm and safe, and he soon found himself nodding over his plate, almost drowsing as Belgarath recounted the story of their escape to the Algar king.
Gradually, however, as the old man spoke, something alerted Garion. There was, it seemed, a trace too much vivacity in his grandfather’s voice, and Belgarath’s words sometimes seemed almost to tumble over each other. His blue eyes were very bright, but seemed occasionally a bit unfocused.
“So Zedar got away,” Cho-Hag was saying. “That’s the only thing that mars the whole affair.”
“Zedar’s no problem,” Belgarath replied, smiling in a slightly dazed way.
His voice seemed strange, uncertain, and King Cho-Hag looked at the old man curiously. “You’ve had a busy year, Belgarath,” he said.