“Two days, probably.”
“Two days? And it’s all like this?”
Lelldorin nodded.
“Why?” Garion’s tone was harsher, more accusing than he’d intended.
“At first for pride – and honor,” Lelldorin replied. “Later for grief and revenge. Finally it was simply because we didn’t know how to stop. As you said before, sometimes we Arends aren’t very bright.”
“But always brave,” Garion answered quickly.
“Oh yes,” Lelldorin admitted. “Always brave. It’s our national curse.”
“Belgarath,” Hettar said quietly from behind them, “the horses smell something.”
Mister Wolf roused himself from the doze in which he usually rode. “What?”
“The horses,” Hettar repeated. “Something out there’s frightening them.”
Wolf’s eyes narrowed and then grew strangely blank. After a moment he drew in a sharp breath with a muttered curse.
“Algroths,” he swore.
“What’s an Algroth?” Durnik asked.
“A non-human-somewhat distantly related to Trolls.”
“I saw a Troll once,” Barak said. “A big ugly thing with claws and fangs.”
“Will they attack us?” Durnik asked.
“Almost certainly.” Wolf’s voice was tense. “Hettar, you’re going to have to keep the horses under control. We don’t dare get separated.”
“Where did they come from?” Lelldorin asked. “There aren’t any monsters in this forest.”
“They come down out of the mountains of Ulgo sometimes when they get hungry,” Wolf answered. “They don’t leave survivors to report their presence.”
“You’d better do something, father,” Aunt Pol said. “They’re all around us.”
Lelldorin looked quickly around as if getting his bearings. “We’re not far from Elgon’s tor,” he offered. “We might be able to hold them off if we get there.”
“Elgon’s tor?” Barak said. He had already drawn his heavy sword.
“It’s a high hillock covered with boulders,” Lelldorin explained. “It’s almost like a fort. Elgon held it for a month against a Mimbrate army.”
“Sounds promising,” Silk said. “It would get us out of the trees at least.” He looked nervously around at the forest looming about them in the drizzling rain.
“Let’s try for it,” Wolf decided. “They haven’t worked themselves up to the point of attacking yet, and the rain’s confusing their sense of smell.”
A strange barking sound came from back in the forest.
“Is that them?” Garion asked, his voice sounding shrill in his own ears.
“They’re calling to each other,” Wolf told him. “Some of them have seen us. Let’s pick up the pace a bit, but don’t start running until we see the tor.”
They nudged their nervous horses into a trot and moved steadily along the muddy road as it began to climb toward the top of a low ridge. “Half a league,” Lelldorin said tensely. “Half a league and we should see the tor.”
The horses were difficult to hold in, and their eyes rolled wildly at the surrounding woods. Garion felt his heart pounding, and his mouth was suddenly dry. It started to rain a bit harder. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked quickly. A manlike figure was loping along parallel to the road about a hundred paces back in the forest. It ran half crouched, its hands touching the ground. It seemed to be a loathsome gray color.
“Over there!” Garion cried.
“I saw him,” Barak growled. “Not quite as big as a Troll.”
Silk grimaced. “Big enough.”
“If they attack, be careful of their claws,” Wolf warned. “They’re venomous.”
“That’s exciting,” Silk said.
“There’s the tor,” Aunt Pol announced quite calmly.
“Let’s run!” Wolf barked.
The frightened horses, suddenly released, leaped forward and fled up the road, their hoofs churning. An enraged howl came from the woods behind them, and the barking sound grew louder all around them.
“We’re going to make it!” Durnik shouted in encouragement. But suddenly a half-dozen snarling Algroths were in the road in front of them, their arms spread wide and their mouths gaping hideously. They were huge, with apelike arms and claws instead of fingers. Their faces were goatish, surmounted by short, sharp-pointed horns, and they had long, yellow fangs. Their gray skin was scaly, reptilian.
The horses screamed and reared, trying to bolt. Garion clung to his saddle with one hand and fought the reins with the other.
Barak beat at his horse’s rump with the flat of his sword and kicked savagely at the animal’s flanks until the horse, finally more afraid of him than the Algroths, charged. With two great sweeps, one to either side, Barak killed two of the beasts as he plunged through. A third, claws outstretched, tried to leap on his back, but stiffened and collapsed facedown in the mud with one of Lelldorin’s arrows between its shoulders. Barak wheeled his horse and chopped at the three remaining creatures. “Let’s go!” he bellowed.
Garion heard Lelldorin gasp and turned quickly. With sick horror he saw that a lone Algroth had crept out of the woods beside the road and was clawing at his friend, trying to hook him out of the saddle. Weakly, Lelldorin beat at the goat face with his bow. Garion desperately drew his sword, but Hettar, coming from behind, was already there. His curved sabre ran through the beast’s body, and the Algroth shrieked and fell writhing to the ground beneath the pounding hoofs of the pack animals.
The horses, running now in sheer panic, scrambled toward the slope of the boulder-strewn tor. Garion glanced back over his shoulder and saw Lelldorin swaying dangerously in his saddle, his hand pressed to his bleeding side. Garion pulled in savagely on his reins and turned his horse.
“Save yourself, Garion!” Lelldorin shouted, his face deadly pale.
“No!” Garion sheathed his sword, pulled in beside his friend and took his arm, steadying him in the saddle. Together they galloped toward the tor with Garion straining to hold the injured young man.
The tor was a great jumble of earth and stone thrusting up above the tallest trees around it. Their horses scrambled and clattered up the side among the wet boulders. When they reached the small flat area at the top of the tor where the pack animals huddled together, trembling in the rain, Garion slid out of his saddle in time to catch Lelldorin, who toppled slowly to one side.
“Over here,” Aunt Pol called sharply. She was pulling her small bundle of herbs and bandages out of one of the packs. “Durnik, I’ll need a fire – at once.”
Durnik looked around helplessly at the few scraps of wood lying in the rain at the top of the tor. “I’ll try,” he said doubtfully.
Lelldorin’s breathing was shallow and very fast. His face was still a deadly white, and his legs would not hold him. Garion held him up, a sick fear in the pit of his stomach. Hettar took the wounded man’s other arm, and between them they half carried him to where Aunt Pol knelt, opening her bundle.
“I have to get the poison out immediately,” she told them. “Garion, give me your knife.”
Garion drew his dagger and handed it to her. Swiftly she ripped open Lelldorin’s brown tunic along his side, revealing the savage wounds the Algroth’s claws had made.
“This will hurt,” she said. “Hold him.”
Garion and Hettar took hold of Lelldorin’s arms and legs, holding him down.
Aunt Pol took a deep breath and then deftly sliced open each of the puffy wounds. Blood spurted and Lelldorin screamed once. Then he fainted.
“Hettar!” Barak shouted from atop a boulder near the edge of the slope. “We need you!”
“Go!” Aunt Pol told the hawk-faced Algar. “We can handle this now. Garion, you stay here.” She was crushing some dried leaves and sprinkling the fragments into the bleeding wounds. “The fire, Durnik,” she ordered.
“It won’t start, Mistress Pol,” Durnik replied helplessly. “It’s too wet.”
She looked quickly at the pile of sodden wood the smith had gathered.
Her eyes narrowed, and she made a quick gesture. Garion’s ears rang strangely and there was a sudden hissing. A cloud of steam burst from the wood, and then crackling flames curled up from the sticks. Durnik jumped back, startled.
“The small pot, Garion,” Aunt Pol instructed, “and water. Quickly.” She pulled ofl’ her blue cloak and covered Lelldorin with it.
Silk, Barak and Hettar stood at the edge of the slope, heaving large rocks over the edge. Garion could hear the clatter and clash of the rocks striking the boulders below and the barking of the Algroths, punctuated by an occasional howl of pain.
He cradled his friend’s head in his lap, terribly afraid. “Is he going to be all right?” he appealed to Aunt Pol.
“It’s too early to tell,” she answered. “Don’t bother me with questions just now.”
“They’re running!” Barak shouted.
“They’re still hungry,” Wolf replied grimly. “They’ll be back.”
From far off in the forest there came the sound of a brassy horn.
“What’s that?” Silk asked, still puffing from the effort of heaving the heavy stones over the edge.
“Someone I’ve been expecting,” Wolf answered with a strange smile. He raised his hands to his lips and whistled shrilly.