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the surface of the quicksand. "How deep is it?"
"Deep enough," Aunt Pol replied.
They moved on, carefully picking their way through the quagmires and quicksand,
stopping often as more geysers - some of mud, some of frothy, boiling water -
shot high into the air. By late afternoon, when they reached a low ridge of
hard, solid rock beyond the steaming bog, they were all exhausted from the
effort of the concentration it had taken to pass through the hideous region.
"Do we have to go through any more like that?" Garion asked.
"No," Belgarath replied. "It's just around the southern edges of the Tarn."
"Can one not go around it, then?" Mandorallen inquired.
"It's much longer if you do, and the bog helps to discourage pursuit."
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"What's that?" Relg cried suddenly.
"What's what?" Barak asked him.
"I heard something just ahead - a kind of click, like two pebbles knocking
together."
Garion felt a quick kind of wave against his face, almost like an unseen ripple
in the air, and he knew that Aunt Pol was searching ahead of them with her mind.
"Murgos!" she said.
"How many?" Belgarath asked her.
"Six and a Grolim. They're waiting for us just behind the ridge."
"Only six?" Mandorallen said, sounding a little disappointed.
Barak grinned tightly. "Light entertainment."
"You're getting to be as bad as he is," Silk told the big Cherek.
"Thinkest thou that we might need some plan, my Lord?" Mandorallen asked Barak.
"Not really," Barak replied. "Not for just six. Let's go spring their trap."
The two warriors moved into the lead, unobtrusively loosening their swords in
their scabbards.
"Has the sun gone down yet?" Relg asked Garion.
"It's just setting."
Relg pulled the binding from around his eyes and tugged down the dark veil. He
winced and squinted his large eyes almost shut.
"You're going to hurt them," Garion told him. "You ought to leave them covered
until it gets dark."
"I might need them," Relg said as they rode up the ridge toward the waiting
Murgo ambush.
The Murgos gave no warning. They rode out from behind a large pile of black rock
and galloped directly at Mandorallen and Barak, their swords swinging. The two
warriors, however, were waiting for them and reacted without that instant of
frozen surprise which might have made the attack successful. Mandorallen swept
his sword from its sheath even as he drove his warhorse directly into the mount
of one of the charging Murgos. He rose in his stirrups and swung a mighty blow
downward, splitting the Murgo's head with his heavy blade. The horse, knocked
off his feet by the impact, fell heavily backward on top of his dying rider.
Barak, also charging at the attackers, chopped another Murgo out of the saddle
with three massive blows, spattering bright red blood on the sand and rock
around them.
A third Murgo sidestepped Mandorallen's charge and struck at the knight's back,
but his blade clanged harmlessly off the steel armor. The Murgo desperately
raised his sword to strike again, but stiffened and slid from his saddle as
Silk's skilfully thrown dagger sank into his neck, just below the ear.
A dark-robed Grolim in his polished steel mask had stepped out from behind the
rocks. Garion could quite clearly feel the priest's exultation turning to dismay
as Barak and Mandorallen systematically chopped his warriors to pieces. The
Grolim drew himself up, and Garion sensed that he was gathering his will to
strike. But it was too late. Relg had already closed on him. The zealot's heavy
shoulders surged as he grasped the front of the Grolim's robe with his knotted
hands. Without apparent effort he lifted and pushed the man back against the
flattened face of a house-sized boulder.
At first it appeared that Relg only intended to hold the Grolim pinned against
the rock until the others could assist him with the struggling captive, but
there was a subtle difference. The set of his shoulders indicated that he had
not finished the action he had begun with lifting the man from his feet. The
Grolim hammered at Relg's head and shoulders with his fists, but Relg pushed at
him inexorably. The rock against which the Grolim was pinned seemed to shimmer
slightly around him.
"Relg - no!" Silk's cry was strangled.
The dark-robed Grolim began to sink into the stone face, his arms flailing
wildly as Relg pushed him in with a dreadful slowness. As he went deeper into
the rock, the surface closed smoothly over him. Relg continued to push, his arms
sliding into the stone as he sank the Grolim deeper and deeper. The priest's two
protruding hands continued to twitch and writhe, even after the rest of his body
had been totally submerged. Then Relg drew his arms out of the stone, leaving
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the Grolim behind. The two hands sticking out of the rock opened once in mute
supplication, then stiffened into dead claws.
Behind him, Garion could hear the muffled sound of Silk's retching. Barak and
Mandorallen had by now engaged two of the remaining Murgos, and the sound of
clashing sword blades rang in the chill air. The last Murgo, his eyes wide with
fright, wheeled his horse and bolted. Without a word, Durnik jerked his axe free
of his saddle and galloped after him. Instead of striking the man down, however,
Durnik cut across in front of his opponent's horse, turning him, driving him
back. The panic-stricken Murgo flailed at his horse's flanks with the flat of
his sword, turning away from the grim-faced smith, and plunged at a dead run
back up over the ridge with Durnik close behind him.
The last two Murgos were down by then, and Barak and Mandorallen, both wild-eyed
with the exultation of battle, were looking around for more enemies.
"Where's that last one?" Barak demanded.
"Durnik's chasing him," Garion said.
"We can't let him get away. He'll bring others."
"Durnik's going to take care of it," Belgarath told him.
Barak fretted. "Durnik's a good man, but he's not really a warrior. Maybe I'd
better go help him."
From beyond the ridge there was a sudden scream of horror, then another. The
third cut off quite suddenly, and there was silence.
After several minutes, Durnik came riding back alone, his face somber.
"What happened?" Barak asked. "He didn't get away, did he?"
Durnik shook his head. "I chased him into the bog, and he ran into some
quicksand."
"Why didn't you cut him down with your axe?"
"I don't really like hitting people," Durnik replied.
Silk was staring at Durnik, his face still ashen. "So you just chased him into
quicksand instead and then stood there and watched him go down? Durnik, that's
monstrous!"
"Dead is dead," Durnik told him with uncharacteristic bluntness. "When it's
over, it doesn't really matter how it happened, does it?" He looked a bit
thoughtful. "I am sorry about the horse, though."
Chapter Twenty-four
THE NEXT MORNING they followed the ridgeline that angled off toward the east.
The wintry sky above them was an icy blue, and there was no warmth to the sun.
Relg kept his eyes veiled against the light and muttered prayers as he rode to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]