Just before they reached the barricade and the alarmed soldiers standing behind it, they veered sharply to the left, then galloped around the obstruction and back onto the road.
"After them!" a black-robed Grolim screamed at the startled troops. "Don't let them escape!"
Garion rode on past the soldiers' picketed horses, then wheeled Chretienne around. He charged back with the others close on his heels and rode full into the face of the confused Darshivans. He did not really want to kill any of diem, so he laid about him with the flat of the blade rather than the edge. He put three of them down as he crashed through their ranks; behind him he could hear the sound of blows and cries of pain. The Grolim rose before him, and he could feel the black-robed man drawing in his will. He did not falter, but simply rode the priest down. Then he wheeled again. Toth was laying about him with his heavy staff, and Durnik was busily caving in helmets with the butt Of his axe. Zakath, however, was leaned far over in his saddle. He had no weapon in his hand but rather was smashing his metal-clad fist into the faces of the Darshivan soldiers. The glove appeared to be quite effective.
Then, from where the soldiers' horses were picketed, there came a blood-curdling howl. The great silver wolf was snapping and snarling at the horses. They lunged back in panic, the picket rope snapped, and they fled.
"Let's go!" Garion shouted to his friends, and they galloped once again through the center of the Darshivans and on down the road to rejoin Polgara, Ce'Nedra, Velvet, and Eriond. Belgarath loped after them, then changed into his own form and walked back to his horse.
"It seems to have worked more or less the way we'd planned," Zakath noted. He was panting, and his forehead was dewed with sweat. "I seem to be a bit out of condition, though," he added.
"Too much sitting down," Silk said. "What's that thing you’ve got on your hand?"
"It's called a cestus," the Mallorean replied, pulling it off. "I'm a little rusty with my sword, so I thought this might work just as well—particularly since Belgarath wanted to keep down the fatalities."
"Did we kill anybody?" Durnik asked.
"Two," Sadi admitted. He held up his small dagger. "It's a little hard to unpoison a knife."
"And one other," Silk told the smith. "He was running up behind you with a spear, so I threw a knife at him."
"It couldn't be helped," Belgarath said. "Now let's get out of here."
They continued at a gallop for several miles, then slowed back to a canter again. They took shelter mat night in a sizable stand of dead trees. Durnik and Toth dug a shallow pit and built a small fire in it. After the tents were pitched, Garion and Zakath walked to the edge of the trees to keep watch on the road.
"Is it always like this?" Zakath asked quietly.
"Like what?"
"All this sneaking and hiding?"
"Usually. Belgarath tries to avoid trouble whenever he can. He doesn't like to risk people in random skirmishes. Most of the time we're able to avoid the kind of thing that happened this morning. Silk—and Sadi, too, for that matter—have lied us out of some very tight spots." He smiled faintly. "Up in Voresebo, Silk bribed our way past a group of soldiers with a pouchful of brass Mallorean halfpennies."
"But they're virtually worthless."
"That's what Silk said, but we were quite a ways past the soldiers before they opened the pouch."
Then they heard a chilling howl.
"A wolf?" Zakath asked. "Belgarath again?"
"No. That wasn't a wolf. Let's go back. I think Urvon's managed to outflank General Atesca."
"What makes you think so?"
"That was a Hound."
CHAPTER TWENTY
They walked carefully through the forest of dead snags, avoiding as best they could the litter of fallen limbs and twigs on the ground. The faint glow from Duraik's sunken fire guided them, and Garion knew it would serve as a dim beacon for the Hounds as well. Zakath's euphoria seemed to have evaporated. His expression now was wary, and he walked with his hand on his sword hilt.They entered the small clearing where the others were seated around the fire pit. "There's a Hound out there," Garion said quietly. "It howled once."
"Could you make out what it was saying?" Belgarath asked, his voice tense.
"I don't speak its language, Grandfather. It seemed to be some kind of a call, though."
"Probably to the rest of the pack," the old man grunted. " The Hounds don't hunt alone very often."
"The glow from our fire is fairly visible," Garion pointed out.
"I'll take care of that right away," Durnik said, starting to shovel dirt into the fire pit.
"Could you pinpoint the Hound's location at all?" Belgarath asked.
"It was some distance away," Garion replied. "I think it's out there on the road."
"Following our trail?" Silk asked.
"It's following something. I could pick up that much."
"If the Hound is following us, I can divert it with some of that powder I used back at Ashaba," Sadi suggested.
"What do you think?" Belgarath asked Beldin. The dwarf squatted on the ground, absently scratching an obscure diagram in the dirt with a broken stick. "It wouldn't work," he said finally. "The Hounds aren't entirely dogs, so they're not going to just blindly follow the one in the lead. Once they pinpoint our location, they'll spread out and come at us from all sides. We're going to have to come up with something else."
"Fairly soon, I'd think," Silk added, looking around nervously.
Polgara removed her blue cloak and handed it to Durnik. "I'll deal with it," she said calmly.
"What have you got in mind, Pol?" Belgarath asked suspiciously.
"I haven't decided yet, Old Wolf. Maybe I'll just make it up as I go along—the way you do sometimes." She drew herself up, and the air around her shimmered with an odd luminescence. She was winging her way off among the dead white trees even before the light had faded.
"I hate it when she does that," Belgarath muttered.
"You do it all the time," Beldin said.
"That's different."
Zakath was staring at the ghostly shape of the disappearing white owl. "That's uncanny," he shuddered. Then he looked at Garion. "I can't say that I understand all this concern," he confessed. "You people—at least some of you—are sorcerers. Can't you just . . . ?" He left it hanging.