The sky continued to lower as they rode past the brooding city of the Grolim Church under the suspicious gaze of the armored Guardsmen at the gate and the hooded Grolims on the walls.
“Is it likely that they'll follow us?” Durnik asked.
“It's not very probable, Goodman,” Sadi replied. “Look around you. There are thousands encamped here, and I doubt that either Guardsmen or Grolims would take the trouble to follow them all when they leave.”
“I suppose you're right,” the smith agreed.
By late afternoon they were well past Mal Yaska, and the snow -topped peaks in Katakor loomed higher ahead of them, starkly outlined against the dirty gray clouds scudding in from the west.
“Will ye be wantin' t' stop fer the night before we cross the border?” Feldegast asked Belgarath.
“How far is it to there from here?”
“Not far at all, Ancient One.”
“Is it guarded?”
“Usually, yes.”
“Silk,” the old man said, “ride on ahead and have a look.”
The little man nodded and nudged his horse into a gallop.
“All right,” Belgarath said, signaling for a halt so that they could all hear him. “Everybody we've seen this afternoon was going south. Nobody's fleeing toward Katakor. Now, a man who's running away from someplace doesn't stop when the border's in sight. He keeps on going. That means that there's a fair chance that there's not going to be anybody within miles of the border on the Katakor side. If the border's not guarded, we can just go on across and take shelter for the night on the other side.”
“And if the border is guarded?” Sadi asked.
Belgarath's eyes grew flat. “We're still going to go through,” he replied.
“That's likely to involve fighting.”
“That's right. Let's move along, shall we?” About fifteen minutes later, Silk returned. “There are about ten Guardsmen at the crossing,” he reported.
“Any chance of taking them by surprise?” Belgarath asked him.
“A little, but the road leading to the border is straight and flat for a half mile on either side of the guard post.”
The old man muttered a curse under his breath. “All right then,” he said. “They'll at least have time to get to their horses. We don't want to give them the leisure to get themselves set. Remember what Feldegast said about keeping your wits. Don't take any chances, but I want all of those Guardsmen on their backs after our first charge. Pol, you stay back with the ladies -and Eriond.”
“But-“ Velvet began to protest.
“Don't argue with me, Liselle -just this once.”
“Couldn't Lady Polgara just put them to sleep?” Sadi asked. “The way she did with the spies back in Mal Zeth?”
Belgarath shook his head. “There are a few Grolims among the Guardsmen, and that particular technique doesn't work on Grolims. This time we're going to have to do it by main strength -just to be on the safe side.”
Sadi nodded glumly, dismounted, and picked up a stout tree limb from the side of the road. He thumped it experimentally on the turf. “I want you all to know that this is not my preferred way of doing things,” he said.
The rest of them also dismounted and armed themselves with cudgels and staffs. Then they moved on.
The border was marked by a stone shed painted white and by a gate consisting of a single white pole resting on posts on either side of the road. A dozen horses were tethered just outside the shed, and lances leaned against the wall. A single, mail-coated Guardsman paced back and forth across the road on the near side of the gate, his sword leaning back over his shoulder.
“All right,” Belgarath said. “Let's move as fast as we can. Wait here, Pol.”
Garion sighed. “I guess I'd better go first.”
“We were hoping that you'd volunteer.” Silk's grin was tight.
Garion ignored that. He buckled on his shield, settled his helmet in place, and once again lifted the butt of his lance out of his stirtup. “Is everybody ready?” he asked, looking around. Then he advanced his lance and spurred his horse into a charge with the others close on his heels.
The Guardsman at the gate took one startled look at the warlike party bearing down on him, ran to the door of the shed, and shouted at his comrades inside. Then he struggled into the saddle of his tethered horse, leaned over to pick up his lance, and moved out into the road.
Other Guardsmen came boiling out of the shed, struggling with their equipment and stumbling over each other.
Garion had covered half the distance to the gate before more than two or three of the armored men were in their saddles. And so it was that the man who had been standing watch was forced to meet his charge alone.
The results were relatively predictable.
As Garion thundered past his unhorsed opponent, another Guardsman came out into the road at a half gallop, but Garion gave him no time to set himself or to turn his horse. The crashing impact against the unprepared man's shield hurled his horse from its feet. The Guardsman came down before the horse did, and the animal rolled over him, squealing and kicking in fright.
Garion tried to rein in, but Chretienne had the bit in his teeth. He cleared the pole gate in a long, graceful leap and charged on. Garion swore and gave up on the reins. He leaned forward and seized the big gray by one ear and hauled back. Startled, Chretienne stopped so quickly that his rump skidded on the road.
“The fight's back that way.” Garion told his horse, “or did you forget already?”
Chretienne gave him a reproachful look, turned, and charged back toward the gate again.
Because of the speed of their attack, Garion's friends were on top of the Guardsmen before the armored men could bring their lances into play, and the fight had quickly turned ugly. Using the blunt side of his axe, Durnik smashed in one Guardsman's visor, denting it so severely that the man could no longer see. He rode in circles helplessly, both hands clutching at his helmet until he rode under a low-hanging limb, which smoothly knocked him off his horse.
Silk ducked under a wide, backhand sword stroke, reached down with his dagger, and neatly cut his attacker's girth strap. The fellow's horse leaped forward, jumping out from under his rider. Saddle and all, the Guardsman tumbled into the road. He struggled to his feet, sword in hand, but Feldegast came up behind him and methodically clubbed him to earth again with an ugly lead mace.
It was Toth, however, who was the hardest pressed, Three Guardsmen closed in on the giant. Even as Chretienne leaped the gate again, Garion saw the huge man awkwardly flailing with his staff for all the world like someone who had never held one in his hands before.
When the three men came within range however, Toth's skill miraculously reemerged. His heavy staff whirled in a blurring circle. One Guardsman fell wheezing to earth, clutching at his broken ribs. Another doubled over sharply as Toth deftly poked him in the pit of the stomach with the butt of his staff. The third desperately raised his sword, but the giant casually swiped it out of his hand, then reached out and took the surprised man by the front of his mail coat. Garion clearly heard the crunch of crushed steel as Toth's fist closed. Then the giant looked about and almost casually threw the armored man against a roadside tree so hard that it shook the spring leaves from the highest twig.
The three remaining Guardsmen began to fall back, trying to give themselves room to use their lances, but they seemed unaware that Garion was returning to the fray -from behind them.
As Chretienne thundered toward the unsuspecting trio, a sudden idea came to Garion. quickly he turned his lance sideways so that its center rested just in front of his saddlebow and crashed into the backs of the Guardsmen.
The springy cedar pole swept all three of them out of their saddles and over the heads of their horses. Before they could stumble to their feet, Sadi, Feldegast, and Durnik were on them, and the fight ended as quickly as it had begun.
“I don't think I've ever seen anybody use a lance that way before,” Silk said gaily to Garion.
“I just made it up,” Garion replied with an excited grin. “I'm sure that there are at least a half-dozen rules against it.”
“We probably shouldn't mention it, then.”
“I won't tell anybody if you don't.”
Durnik was looking around critically. The ground was littered with Guardsmen who were either unconscious or groaning over assorted broken bones. Only the man Toth had poked in the stomach was still in his saddle, though he was doubled over, gasping for breath. Durnik rode up to him. “Excuse me,” he said politely, removed the poor fellow's helmet, and then rapped him smartly on top of the head with the butt of his axe. The Guardsman's eyes glazed, and he toppled limply out of the saddle.
Belgarath suddenly doubled over, howling with laughter. “Excuse me?” he demanded of the smith.
“There's no need to be uncivil to people, Belgarath,” Durnik replied stiffly.
Polgara came riding sedately down the hill, followed by Ce'Nedra, Velvet, and Eriond. “Very nice, gentlemen,” she complimented them all, looking around at the fallen Guardsmen. Then she rode up to the pole gate.
“Garion, dear,” she said pleasantly, reining in her mount, “would you mind?”
He laughed, rode Chretienne over to the gate, and kicked it out of her way.
“Why on earth were you jumping fences in the very middle of the fight?” she asked him curiously.
“It wasn't altogether my idea,” he replied.
“Oh,” she said, looking critically at the big horse. “I think I understand.”
Chretienne managed somehow to look slightly ashamed of himself.
They rode on past the border as evening began imperceptibly to darken an already gloomy sky. Feldegast pulled in beside Belgarath. “Would yer morals be at all offended if I was t' suggest shelterin' fer the night in a snug little smugglers' cave I know of a few miles or so farther on?” he asked.
Belgarath grinned and shook his head. “Not in the slightest,” he replied. “When I need a cave, I never concern myself about the previous occupants.” Then he laughed. “I shared quarters for a week once with a sleeping bear -nice enough bear, actually, once I got used to his snoring.”
“ 'Tis a fascinatin' story, I'm sure, an' I'd be delighted t' hear it -but the night's comin' on, an' ye kin tell me about it over supper. Shall we be off, then?” The juggler thumped his heels into his mule's flanks and led them on up the rutted road in the rapidly descending twilight at a jolting gallop.
As they moved into the first of the foothills, they found the poorly maintained road lined on either side by mournful-looking evergreens. The road, however, was empty, though it showed signs of recent heavy traffic -all headed south.
“How much farther to this cave of yours?” Belgarath called to the juggler.
“ 'Tis not far, Ancient One,” Feldegast assured him. “There be a dry ravine that crosses the road up ahead, an' we go up that a bit of a ways, an' there we are.”
“I hope you know what you're doing.”
“Trust me.”
Somewhat surprisingly, Belgarath let that pass.
They pounded on up the road as a sullen dusk settled into the surrounding foothills and deep shadows began to gather about the trunks of the evergreens.
“Ah, an' there it is,” Feldegast said, pointing at the rocky bed of a dried-up stream. “The footin' be treacherous here, so we'd best lead the mounts.” He swung down from his mule and cautiously began to lead the way up the ravine. It grew steadily darker, the light fading quickly from the overcast sky. As the ravine narrowed and rounded a sharp bend, the juggler rummaged through the canvas pack strapped to the back of his mule. He lifted out the stub of a candle and looked at Durnik. “Kin ye be makin' me a bit of a flame, Goodman?” he asked. “I'd do it meself, but I seem t' have misplaced me tinder.”
Durnik opened his pouch, took out his flint and steel and his wad of tinder, and, after several tries, blew a lighted spark into a tiny finger of fire. He held it out, shielded between his hands, and Feldegast lit his bit of candle.
“ An' here we are now,” the juggler said grandly, holding up his candle to illuminate the steep banks of the ravine.
“Where?” Silk asked, looking about in puzzlement.
“Well now, Prince Kheldar, it wouldn't be much of a hidden cave if the openin' was out in plain sight fer just anybody t' stumble across, now would it?” Feldegast went over to the steep side of the ravine to where a huge slab of water-scoured granite leaned against the bank. He lowered his candle, shielding it with his hand, ducked slightly, and disappeared behind it with his mule trailing along behind him.
The interior of the cave was floored with clean white sand, and the walls had been worn smooth by centuries of swirling water. Feldegast stood in the center of the cave holding his candle aloft. There were crude log bunks along the walls, a table and some benches in the center of the cave, and a rough fireplace near the far wall with a fire already laid. Feldegast crossed to the fireplace, bent, and lit the kindling lying under the split logs resting on a rough stone grate with his candle. “Well now, that's better,” he said, holding his hands out to the crackling flames. “Isn't this a cozy little haven?”
Just beyond the fireplace was an archway, in part natural and in part the work of human hands. The front of the archway was closed off with several horizontal poles.
Feldegast pointed at it. “There be the stable fer the horses, an' also a small spring at the back of it. 'Tis altogether the finest smugglers' cave in this part of Mallorea.”
“A cunning sort of place,” Belgarath agreed, looking around.
“What do they smuggle through here?” Silk asked with a certain professional curiosity.
“Gem stones fer the most part. There be rich deposits in the cliffs of Katakor, an' quite often whole gravel bars of the shiny little darlin's lyin' in the streams t' be had fer the trouble it takes t' pick 'em up. The local taxes be notorious cruel, though, so the bold lads in this part of these mountains have come up with various ways t' take their goods across the border without disturbin' the sleep of the hardworkin' tax collectors.”
Polgara was inspecting the fireplace. There were several iron pothooks protruding from its inside walls and a large iron grill sitting on stout legs to one side. “Very nice,” she murmured approvingly. “Is there adequate firewood?”
“
More than enough, me dear lady,” the juggler replied. “Tis stacked in the stable, along with fodder fer the horses.”
“Well, then,” she said, removing her blue cloak and laying it across one of the bunks, “I think I might be able to expand the menu I'd planned for this evening's meal. As long as we have such complete facilities here, it seems a shame to waste them. I'll need more firewood stacked here -and water, of course.” She went to the packhorse that carried her cooking utensils and her stores, humming softly to herself.
Durnik, Toth, and Eriond led the horses into the stable and began to unsaddle them. Garion, who had left his lance outside, went to one of the bunks, removed his helmet and laid it, along with his shield, under the bunk, and then he began to struggle out of his mail shirt.
Ce'Nedra came over to assist him..
“You were magnificent today, dear,” she told him warmly.
He grunted noncommittally, leaning forward and extending his arms over his head so that she could pull the shirt off.
She tugged hard, and the mail shirt came free all at once. Thrown off balance by the weight, she sat down heavily on the sandy floor with the shirt in her lap.
Garion laughed and quickly went to her. “Oh, Ce'Nedra,” he said, still laughing, “I do love you.” He kissed her and then helped her to her feet.
“This is terribly heavy, isn't it?” she said, straining to lift the steel-link shirt.
“You noticed,” he said, rubbing at one aching shoulder. “And here you thought I was just having fun.”
“Be nice, dear. Do you want me to hang it up for you?” He shrugged. “Just kick it under the bunk.”
Her look was disapproving.
“I don't think it's going to wrinkle, Ce'Nedra.”
“But it's untidy to do it that way, dear.” She made some effort to fold the thing, then gave up, rolled it in a ball, and pushed it far back under the bunk with her foot.
Supper that evening consisted of thick steaks cut from a ham Vella had provided them, a rich soup so thick that it hovered on the very edge of stew, large slabs of bread that had been warmed before the fire, and baked apples with honey and cinnamon.
After they had eaten, Polgara rose and looked around the cave again. “The ladies and I are going to need a bit of privacy now,” she said, “and several basins of hot water.”
Belgarath sighed. “Again, Pol?” he said.
“Yes, father. It's time to clean up and change clothes -for all of us.” She pointedly sniffed at the air in the small cave. “It's definitely time,” she added.
They curtained off a portion of the cave to give Polgara, Ce'Nedra, and Velvet the privacy they required and began heating water over the fire.
Though at first reluctant even to move, Garion had to admit that after he had washed up and changed into clean, dry clothes, he did feel much better. He sat back on one of the bunks beside Ce'Nedra, not even particularly objecting to the damp smell of her hair. He had that comfortable sense of being clean, well fed, and warm after a day spent out of doors in bad weather. He was, in fact, right on the edge of dozing off when there echoed up the narrow ravine outside a vast bellow that seemed to be part animal and part human, a cry so dreadful that it chilled his blood and made the hair rise on the back of his neck.
“What's that?” Ce'Nedra exclaimed in fright.
“Hush now, girl,” Feldegast warned softly. He jumped to his feet and quickly secured a piece of canvas across the opening of the fireplace, plunging the cave into near-darkness.
Another soulless bellow echoed up the ravine. The sound seemed filled with a dreadful malevolence.
“Can we put a name to whatever it is?” Sadi asked in a quiet voice.
“It's nothing I've ever heard before,” Durnik assured him.
“I think I have,” Belgarath said bleakly. “When I was in Morindland, there was a magician up there who thought it was amusing to turn his demon out at night to hunt. It made a sound like that.”
“What an unsavory practice,” the eunuch murmured. “What do demons eat?”
“You really wouldn't want to know,” Silk replied. He turned to Belgarath. “Would you care to hazard a guess how big that thing might be?”
“lt varies. From the amount of noise it's making, though, I'd say that it's fairly large.”
“Then it wouldn't be able to get into this cave, would it?”
“That's a gamble I think I'd rather not take.”
“It can sniff out our tracks, I assume?”
The old man nodded.
“Things are definitely going to pieces here, Belgarath.
Can you do anything at all to drive it off?” The little man turned to Polgara. “Or perhaps you, Polgara. You dealt with the demon Chabat raised back in the harbor at Rak Urga.”
“I had help, Silk,” she reminded him. “Aldur came to my aid.”
Belgarath began to pace up and down, scowling at the floor.
“Well?” Silk pressed.
“Don't rush me,” the old man growled. “I might be able to do something,” he said grudgingly, “but if I do, it's going to make so much noise that every Grolim in Katakor is going to hear it -and probably Zandramas as well. We'll have the Chandim or her Grolims hot on our heels all the way to Ashaba.”
“Why not use the Orb?” Eriond suggested, looking up from the bridle he was repairing.
“Because the Orb makes even more noise than I do. If Garion uses the Orb to chase off a demon, they're going to hear it in Gandahar all the way on the other side of the continent.”
“But it would work, wouldn't it?”
Belgarath looked at Polgara.
“I think he's right, father,” she said. “A demon would flee from the Orb -even if it were fettered by its master. An unfettered demon would flee even faster.”
“Can you think of anything else?” he asked her.
“A God,” she shrugged. “All demons -no matter how powerful- flee from the Gods. Do you happen to know any Gods?”
“A few,” he replied, “but they're busy right now.”
Another shattering bellow resounded through the mountains. It seemed to come from right outside the cave.
“It's time for some kind of decision, old man,” Silk said urgently.
“It's the noise the Orb makes that bothers you?” Eriond asked.
“That and the light. That blue beacon that lights up every time Garion draws the sword attracts a lot of attention, you know.”
“You aren't all suggesting that I fight a demon, are you?” Garion demanded indignantly.
“Of course not,” Belgarath snorted. “Nobody fights a demon -nobody can. All we're discussing is the possibility of driving it off.” He began to pace up and down again, scuffing his feet in the sand. “I hate to announce our presence here,” he muttered.
Outside, the demon bellowed again, and the huge granite slab partially covering the cave mouth began to grate back and forth as if some huge force were rocking it to try to move it aside.
“Our options are running out, Belgarath,” Silk told him. “And so is our time. If you don't do something quickly, that thing's going to be in here with us.”
“Try not to pinpoint our location to the Grolims,” Belgarath said to Garion.
“You really want me to go out there and do it?”
“Of course I do. Silk was right. Time's run out on us.”
Garion went to his bunk and fished his mail shirt out from under it.
“You won't need that. It wouldn't do any good anyway.”
Garion reached over his shoulder and, drew his great sword. He set its point in the sand and peeled the soft leather sheath from its hilt. “I think this is a mistake,” he declared. Then he reached out and put his hand on the Orb.
“Let me, Garion,” Eriond said. He rose, came over, and covered Garion's hand with his own. Garion gave him a startled look.
“It knows me, remember?” the young man explained, “and I've got a sort of an idea.”
A peculiar tingling sensation ran through Garion's hand and arm, and he became aware that Eriond was communing with the Orb in a manner even more direct than he himself was capable of. It was is if during the months that the boy had been the bearer of the Orb, the stone had in some peculiar way taught him its own language.
There was a dreadful scratching coming from the mouth of the cave, as if huge talons were clawing at the stone slab.
“Be careful out there,” Belgarath cautioned. “Don't take any chances. Just hold up the sword so that it can see it. The Orb should do the rest.”
Garion sighed. “All right,” he said, moving toward the cave mouth with Eriond directly behind him.
“Where are you going?” Polgara asked the blond young man.
“With Belgarion,” Eriond replied. “We both need to talk with the Orb to get this right. I'll explain it later, Polgara.”
The slab at the cave mouth was rocking back and forth again. Garion ducked quickly out from behind it and ran several yards up the ravine with Eriond on his heels.
Then he turned and held up the sword.
“Not yet,” Eriond warned. “It hasn't seen us.”
There was an overpoweringly foul odor in the ravine, and then, as Garion's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, he saw the demon outlined against the clouds rolling overhead. It was enormous, its shoulders blotting out half the sky. It had long, pointed ears like those of a vast cat, and its dreadful eyes burned with a green fire that cast a fitful glow across the floor of the ravine.
It bellowed and reached toward Garion and Eriond with a great, scaly claw.
“Now, Belgarion,” Eriond said quite calmly.
Garion lifted his arms, holding his sword directly in front of him with its point aimed at the sky, and then he released the curbs he had placed on the Orb.
He was not in the least prepared for what happened. A huge noise shook the earth and echoed off nearby mountains, causing giant trees miles away to tremble.
Not only did the great blade take fire, but the entire sky suddenly shimmered an intense sapphire blue as if it had been ignited. Blue flame shot from horizon to horizon, and the vast sound continued to shake the earth.
The demon froze, its vast, tooth-studded muzzle turned upward to the blazing blue sky in terror. Grimly, Garion advanced on the thing, still holding his burning sword before him. The beast flinched back from him, trying to shield its face from the intense blue light. It screamed as if suddenly gripped by an intolerable agony. It stumbled back, falling and scrambling to its feet again. Then it took one more look at the blazing sky, turned, and fled howling back down the ravine with a peculiar loping motion as all four of its claws tore at the earth.
“That is your idea of quiet?” Belgarath thundered from the cave mouth. “And what's all that?” He pointed a trembling finger at the still-illuminated sky.
“It's really all right, Belgarath,” Eriond told the infuriated old man. “You didn't want the sound to lead the Grolims to us, so we just made it general through the whole region. Nobody could have pinpointed its source.”
Belgarath blinked. Then he frowned for a moment.
“What about all the light?” he asked in a more mollified tone of voice.
“It's more or less the same with that,” Eriond explained calmly. “If you've got a single blue fire in the mountains on a dark night, everybody can see it. If the whole sky catches on fire, though, nobody can really tell where it's coming from.”
“It does sort of make sense, Grandfather,” Garion said.
“Are they all right, father?” Polgara asked from behind the old man.
“What could possibly have hurt them? Garion can level mountains with that sword of his. He very nearly did, as a matter of fact. The whole Karandese range rang like a bell.” He looked up at the still-flickering sky. “Can you turn that off!” he asked.
“Oh,” Garion said. He reversed his sword and re-sheathed it in the scabbard strapped across his back. The fire in the sky died.
“We really had to do it that way, Belgarath,” Eriond continued. “We needed the light and the sound to frighten off the demon and we had to do it in such a way the Grolims couldn't follow it, so-“ He spread both hands and shrugged.
“Did you know about this?” Belgarath asked Garion.
“Of course, Grandfather,” Garion lied.
Belgarath grunted. “ All right. Come back inside,” he said.
Garion bent slightly toward Eriond's ear. “Why didn't you tell me what we were going to do?” he whispered.
“There wasn't really time, Belgarion.”
“The next time we do something like that, take time. I almost dropped the sword when the ground started shaking under me.”
“That wouldn't have been a good idea at all.”
“I know.”
A fair number of rocks had been shaken from the ceiling of the cave and lay on the sandy floor. Dust hung thickly in the air.
“What happened out there?” Silk demanded in a shaky voice.
“Oh, not much,” Garion replied in a deliberately casual voice. “We just chased it away, that's all.”
“There wasn't really any help for it, I guess,” Belgarath said, “but just about everybody in Katakor knows that something's moving around in these mountains, so we're going to have to start being very careful.”
“How much farther is it to Ashaba?” Sadi asked him.
“About a day's ride.”
“Will we make it in time?”
“Only just. Let's all get some sleep.”
Garion had the same dream again that night. He was not really sure that it was a dream, since dreaming usually involved sight as well as sound, but all there was to this one was that persistent, despairing wail and the sense of horror with which it filled him. He sat up on his bunk, trembling and sweat-covered. After a time, he drew his blanket about his shoulders, clasped his arms about his knees, and stared at the ruddy coals in the fireplace until he dozed off again.
It was still cloudy the following morning, and they rode cautiously back down the ravine to the rutted track leading up into the foothills of the mountains. Silk and Feldegast ranged out in front of them as scouts to give them warning should any dangers arise.
After they had ridden a league or so, the pair came back down the narrow road. Their faces were sober, and they motioned for silence.
“There's a group of Karands camped around the road up ahead,” Silk reported in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper.
“An ambush?” Sadi asked him.
“No,” Feldegast replied in a low voice. “They're asleep fer the most part. From the look of things, I'd say that they spent the night in some sort of religious observance, an' so they're probably exhausted -or still drunk.”
“Can we get around them?” Belgarath asked.
“It shouldn't be too much trouble,” Silk replied. “We can just go off into the trees and circle around until we're past the spot where they're sleeping.”
The old man nodded. “Lead the way,” he said.
They left the road and angled off into the timber, moving at a cautious walk.
“What sort of ceremony were they holding?” Durnik asked quietly.
Silk shrugged. “It looked pretty obscure,” Silk told him. “They've got an altar set up with skulls on posts along the back of it. There seems to have been quite a bit of drinking going on -as well as some other things.”
“What sort of things?”
Silk's face grew slightly pained. “They have women with them,” he answered disgustedly.” There's some evidence that things got a bit indiscriminate.”
Durnik's cheeks suddenly turned bright red.
“Aren't you exaggerating a bit, Kheldar?” Velvet asked him.
“No, not really. Some of them were still celebrating.”
“A bit more important than quaint local religious customs, though,” Feldegast added, still speaking quietly, “be the peculiar pets the Karands was keepin'.”
“Pets?” Belgarath asked.
“Perhaps 'tis not the right word, Ancient One, but sittin' round the edges of the camp was a fair number of the Hounds -an' they was makin' no move t' devour the celebrants.”
Belgarath looked at him sharply. “Are you sure?”
“I've seen enough of the Hounds of Torak t' recognize 'em when I see 'em.”
“So there is some kind of an alliance between Mengha and Urvon,” the old man said.
“Yer wisdom is altogether a marvel, old man. It must be a delight beyond human imagination t' have the benefit of ten thousand years experience t' guide ye in comin' t' such conclusions.”
“Seven thousand,” Belgarath corrected.
“ Seven- ten- what matter?”
“ Seven thousand,” Belgarath repeated with a slightly offended expression.