Guardians of the West

"Will that give Garion time enough to get into position?" King Fulrach asked.

"It should be plenty of time, your Majesty," Brendig assured him. "Lord Barak says that once we get to the top, the terrain is fairly flat."

"There are trees, too," Barak told them. "That should give us plenty of concealment."

"How much open space are we going to have to charge across when we attack the city?" Garion asked.

"Oh, maybe five hundred yards," Barak replied.

"That's quite a ways."

"It's about as far as I want to run."

Evening settled slowly over the calm waters of the inlet, purpling the sheer cliffs rising on either side. Garion used the last bit of light carefully to examine every inch of the steep slope which he and his men would be climbing in just a few hours. A flicker of movement just overhead caught his eye, and he looked up in time to see a ghostly white shape sliding silently through the calm, purple air. A single soft white feather slowly sifted down to settle on the deck not far away. Gravely, Hettar went over and picked it up.

A moment or two later, Aunt Pol, wrapped in her blue cloak, came down the deck and joined them. "You're going to have to be very careful when you approach the shipyards," she told Anheg, who stood nearby with Brendig. "They've moved catapults down to the beaches to try to bold you off."

"I expected that," he replied with an indifferent shrug.

"You'd better pay attention to her, Anheg," Barak said in a threatening tone, "because if you get my ship sunk, I'll pull out your beard one whisker at a time."

"What a novel way to address one's king," Silk murmured to Javelin.

"How heavily is the rear of the city defended?" Garion asked Polgara.

"The walls are high," she answered, "and the gate looks impressive. There aren't very many men there, though."

"Good."

Hettar silently handed her the feather.

"Why, thank you," she said to him. "I would have missed that."

The slope of the hill leading to the rolling plateau high above was even steeper than Garion's examination from the deck of the Seabird had led him to believe. Clumps of broken rock, almost invisible in the midnight darkness, rolled treacherously underfoot, and the stiff limbs of the scrubby bushes that choked the hillside seemed almost to push deliberately at his face and chest as he struggled upward. His mail shirt was heavy, and he was soon dripping with sweat.

"Rough going," Hettar observed laconically.

A pale sliver of a moon had risen when they finally crested that brutal slope. As they reached the top, they found that the plateau above was covered with a dense forest of fir and spruce trees.

"This might take us a little longer than I'd thought," Barak muttered, eyeing the thick undergrowth.

Garion paused to get his breath. "Let's stop for a moment," he told his friends. He stared glumly at the forest barring their way. "If all of us start crashing through that, we're going to alert the catapultists along the top of the cliff," he said. "I think we'd better send out some scouts to see if we can find a path or a track of some kind."

"Give me a while," Silk told him.

"You'd better take some men with you."

"They'd just slow me down. I'll be back before long." The little man vanished into the trees.

"He never changes, does he?" Hettar murmured.

Barak laughed shortly. "Did you really think he would?"

"How long thinkest thou it will be until dawn, my Lord?", Mandorallen asked the big Cherek.

"Two- maybe three hours," Barak replied. "That hill took a long time."

Lelldorin, his bow slung across his back, joined them at the edge of the dark wood. "General Brendig's started up," he told them.

"I wonder how he's going to manage that climb with only one arm," Barak said.

"I don't think you need to worry too much about Brendig," Hettar replied. "He usually does what he sets out to do."

"He's a good man," Barak agreed.

They waited in the warm summer darkness as the moon slowly climbed the eastern sky. From far below Garion could heard the calls of Anheg's men and the rasp of windlasses as the sailors strove to make enough noise to cover any inadvertent sounds Brendig's men might make as they struggled up the brushy slope. Finally Silk returned, appearing soundlessly out of the bushes. "There's a road about a quarter of a mile south of here," he reported quietly. "lt seems to go toward Jarviksholm."

"Excellent," Mandorallen said gaily. "Let us proceed, my Lords. The city doth await our coming."

"I hope not," Garion said. "The whole idea is to surprise them."

The narrow road SiIk had found proved to be a woodcutter's track and it meandered in a more or less easterly direction, leading them inland. Behind him Garion could hear the jingle of mail shirts and the steady, shuffling tread of his soldiers as they moved through the tag end of night in the deep shadows of the surrounding forest. There was a sense of inexorable purpose involved in this -leading a mass of faceless men through the darkness. A tense excitement had been building in him since they had left the ships. His impatience to begin the attack was so strong now that it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking into a run.

They reached a large cleared area. At the far side of that open field, the white ribbon of a well-traveled highway cut due north across the moonlit pasture-land.

"That's the Halberg road," Barak told them. "We're almost there."

"I'd better see how Brendig's doing," Garion said. He carefully reached out, skirting the thoughts of the troops massed at his back and seeking the familiar touch of Durnik's mind. "Durnik," he said silently, "can you hear me?"

"Garion?" the smith's thought came back.

"Right," Garion replied. "Have you captured the catapults yet?"

"We've still got a dozen or so to take. Brendig's moving slowly to keep down unnecessary noise."

"Will you have them all by the time it starts getting light?"

"I'm sure we will."

"Good. Let me know when you capture the last one."

"I will."

"How are they doing?" Lelldorin asked. The young bowman's voice was tight with excitement.

"They'll be ready when it's time," Garion replied.

"What thinkest thou, my Lord?" Mandorallen asked Barak. "Might it not be the proper moment to select some few stout trees to serve as rams to reduce the city gates?"