"Just show me," Relg insisted.
Yarblek shrugged. "We're here on the north side." He roughed in the fair and the caravan route. "The supply station is here." He pointed with his dagger. "The pit's just beyond it at the base of that big hill on the south side."
"What kind of walls does it have?"
"Solid stone."
"Is it a natural fissure in the rock, or has it been dug out?"
"What difference does it make?"
"I need to know."
"I didn't see any tool marks," Yarblek replied, "and the opening at the top is irregular. It's probably just a natural hole."
Relg nodded. "And the hill behind it - is it rock or dirt?"
"Mostly rock. All of stinking Cthol Murgos is mostly rock."
Relg stood up. "Thank you," he said politely.
"You're not going to be able to tunnel through to him, if that's what you're thinking," Yarblek said, also standing and brushing the sand off the skirts of his overcoat. "You don't have time."
Belgarath's eyes were narrowed with thought. "Thanks, Yarblek," he said. "You've been a good friend."
"Anything to irritate the Murgos," the Nadrak said. "I wish I could do something for Silk."
"Don't give up on him yet."
"There isn't much hope, I'm afraid. I'd better be going. My people will wander off if I'm not there to watch them."
"Yarblek," Barak said, holding out his hand, "someday we'll have to get together and finish getting drunk."
Yarblek grinned at him and shook his hand. Then he turned and caught Aunt Pol in a rough embrace. "If you ever get bored with these Alorns, girl, my tent flap is always open to you."
"I'll keep that in mind, Yarblek," she replied demurely.
"Luck," Yarblek told them. "I'll wait for you until midnight." Then he turned and strode off down the gully.
"That's a good man there," Barak said. "I think I could actually get to like him."
"We must make plans for Prince Kheldar's rescue," Mandorallen declared, beginning to take his armor out of the packs strapped to one of the horses. "All else failing, we must of necessity resort to main force."
"You're backsliding again, Mandorallen," Barak said.
"That's already been taken care of," Belgarath told them.
Barak and Mandorallen stared at him.
"Put your armor away, Mandorallen," the old man instructed the knight. "You're not going to need it."
"Who's going to get Silk out of there?" Barak demanded.
"I am," Relg answered quietly. "How much longer is it going to be before it gets dark?"
"About an hour. Why?"
"I'll need some time to prepare myself."
"Have you got a plan?" Durnik asked.
Relg shrugged. "There isn't any need. We'll just circle around until we're behind that hill on the other side of the encampment. I'll go get our friend, and then we can leave."
"Just like that?" Barak asked.
"More or less. Please excuse me." Relg started to turn away.
"Wait a minute. Shouldn't Mandorallen and I go with you?"
"You wouldn't be able to follow me," Relg told him. He walked up the gully a short distance. After a moment, they could hear him muttering his prayers.
"Does he think he can pray him out of that pit?" Barak sounded disgusted.
"No," Belgarath replied. "He's going to go through the hill and carry Silk back out. That's why he was asking Yarblek all those questions."
"He's going to what?"
"You saw what he did at Prolgu - when he stuck his arm into the wall?"
"Well, yes, but "
"It's quite easy for him, Barak."
"What about Silk? How's he going to pull him through the rock?"
"I don't really know. He seems quite sure he can do it, though."
"If it doesn't work, Taur Urgas is going to have Silk roasting over a slow fire first thing tomorrow morning. You know that, don't you?"
Belgarath nodded somberly.
Barak shook his head. "It's unnatural," he grumbled.
"Don't let it upset you so much," Belgarath advised.
The light began to fade, and Relg continued to pray, his voice rising and falling in formal cadences. When it was fully dark, he came back to where the others waited. "I'm ready," he said quietly. "We can leave now."
"We'll circle to the west," Belgarath told them. "We'll lead the horses and stay under cover as much as we can."
"It will take us a couple hours," Durnik said.
"That's all right. It will give the soldiers time to settle down. Pol, see what the Grolims Garion saw are up to."
She nodded, and Garion felt the gentle push of her probing mind. "It's all right, father," she stated after a few moments. "They're preoccupied. Taur Urgas has them conducting services for him."
"Let's go, then," the old man said.
They moved carefully down the gully, leading the horses. The night was murky, and the wind bit at them as they came out from between the protecting gravel banks. The plain to the east of the fair was dotted with a hundred fires whipping in the wind and marking the vast encampment of the army of Taur Urgas.
Relg grunted and covered his eyes with his hands.
"What's wrong?" Garion asked him.
"Their fires," Relg said. "They stab at my eyes."
"Try not to look at them."
"My God has laid a hard burden on me, Belgarion." Relg sniffed and wiped at his nose with his sleeve. "I'm not meant to be out in the open like this."
"You'd better have Aunt Pol give you something for that cold. It will taste awful, but you'll feel better after you drink it."
"Perhaps," Relg said, still shielding his eyes from the dim flicker of the Murgo watch fires.
The hill on the south side of the fair was a low outcropping of granite. Although eons of constant wind had covered it for the most part with a thick layer of blown sand and dirt, the rock itself lay solid beneath its covering mantle. They stopped behind it, and Relg began carefully to brush the dirt from a sloping granite face.
"Wouldn't it be closer if you started over there?" Barak asked quietly.
"Too much dirt," Relg replied.
"Dirt or rock - what's the difference?"
"A great difference. You wouldn't understand." He leaned forward and put his tongue to the granite face, seeming actually to taste the rock. "This is going to take a while," he said. He drew himself up, began to pray, and slowly pushed himself directly into the rock.
Barak shuddered and quickly averted his eyes.
"What ails thee, my Lord?" Mandorallen asked.
"It makes me cold all over just watching that," Barak replied.
"Our new friend is perhaps not the best of companions," Mandorallen said, "but if his gift succeeds in freeing Prince Kheldar, I will embrace him gladly and call him brother."
"If it takes him very long, we're going to be awfully close to this spot when morning comes and Taur Urgas finds out that Silk's gone," Barak mentioned.
"We'll just have to wait and see what happens," Belgarath told him. The night dragged by interminably. The wind moaned and whistled around the rocks on the flanks of the stony hill, and the sparse thornbushes rustled stiffly. They waited. A growing fear oppressed Garion as the hours passed. More and more, he became convinced that they had lost Relg as well as Silk. He felt that same sick emptiness he had felt when it had been necessary to leave the wounded Lelldorin behind back in Arendia. He realized, feeling a bit guilty about it, that he hadn't thought about Lelldorin in months. He began to wonder how well the young hothead had recovered from his wound - or even if he had recovered. His thoughts grew bleaker as the minutes crawled.
Then, with no warning - with not even a sound - Relg stepped out of the rock face he had entered hours before. Astride his broad back and clinging desperately to him was Silk. The rat-faced little man's eyes were wide with horror, and his hair seemed to be actually standing on end.
They all crowded around the
two, trying to keep their jubilation quiet, conscious of the fact that they were virtually on top of an army of Murgos.
"I'm sorry it took so long," Relg said, jerking his shoulders uncomfortably until Silk finally slid off his back. "There's a different kind of rock in the middle of the hill. I had to make certain adjustments."
Silk stood, gasping and shuddering uncontrollably. Finally he turned on Relg. "Don't ever do that to me again," he blurted. "Not ever."
"What's the trouble?" Barak asked.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I had feared we had lost thee, my friend," Mandorallen said, grasping Silk's hand.
"How did Brill catch you?" Barak asked.
"I was careless. I didn't expect him to be here. His men threw a net over me as I was galloping through a ravine. My horse fell and broke his neck."
"Hettar's not going to like that."
"I'll cut the price of the horse out of Brill's skin - someplace close to the bone, I think."
"Why does Taur Urgas hate you so much?" Barak asked curiously.
"I was in Rak Goska a few years ago. A Tolnedran agent made a few false charges against me - I never found out exactly why. Taur Urgas sent some soldiers out to arrest me. I didn't particularly feel like being arrested, so I argued with the soldiers a bit. Several of them died during the argument - those things happen once in a while. Unfortunately, one of the casualties was Taur Urgas' oldest son. The king of the Murgos took it personally. He's very narrow-minded sometimes."
Barak grinned. "He'll be terribly disappointed in the morning when he finds out that you've left."
"I know," Silk replied. "He'll probably take this part of Cthol Murgos apart stone by stone trying to find me."
"I think it's time we left," Belgarath agreed.
"I thought you'd never get around to that," Silk said.
Chapter Twenty-three
THEY RODE HARD through the rest of the night and for most of the following day. By evening their horses were stumbling with exhaustion, and Garion was as numb with weariness as with the biting cold.
"We'll have to find shelter of some kind," Durnik said as they reined in to look for a place to spend the night. They had moved up out of the series of connecting valleys through which the South Caravan Route wound and had entered the ragged, barren wilderness of the mountains of central Cthol Murgos. It had grown steadily colder as they had climbed into that vast jumble of rock and sand, and the endless wind moaned among the treeless crags. Durnik's face was creased with fatigue, and the gritty dust that drove before the wind had settled into the creases, etching them deeper. "We can't spend the night in the open," he declared. "Not with this wind."
"Go that way," Relg said, pointing toward a rockfall on the steep slope they were climbing. His eyes were squinted almost shut, though the sky was still overcast and the fading daylight was pale. "There's shelter there - a cave."
They had all begun to look at Relg in a somewhat different light since his rescue of Silk. His demonstration that he could, when necessary, take decisive action made him seem less an encumbrance and more like a companion. Belgarath had finally convinced him that he could pray on horseback just as well as he could on his knees, and his frequent devotions no longer interrupted their journey. His praying thus had become less an inconvenience and more a personal idiosyncrasy - somewhat like Mandorallen's archaic speech or Silk's sardonic witticisms.
"You're sure there's a cave?" Barak asked him.
Relg nodded. "I can feel it."
They turned and rode toward the rockfall. As they drew closer, Relg's eagerness became more obvious. He pushed his horse into the lead and nudged the tired beast into a trot, then a canter. At the edge of the rockslide, he swung down from his horse, stepped behind a large boulder, and disappeared.
"It looks as if he knew what he was talking about," Durnik observed. "I'll be glad to get out of this wind."
The opening to the cave was narrow, and it took some pushing and dragging to persuade the horses to squeeze through; but once they were inside, the cave widened out into a large, low-ceilinged chamber.
Durnik looked around with approval. "Good place." He unfastened his axe from the back of his saddle. "We'll need firewood."
"I'll help you," Garion said.
"I'll go, too," Silk offered quickly. The little man was looking around at the stone walls and ceiling nervously, and he seemed obviously relieved as soon as the three of them were back outside.
"What's wrong?" Durnik asked him.
"After last night, closed-in places make me a little edgy," Silk replied.
"What was it like?" Garion asked him curiously. "Going through stone, I mean?"
Silk shuddered. "It was hideous. We actually seeped into the rock. I could feel it sliding through me."
"It got you out, though," Durnik reminded him.
"I think I'd almost rather have stayed," Silk shuddered again. "Do we have to talk about it?"
Firewood was difficult to find on that barren mountainside and even more difficult to cut. The tough, springy thornbushes resisted the blows of Durnik's axe tenaciously. After an hour, as darkness began to close in on them, they had gathered only three very scanty armloads.
"Did you see anybody?" Barak asked as they reentered the cave.
"No," Silk replied.
"Taur Urgas is probably looking for you."
"I'm sure of it." Silk looked around. "Where's Relg?"
"He went back into the cave to rest his eyes," Belgarath told him. "He found water - ice actually. We'll have to thaw it before we can water the horses."
Durnik's fire was tiny, and he fed it with twigs and small bits of wood, trying to conserve their meager fuel supply. It proved to be an uncomfortable night.
In the morning Aunt Pol looked critically at Relg. "You don't seem to be coughing any more," she told him. "How do you feel?"
"I'm fine," he replied, being careful not to look directly at her. The fact that she was a woman seemed to make him terribly uncomfortable, and he tried to avoid her as much as possible.
"What happened to that cold you had?"
"I don't think it could go through the rock. It was gone when I brought him out of the hillside last night."
She looked at him gravely. "I'd never thought of that," she mused. "No one's ever been able to cure a cold before."
"A cold isn't really that serious a thing, Polgara," Silk told her with a pained look. "I'll guarantee you that sliding through rock is never going to be a popular cure."
It took them four days to cross the mountains to reach the vast basin Belgarath referred to as the Wasteland of Murgos and another half day to make their way down the steep basalt face to the black sand of the floor.
"What hath caused this huge depression?" Mandorallen asked, looking around at the barren expanse of scab-rock, black sand and dirty gray salt flats.
"There was an inland sea here once," Belgarath replied. "When Torak cracked the world, the upheaval broke away the eastern edge and all the water drained out."
"That must have been something to see," Barak said.
"We had other things on our minds just then."
"What's that?" Garion asked in alarm, pointing at something sticking out of the sand just ahead of them. The thing had a huge head with a long, sharp-toothed snout. Its eye sockets, as big as buckets, seemed to stare balefully at them.
"I don't think it has a name," Belgarath answered calmly. "They Iived in the sea before the water escaped. They've all been dead now for thousands of years."
As they passed the dead sea monster, Garion could see that it was only a skeleton. Its ribs were as big as the rafters of a barn, and its vast, bleached skull larger than a horse. The vacant eye sockets watched them as they rode past.
Mandorallen, dressed once again in full armor, stared at the skull. "A fearsome beast," he murmured.
"Look at the size of the teeth," Barak said in an awed voice. "It could bite a man in two with one snap."
"T
hat happened a few times," Belgarath told him, "until people learned to avoid this place."
They had moved only a few leagues out into the wasteland when the wind picked up, scouring along the black dunes under the slate-gray sky. The sand began to shift and move and then, as the wind grew even stronger, it began to whip off the tops of the dunes, stinging their faces.
"We'd better take shelter," Belgarath shouted over the shrieking wind. "This sandstorm's going to get worse as we move out farther from the mountains."
"Are there any caves around?" Durnik asked Relg.
Relg shook his head. "None that we can use. They're all filled with sand."
"Over there." Barak pointed at a pile of scab-rock rising from the edge of a salt flat. "If we go to the leeward side, it will keep the wind off us."
"No," Belgarath shouted. "We have to stay to the windward. The sand will pile up at the back. We could be buried alive."
They reached the rock pile and dismounted. The wind tore at their clothing, and the sand billowed across the wasteland like a vast, black cloud.
"This is poor shelter, Belgarath," Barak roared, his beard whipping about his shoulders. "How long is this likely to last?"
"A day - two days - sometimes as long as a week."
Durnik had bent to pick up a piece of broken scab-rock. He looked at it carefully, turning it over in his hands. "It's fractured into square pieces," he said, holding it up. "It will stack well. We can build a wall to shelter us."
"That will take quite a while," Barak objected.
"Did you have something else to do?"
By evening they had the wall up to shoulder height, and by anchoring the tents to the top of it and higher up on the side of the rock-pile, they were able to get in out of the worst of the wind. It was crowded, since they had to shelter the horses as well, but at least it was out of the storm.
They huddled in their cramped shelter for two days with the wind shrieking insanely around them and the taut tent canvas drumming overhead. Then, when the wind finally blew itself out and the black sand began to settle slowly, the silence seemed almost oppressive.
As they emerged, Relg glanced up once, then covered his face and sank to his knees, praying desperately. The clearing sky overhead was a bright, chilly blue. Garion moved over to stand beside the praying fanatic. "It will be all right, Relg," he told him. He reached out his hand without thinking.
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