spellsinger universe queen of sorcery 20

The horses screamed and reared, trying to bolt. Garion clung to his saddle with one hand and fought the reins with the other.

Barak beat at his horse's rump with the flat of his sword and kicked

savagely at the animal's flanks until the horse, finally more afraid of

him than the Algroths, charged. With two great sweeps, one to either

side, Barak killed two of the beasts as he plunged through. A third,

claws outstretched, tried to leap on his back, but stiffened and

collapsed facedown in the mud with one of Lelldorin's arrows between its

shoulders. Barak wheeled his horse and chopped at the three remaining

creatures. "Let's go!" he bellowed.

Garion heard Lelldorin gasp and turned quickly. With sick horror he

saw that a lone Algroth had crept out of the woods beside the road and

was clawing at his friend, trying to hook him out of the saddle. Weakly,

Lelldorin beat at the goat face with his bow. Garion desperately drew

his sword, but Hettar, coming from behind, was already there. His curved

sabre ran through the beast's body, and the Algroth shrieked and fell

writhing to the ground beneath the pounding hoofs of the pack animals.

The horses, running now in sheer panic, scrambled toward the slope of

the boulder-strewn tor. Garion glanced back over his shoulder and saw

Lelldorin swaying dangerously in his saddle, his hand pressed to his

bleeding side. Garion pulled in savagely on his reins and turned his

horse.

"Save yourself, Garion!" Lelldorin shouted, his face deadly pale.

"No!" Garion sheathed his sword, pulled in beside his friend and took

his arm, steadying him in the saddle. Together they galloped toward the

tor with Garion straining to hold the injured young man.

The tor was a great jumble of earth and stone thrusting up above the

tallest trees around it. Their horses scrambled and clattered up the

side among the wet boulders. When they reached the small flat area at

the top of the tor where the pack animals huddled together, trembling in

the rain, Garion slid out of his saddle in time to catch Lelldorin, who

toppled slowly to one side.

"Over here," Aunt Pol called sharply. She was pulling her small

bundle of herbs and bandages out of one of the packs. "Durnik, I'll need

a fire - at once."

Durnik looked around helplessly at the few scraps of wood lying in

the rain at the top of the tor. "I'll try," he said doubtfully.

Lelldorin's breathing was shallow and very fast. His face was still a

deadly white, and his legs would not hold him. Garion held him up, a

sick fear in the pit of his stomach. Hettar took the wounded man's other

arm, and between them they half carried him to where Aunt Pol knelt,

opening her bundle.

"I have to get the poison out immediately," she told them. "Garion, give me your knife."

Garion drew his dagger and handed it to her. Swiftly she ripped open

Lelldorin's brown tunic along his side, revealing the savage wounds the

Algroth's claws had made.

"This will hurt," she said. "Hold him."

Garion and Hettar took hold of Lelldorin's arms and legs, holding him down.

Aunt Pol took a deep breath and then deftly sliced open each of the

puffy wounds. Blood spurted and Lelldorin screamed once. Then he

fainted.

"Hettar!" Barak shouted from atop a boulder near the edge of the slope. "We need you!"

"Go!" Aunt Pol told the hawk-faced Algar. "We can handle this now.

Garion, you stay here." She was crushing some dried leaves and

sprinkling the fragments into the bleeding wounds. "The fire, Durnik,"

she ordered.

"It won't start, Mistress Pol," Durnik replied helplessly. "It's too wet."

She looked quickly at the pile of sodden wood the smith had gathered.

Her eyes narrowed, and she made a quick gesture. Garion's ears rang

strangely and there was a sudden hissing. A cloud of steam burst from

the wood, and then crackling flames curled up from the sticks. Durnik

jumped back, startled.

"The small pot, Garion," Aunt Pol instructed, "and water. Quickly."

She pulled ofl' her blue cloak and covered Lelldorin with it.

Silk, Barak and Hettar stood at the edge of the slope, heaving large

rocks over the edge. Garion could hear the clatter and clash of the

rocks striking the boulders below and the barking of the Algroths,

punctuated by an occasional howl of pain.

He cradled his friend's head in his lap, terribly afraid. "Is he going to be all right?" he appealed to Aunt Pol.

"It's too early to tell," she answered. "Don't bother me with questions just now."

"They're running!" Barak shouted.

"They're still hungry," Wolf replied grimly. "They'll be back."

From far off in the forest there came the sound of a brassy horn.

"What's that?" Silk asked, still puffing from the effort of heaving the heavy stones over the edge.

"Someone I've been expecting," Wolf answered with a strange smile. He raised his hands to his lips and whistled shrilly.

"I can manage now, Garion," Aunt Pol said, mashing a thick paste into

a steaming pad of wet linen bandage. "You and Durnik go help the

others."

Reluctantly Garion lowered Lelldorin's head to the wet turf and ran

over to where Wolf stood. The slope below was littered with dead and

dying Algroths, crushed by the rocks Barak and the others had hurled

down on them.

"They're going to try again," Barak said, hefting another rock. "Can they get at us from behind?"

Silk shook his head. "No. I checked. The back of the hill's a sheer face."

The Algroths came out of the woods below, barking and snarling as

they loped forward with their half crouched gait. The first of them had

already crossed the road when the horn blew again, very close this time.

And then a huge horse bearing a man in full armor burst out of the

trees and thundered down upon the attacking creatures. The armored man

crouched over his lance and plunged directly into the midst of the

startled Algroths. The great horse screamed as he charged, and his

ironshod hoofs churned up big clots of mud. The lance crashed through

the chest of one of the largest Algroths and splintered from the force

of the blow. The splintered end took another full in the face. The

knight discarded the shattered lance and drew his broadsword with a

single sweep of his arm. With wide swings to the right and left he

chopped his way through the pack, his warhorse trampling the living and

the dead alike into the mud of the road. At the end of his charge he

whirled and plunged back again, once more opening a path with his sword.

The Algroths turned and fled howling into the woods.

"Mandorallen!" Wolf shouted. "Up here!"

The armored knight raised his blood-spattered visor and looked up the

hill. "Permit me to disperse this rabble first, my ancient friend," he

answered gaily, clanged down his visor, and plunged into the rainy woods

after the Algroths.