Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  Aunt Pol sighed. "Alorns!"

  After a few shouted conferences from ship to ship, the combined fleet heeled over sharply in the quickening breeze and beat northward along the rugged west coast of the Cherek peninsula toward Jarviksholm.

  The following morning, Garion went up on deck with Barak and Hettar to watch the sun come up above the forested and snow-capped peaks of Cherek. The shadows back in the wooded valleys were a kind of misty blue, and the sun sparkled on the waves.

  A mail-shirted Cherek sailor, who had been ostensibly coiling a rope, turned from his task, then suddenly plunged a dagger directly at Garion's unprotected back as the King stood at the rail.

  The attack might well have proved fatal had Durnik not shouted a quick warning. Garion half-turned in time to see the dagger go skittering across the deck. At the same time, he heard a startled exclamation and a splash. He wheeled about to see a desperately clutching hand sink beneath the waves about thirty yards to port. He looked questioningly at Polgara, but she shook her head.

  "I forgot about the mailshirt," Durnik said apologetically, "It's sort of hard to swim with one of those on, isn't it?"

  "More than sort of," Barak assured him.

  "You'll want to question him, I suppose," Durnik said, "I can fish him out, if you like."

  "What do you think, Hettar?" Barak asked.

  Hettar considered the notion for several moments, looking out at the bubbles coming up from somewhere far beneath the surface. "These are Cherek waters, aren't they?"

  Barak nodded.

  "Then I think we should consult King Anheg and get his opinion."

  "Anheg's sleeping late this morning," Barak told him, also looking out at the bubbles.

  "I'd hate to wake him," Hettar said. "He's had a lot on his mind lately, and I'm sure he needs his rest." The tall Algar turned to Durnik with an absolutely straight face. "I'll tell you what, Durnik. The very moment King Anheg wakes up, we'll bring the matter immediately to his attention."

  "Have you ever translocated anything before, Durnik?" Polgara asked her husband.

  "No, not really. I knew how it was done, of course, but I've never had the occasion to try it myself. I threw him just a little farther than I'd intended, I'm afraid."

  "You'll get better with practice, dear," she assured him.

  Then she turned to Garion. "Are you all right?" she asked,

  "I'm fine, Aunt Pol. He didn't even get close to me -thanks to Durnik."

  "He's always been very useful to have around," she replied, giving Durnik a warm smile.

  "Where did the fellow come from, Barak?" Hettar asked.

  "Val Alorn, of all places. He always seemed like a good man, too. He did his work and kept his mouth shut. I'd never have suspected that he might have had religious convictions.

  "Maybe it's time for us to examine everybody's feet," Hettar suggested.

  Barak looked at him quizzically.

  "If Silk's right, then all the Bear-cultists have that brand on the soles of their right feet. It's probably easier in the long run to examine feet rather than have Garion offer his back to every dagger aboard your ship."

  "You might be right," Barak agreed.

  They sailed into the wide mouth of the inlet that wound its way up to Jarviksholm just as the sun was setting.

  "Shouldn't we have waited until after dark to come this close?" Garion asked as he and the other kings stood on the foredeck of the Seabird.

  Anheg shrugged. "They knew we were coming. They've been watching us ever since we left the Halberg straits. Besides, now that they know that we're here, those catapultists up there will concentrate on watching the ships. That ought to make it easier for you and Brendig to slip up behind them when the time comes."

  "That makes sense, I guess."

  Barak came forward with the one-armed General Brendig. "As close as we can figure it, we ought to start about midnight," he said. "Garion and the rest of us will climb up first and circle around until we're behind the city. Brendig and his men can follow us up and start taking over the catapults. As soon as it gets light enough to see, he's going to start throwing boulders across the inlet."

  "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 th
ink 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?"

  "I'll deal with the gate," Garion told them firmly.

  Barak stared at him. "You mean that you're going to-?" He made a gesture with one thick-fingered hand.

  Garion nodded.

  "That hardly seems proper, Garion," Barak objected disapprovingly .

  "Proper?"

  "There are certain ways that things are done. City gates are supposed to be knocked in with battering rams."

  "While the people inside pour boiling pitch down on the men trying to break in?"

  "That's part of the risk," Barak explained. "Without a little risk, a battle isn't very much fun."

  Hettar laughed quietly.

  "I hate to fly in the face of tradition," Garion said, "but I'm not going to let a lot of people get killed unnecessarily just for the sake of an old custom."

  A hazy ground fog, glowing in the moonlight, lay low on the broad, open expanse between the edge of the forest and the towering walls of Jarviksholm. Off to the east, the first pale glimmer of the approaching dawn stained the velvet sky. There were ruddy torches along the top of the heavy battlements of the city. By their light Garion could see a number of armed men.

  "How close do you need to get to break in the gate?" Silk whispered to Garion.

  "The closer the better," Garion replied.

  "All right. We'll have to move up a bit, then. The fog and the tall grass should help."

  "I'll go along with you," Barak said. "Is it likely to make much noise?"

  "Probably." Garion said.

  The big man turned to Hettar and Mandorallen. "Use that as your signal. When Garion knocks the gate down, you start the charge."

  Hettar nodded.

  Garion drew in a deep breath. "All right," he said, "let's go." Crouched low, the three of them started across the open field toward the city. When they were no more than a hundred yards from the gate, they sank down in the tall grass.

  "Garion," Durnik's thought came from out of the growing light, "we've captured all the catapults."

  "Can you see the ones on the north cliffs yet?"

  "It's probably going to be just a few more minutes."

  "Tell Brendig to start just as soon as he can make them out."

  They waited as the eastern sky grew steadily lighter. Then a series of solid thuds came from beyond the city, followed after an interval by the sound of heavy rocks crashing through timbers and by startled shouts and cries of pain.

  "We've started," Durnik reported.

  "Garion," Polgara's thought came to him, "are you in position?"

  "Yes, Aunt Pol."

  "We're going to start up the inlet now."

  "Let me know when you're in sight of the city."

  "Be carefully, Garion."

  "I will."

  "What's happening?" Barak whispered, eyeing the men atop the city walls.

  "They've started dropping rocks on the north cliff," Garion replied softly, "and Anheg's got the fleet moving."

  Barak ground his teeth together. "I told him to wait until all the catapults were out of action."

  "Don't worry so much about that ship of yours," Silk murmured. "It's very hard to aim a catapult when you're dodging boulders."

  "Somebody might get lucky."

  They waited tensely as the light slowly grew stronger. Garion could smell the salt tang of the sea and the heavy odor of evergreens as he surveyed the stout gate.

  "We can see the city now, Garion," Aunt Pol reported.

  Shouts of alarm came from inside the city, and Garion saw the armed men atop the walls running along the parapet, making for the seaward side of Jarviksholm. "Are we ready?" he whispered to his two friends.

  "Let's do it," Silk said tensely.

  Garion rose to his feet and concentrated. He felt something that was almost like an inrushing of air as he drew in and concentrated his will. He seemed to be tingling all over as the enormous force built up in him. Grimly he drew Iron-grip's sword, which he had left sheathed until now in order to conceal that telltale blue fire. The Orb leaped joyously into flame. "Here we go," he said from between clenched teeth. He pointed the sword at the gate, standing solid and impenetrable-looking a hundred yards in front of him. "Burst!" he commanded, and all his clenched-in will surged into the sword and out through its flaming tip.

  The one thing that he had overlooked, of course, was the Orb's desire to be helpful. The force which struck the gates of Jarviksholm was, to put it very mildly, excessive. The logs disappeared entirely, and chunks and splinters of that tar-smeared gate were later found as much as five miles distant.

  The solid stone wall in which the gate had been mounted also blew apart, and many of the huge, rough-hewn blocks sailed like pebbles to splash into the harbor and the inlet far from the city. Most of the back wall of Jarviksholm crumbled and fell in on itself. The noise was awful.

  "Belar!" Barak swore in amazement as he watched the nearly absolute destruction.

  There was a stunned silence for a moment, and then a great shout came from the edge of the woods as Hettar and Mandorallen led the charge of the massed Rivans and Chereks into the stunned city.

  It was not what warriors call a good fight. The Bear-cult was not composed entirely of able-bodied men. It had also attracted into its ranks old men, women, and children. Because of the raging fanaticism of the cult, the warriors entering the city frequently found it necessary to kill those who might otherwise have been spared. By late afternoon,
there were only a few small pockets of resistance remaining in the northwest quarter of Jarviksholm, and much of the rest of the city was on fire.

  Garion, half-sickened by the smoke and the slaughter, stumbled back through the burning city, over that shattered wall, and out into the open fields beyond. He wandered, tired and sick, for a time until he came across Silk, seated comfortably on a large rock, casually watching the destruction of the city.

  "Is it just about finished?" the little man asked.

  "Nearly," Garion replied. "They only have a few buildings left in their control."

  "How was it?"

  "Unpleasant. A lot of old people and women and children got killed."

  "That happens sometimes."

  "Did Anheg say what he was going to do with the survivors? I think there's been enough killing already."

  "It's hard to say," Silk replied. "Our Cherek cousins tend sometimes to be a bit savage, though. Some things are likely to happen in the next day or so that you probably won't want to watch -like that." He pointed toward the edge of the wood where a crowd of Chereks were working on something. A long pole was raised and set into the ground. A crosspiece was attached to the top of the pole, and a man was tied by his outspread arms to that crosspiece.

  "No!" Garion exclaimed.

  "I wouldn't interfere, Garion," Silk advised. "It is Anheg's kingdom, after all, and he can deal with traitors and criminals in any way he sees fit."

  "That's barbaric!"

  "Moderately so, yes. As I said, though, Chereks have a certain casual brutality in their nature."

  "But shouldn't we at least question the prisoners first?"

  "Javelin's attending to that."

  Garion stared at the crowd of soldiers working in the last ruddy light of the setting sun. "I'm sorry." he said, choking in revulsion, "but that's going entirely too far. I'm going to put a stop to it right now."

  "I'd stay out of it, Garion."

  "Oh, no -not when he starts crucifying women!"

  "He's what?" Silk turned to stare at the soldiers. Suddenly the blood drained from the little man's face, and he sprang to his feet. With Garion close on his heels, he ran across the intervening turf. "Have you lost your mind entirely?" he demanded hotly of the bony Chief of Drasnian Intelligence, who sat calmly at a rough table in the center of a group of soldiers.