Belgarath the Sorcerer

by David Eddings

  The Algar tactics were quite a bit different from those of the Mimbrates. Heavy cavalry rushes in to crush the enemy, but light cavalry slashes at him. Ad Rak Cthoros had his own cavalry units of course, but they were no match for the Algars. Soon there was a running battle taking place out in front of the Murgo lines, and the Murgo horsemen were definitely coming out second best. Then, when the mounted Murgos were badly out of position, Rhodar arrived with his pikemen, and Brasa’s Ulgo irregulars were artfully concealed among their ranks. The combination worked out quite well. You can’t really get too close to a man with a twenty-foot-long pike, and keeping him from slicing you to pieces with it is going to take all your attention. The Ulgos are a short-statured people, and they move very quickly, as a large number of Murgos found out that day. Ulgo weapons are very unpleasant things. There are a lot of hooks and saw-edges involved in them. A wave of screaming rose from the Murgo ranks, since those Ulgo knives aren’t really designed to kill people instantly. Ulgos probably hate Angaraks even more than Alorns do, so they tend to take their time killing Murgos. The Murgos they killed were only incidental, though. Brasa’s instructions were to take his people through the Murgo front and to deal with Grolims. We’d provided the Ulgos with black, hooded robes, and that permitted them to move around among the Murgos almost at will. If Zedar grew desperate enough, he’d probably try to call on the priests of Torak to assist him in breaking the rules, and Brasa was making sure that when he tried that, not very many Grolims would be around to answer the call.

  I watched from the top of that outcropping of boulders, and when I saw that the Murgos were fully engaged, I sent my thought out in search of Beldin. ‘Where are you?’ I called to him.

  ‘About a half-mile from the Nadrak lines,’ he replied. ‘The Chereks are already working on them.’

  ‘You might as well take Cerran’s legions in. The Mimbrates have got the Malloreans pinned down, and Cho-Ram and Rhodar have got the Murgos’ full attention on this side. It’s time to hit the Nadraks and Thulls. See if Cerran can break through them with some of his legions. I think the Mimbrates could use some help.’

  ‘I’ll get right on it.’

  ‘Polgara!’ I said then.

  ‘I’m busy, father. Don’t pester me.’

  ‘What are you doing now? I told you to stay out of this!’

  ‘I’m at Torak’s pavilion. We ought to know what he and Zedar are up to.’

  ‘Get away from there, Pol! It’s too dangerous!’

  ‘I know what I’m doing, father. Don’t get so excited. What did you do to Zedar? He’s limping around and groaning.’

  ‘I nipped him a few times. Is feeling sorry for himself about all he’s doing?’

  ‘No. He’s trying to persuade Torak to go outside and take command of his army. He isn’t having much luck, though. Torak refuses to move.’

  ‘He’s probably waiting for Brand’s challenge. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to persuade you to get away from there, is there?’

  ‘I’m perfectly fine, father.’

  ‘Torak can probably hear you, Pol.’

  ‘He can’t hear a thing. It’s all taken care of. He can’t see me, and he can’t hear me. I’ll let you know when he decides to come out.’

  I muttered a few swear-words, but my heart wasn’t really in it. The fact that Polgara was practically in the same room with Torak and Zedar gave us an enormous advantage. I trotted back in amongst the boulders and slipped myself into the form of my falcon again.

  You wouldn’t believe how well you can direct a battle when you’re flying over the top of it. We were coming at Torak’s forces from all sides now - except from the north. I didn’t want to spring that little surprise on Zedar until after he’d committed his reserves. I wanted the Angarak armies fully engaged before I brought in the Rivans, Sendars and Asturians. Their situation was grave at the moment, but it wouldn’t grow desperate until Cerran’s legions broke through the Nadraks and Thulls to attack the Mallorean right.

  There’s always a lot of confusion during a battle, and this was probably the biggest battle in history. Our years of planning and preparation were beginning to pay off. The Angaraks were confused, but we knew exactly what we were doing and what was going to come next. All the Angaraks could do was to try to respond.

  ‘Belgarath!’ It was Beltira. ‘Ad Rak Cthoros is down.’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Not yet, but he’s working on it. He’s got an Ulgo knife in his belly.’

  ‘Good. Stay on top of his Murgos. I want them to break and run, if you can possibly manage it.’ I glanced off to the west. The legions were methodically chopping their way through the Nadraks, and the Thulls were already fleeing. ‘The legions are starting to break through,’ I reported to Beltira. ‘If you can break the Murgos, Zedar’s going to have to commit his reserves, and that’s what I’m waiting for.’

  I’m probably not the best general in the world, but I had certain advantages at Vo Mimbre. I was several hundred feet above the battle, so I could see everything that was going on. I was also in constant contact with my brothers, so I could exploit anything that happened down below. To top it all off, Polgara could keep me advised of everything Kal Torak and Zedar could come up with to counter what we were doing to them. With those advantages, any sergeant could have directed the Battle of Vo Mimbre. I think that when you get right down to it, we won the battle at the Imperial War College in Tol Honeth long before our advance forces even started to march. Planning - that’s all it really takes. You might want to make a note of that before you declare war on somebody. I’ve spent centuries trying to pound that notion into the heads of any number of very thick-skulled Alorns.

  The charge of the Mimbrate knights had slowed by now. After the initial dismay of the Malloreans had passed, their resistance stiffened and elements of their army had flanked the knights and closed in behind them. The tide of that part of the battle was inexorably turning. The Mimbrates were surrounded now, and their horses were nearing exhaustion. Their lances had long since been shattered, and they’d fallen back on their broadswords and battle-axes. Their numbers were being gradually whittled down, and Mandor had been forced to draw his men into that circle that usually signals the beginning of what is romantically called ‘the last stand.’ Arendish poets love to describe last stands. It gives them the opportunity to lavishly extol unspeakable bravery and to outrageously exaggerate the exploits of individual knights. The outcome is almost always the same, however. The standees are ultimately swarmed under. It makes for exciting poetry, but from a tactical standpoint, it’s a futile and useless waste of lives.

  ‘Beldin!’ I shouted. ‘I need those legions! Now! The Mimbrates are surrounded! If they go under, you’re going to be neck-deep in Malloreans!’

  ‘We’re coming, Belgarath! Keep your feathers on!’

  I’ve never fully understood the significance of some of the tactics of Tolnedran legions. Quite often it appears to me that their changes of formation would be more appropriate for a parade-ground than a battlefield. Cerran had been advancing on a broad front with about forty legions. He issued a few sharp commands, which were passed on by some great-voiced sergeants, and his force rapidly coalesced into a solidly massed spearhead. The Nadraks had been spread out to face a more generalized advance, and they simply could not respond fast enough to that sudden change of formation. The legions, their shields interlocked, advanced at a trot, cutting through the Nadrak lines like a hot knife slicing through butter. Once they were through the Nadraks, they came at the Mallorean rear, since the Malloreans had been concentrating on Mandor’s knights. In a matter of minutes the legions and the knights had joined forces.

  There wasn’t any last stand that day.

  To make Kal Torak’s situation even more desperate, the Chereks had exploited the corridor Cerran had cut through the Nadraks and had joined with the growing force in the very center of the Mallorean army, and the Murgo lines were beginning to break on To
rak’s left.

  It was at that point that Zedar didn’t have any choice but to commit his reserves, and that’s what I’d been waiting for. I held off for about a quarter of an hour to give the Angarak reserves enough time to rush down from their positions just to the north of the main battlefield. I wanted Torak’s rear only lightly defended, and I also wanted to give Rhodar’s pikemen time to break through the crumbling Murgo lines to link up with my main force. The death of Ad Rak Cthoros had broken the spirit of the Murgos, and their resistance grew less and less effective. Finally, the Drasnians crashed through, and the Algar cavalry kept the Murgos from closing ranks behind them.

  ‘All right, Belkira,’ I sent out the thought, ‘you can join us now.’

  Brand sounded a single long note on his horn, and I waited - a little anxiously, I’ll admit. Then the edge of those woods on the north side of the plain suddenly began to erupt Rivans, Sendars, and Asturian archers. They were coming very fast, and there weren’t any Angarak forces on that side of the plain to slow them down.

  ‘Father!’ Polgara’s voice was a little shrill. ‘Torak’s coming out!’

  ‘Of course he is, Pol,’ I replied. ‘That was the whole idea.’ I said it quite calmly, as if I’d never had any doubts at all. That was a pose, of course. I was far enough up in the sky above the battlefield so that she couldn’t see me - at least not clearly enough to see my wild triumphant swoops of sheer exultation. I’m fairly certain that she couldn’t hear any shrill cries of triumph either. Our desperate strategy had worked!

  Zedar’s reserves had not yet engaged, and after a few moments of confusion, they turned and desperately tried to run back to defend their former positions. By then, however, the Asturians were close enough to intercept them with a solid wall of arrows, and the Rivans and Sendars were charging down to meet them head on.

  Kal Torak’s original strategy had been to crush us between two armies. Now the tables had been neatly turned. His army was in the middle, and mine was coming at him from both sides. The Malloreans were trapped, the Thulls had run away, and the Murgos and Nadraks were demoralized and largely out of action. I had him! Then I suddenly knew what I was supposed to do.

  ‘All right, Pol,’ I called to my daughter, ‘get out of there. It’s time for you and me to join Brand.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re supposed to be with him during the EVENT.’

  ‘You’ve never told me about that.’

  ‘I didn’t know about it until just now. Don’t dawdle, Polgara. We don’t want to be late.’

  I flew up to the northern edge of the battlefield, settled to earth and resumed my own form. That noticeably startled a platoon of Sendars. I didn’t have time to explain it to them, though, and some very wild stories have been circulating in Sendaria for the last five hundred years as a result.

  It took me a little while to find Brand, and Polgara had already joined him by the time I reached them. ‘You know what you’re supposed to do?’ I asked the Rivan Warder.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  ‘And do you know when to do it?’

  ‘I will when the time comes.’ The calm, almost indifferent attitude of the Child of Light - whoever he is - has always sort of unnerved me. I guess it’s understandable, since he’s totally under the control of the Necessity, but it seems sort of unnatural to me. Garion’s told me that he felt much the same way on that dreadful night in Cthol Mishrak when he and Torak finally met. As I remember it, though, I didn’t feel that way when Zedar and I had our little get-together up in Morindland. Of course, I had a certain amount of personal animosity toward Zedar at the time, and that might have had something to do with it.

  Then there was a slight change in Brand’s expression. His calm indifference faded, and it was replaced by a look of almost inhuman resolution. He straightened, and when he spoke, his voice didn’t even sound like his own, and the language that came out of his mouth was certainly not in the Rivan idiom.

  ‘In the name of Belar I defy thee, Torak, maimed and accursed,’ he said. His voice didn’t sound all that loud to me, but I was told later that it was clearly audible inside the walls of Vo Mimbre. ‘In the name of Aldur also,’ he went on, ‘I cast my despite into thy teeth. Let the bloodshed be abated, and I will meet thee - man against God - and I shall prevail against thee. Before thee I cast my gage. Take it up or stand exposed as craven before men and Gods!’

  Now that got Torak’s immediate attention. He’d armed himself before he’d emerged from that silly iron castle, and he was wearing that same archaic armor he’d worn during the War of the Gods. His huge shield was strapped to his maimed left arm, his high-plumed and visored helmet covered the polished mask that hid his ruined face, and he had that black sword he called Cthrek Goru clenched in his right fist. Brand’s insulting challenge enraged him, and he shattered a dozen or so large boulders with the sword before he got control of himself. The Angaraks in his immediate vicinity pulled back several hundred yards, and Zedar bolted like a rabbit.

  ‘Who among mortal kind is so foolish as to thus defy the King of the World?’ Torak roared. ‘Who among ye would contend with a God?’

  You have to admire the cunning of the Necessity which spoke through Brand’s lips. Torak had been very reluctant to meet Brand in single combat, but his rage overcame his better judgement. Torak, always the sublime egomaniac, absolutely had to respond to those insults.

  ‘I am Brand, Warder of Riva,’ the Child of Light replied, ‘and I defy thee, foul and misshapen Godling, and all thy putrid host. Bring forth thy might. Take up my gage or slink away and come no more against the Kingdoms of the West.’

  That was really pushing things. Torak was still a God, and prohibition or no prohibition, that particular speech might very well have pushed him over the edge. I had a momentary vision of a repetition of the cracking of the world at that point. He didn’t do it again, however, but he did bash a few more boulders with his sword.

  ‘Behold!’ he roared in a voice that probably broke windows in Tol Honeth, ‘I am Torak, King of Kings and Lord of Lords! I fear no man of mortal kind nor the dim shades of long-forgotten Gods! I will come forth and destroy this loud-voiced Rivan fool, and mine enemies shall fall away before my wrath, and Cthrag-Yaska shall be mine again and the world, also!’

  In spite of everything that had warned him against it, he’d accepted Brand’s challenge.

  The exchange between the two of them had caused a vast silence to fall over the battlefield. Many soldiers, both mine and Zedar’s, seemed paralyzed by the sheer sound of those two thundering voices. The fighting stopped, and the only sounds were the groanings of the wounded and the dying. The challenge and its acceptance laid the full burden of the Battle of Vo Mimbre on Brand’s shoulders - and on Torak’s.

  Torak strode north, and his Malloreans melted out of his path as he came. Brand, equally implacable, marched south to meet him. I went wolf, and I trotted along at his side. There was a snowy owl drifting above him.

  Brand was a big man with heavy shoulders and powerful arms. In many ways he closely resembled Dras Bull-neck, though he wasn’t quite as tall. His shield was strapped to his left arm, and he’d taken some pains to rivet a grey Rivan cloak to the face of it to conceal my Master’s Orb. The sword he was carrying wasn’t quite as large as Iron-grip’s sword, but it was large enough that I wouldn’t have wanted to swing it.

  Torak was wearing that antique black armor, and he was brandishing Cthrek Goru as he came. The agreement between the Necessities kept him from swelling into immensity as he did at Cthol Mishrak when he met Garion, but he was every bit as big as Brand. So far as I could tell, the two of them were evenly matched. Since neither of them had any particular advantage - either in size or weaponry - this promised to be a very interesting duel.

  They advanced on each other until they were about twenty yards apart, and then they both stopped, evidently acting on instructions. Brand spoke once more at that point. ‘I am Brand, Warder of Riva,’
he introduced himself in a civil tone of voice. ‘I am he who will contend with thee, Torak. Beware of me, for the spirits of Belar and Aldur are with me. I alone stand between thee and the Orb for which thou hast brought war into the west.’

  Torak didn’t answer him, but spoke to me instead. ‘Begone, Belgarath,’ he told me. ‘Flee if thou wouldst save thy life. It occurs that I may soon have the leisure to give thee that instruction I so long ago promised thee, and I doubt that even thou wouldst survive my instruction.’

  I’ve never been sure why he bothered with that. He should have known what my answer would be. I bared my teeth and snarled at him.

  Then he spoke to the owl hovering in the air over Brand’s head. ‘Abjure thy father, Polgara, and come with me,’ he said in an oddly wheedling tone of voice. ‘I will wed thee,’ he continued, ‘and make thee Queen of all the world, and thy might and thy power shall be second only to mine.’

  That marriage proposal has given Polgara nightmares for five centuries now. It’s also seriously confused the Grolims. They’ve always stepped rather carefully around Pol ever since. They did not want to offend the chosen bride of Torak. I suspect that he’d gotten the idea from the Ashabine Oracles, and it was probably that same passage that’d given Zedar the idea for his cruel deception of Illessa.

  The scream of an owl is usually just a scream, but Pol managed to fill the one she threw into Torak’s teeth with all sorts of defiance and scorn to let him know just what she thought of his proposal of marriage.

  ‘Prepare then to perish all,’ Torak roared at us, rushing forward with his black sword upraised.

  That made me a little nervous. I’d just seen him shatter a number of large boulders with that sword.

  Brand didn’t even change his expression when he raised the shield to ward off that massive blow.