Chapter 10
High above the North Caravan Route, a lone falcon circled. Garion looked down at the battleground, his sharp golden eyes picking out every single detail: the tense faces of the western army, the shift and flap of the folds of the black robes of the Morindim.
"They don't usually wear those kind of clothes. " Garion noted, his thought reaching out to his grandfather.
"Maybe it has to do with their leader. "
Garion scrutinize the black wave carefully, trying to pick out the leader. "I can't see him."
"Maybe he's hiding among them, or somewhere else."
"Maybe." Garion broke off contact, trying to concentrate on the ground below. Directing a battle from above definitely had its advantages.
The black-garbed Morindim advanced on the warriors of the West with a strange twisting beat. They would take three measured steps, then spin, their robes whirling out, and kick towards the sky in exact timing, take one step to the side, spin again, and continue the cycle. Garion studied the formation closely, trying to discern the significance, but all he knew was that it seemed sort of ritualistic. They aren't even charging, he thought. They'll know what's happening when the first few fall into the pits. Biting off curses with his beak, he hovered lower, watching carefully. The Morindim were approaching the part of the path where the tree barriers were set to either side. Slowly, slowly, they advanced, until most of them were alongside the barriers.
"Now!" Garion sent the signal to Poledra, who was with the Asturian archers. Suddenly, the front ranks of Morindim seemed to wilt under a rain of arrows. A steady stream poured out of the trees on either side, and the Morindim stopped in their tracks. There was a pause, and then Garion's eyes caught a glimpse of movement at the back of the column. A figure cloaked and hooded like the rest was flanked by another, but when Garion saw these two, it was as if a chill went up his spine.
"I see him, Grandfather," Garion sent out his thought.
"Where?"
"Near the back of the column, on horses. You couldn't see the two mounted ones before because of the way the Morindim were moving. He seems to be giving a signal."
Two Morindim walked to the front of the column, bundles of brush in their hands. Suddenly there was a flicker of flame, and the bundles burst into fire. Before Garion realized it, with a swift thrust they sent the burning torches into the trees. There was a dry crackle of flame as the fire sprang swiftly up, and the cries of the Asturians as they fled. The Morindim resumed their march.
"This is totally unlike Vo Mimbre," muttered Belgarath in Garion's mind. "There, there was actually noise. Sound. Battle."
Garion agreed, silently, but his eyes were still riveted on the Morindim. A few collapsed into the pits with cries, and the Morindim army halted again. Garion swung around, climbing an updraft, and then dived from the height to a lower breeze, trying to get a glimpse of the figure who he had, for an instant, been sure was the leader. Morindim carrying sand bags came up and filled the pits with sand, in a gradual process, as the Alorns and Tolnedrans and Mimbrates behind the earthworks fidgeted and walked up and down impatiently. Then the way was clear to the earthworks.
The Morindim just stood and waited. There was silence on each side. "They look like they intend to wait for any other traps to be sprung," Garion sent his thought out.
Belgarath cursed. "If they just wait there, sooner or later our forces are going to lose control and charge. I'm already straining to hold the Chereks back."
And indeed, the Morindim looked as if they intended to wait all day. Hours passed, as Garion circled above, around and around. Finally he saw Belgarath winging up to relieve him. "You take charge of the Alorns," he told the Rivan king. "I'll watch the battlefield."
Garion dove towards the Alorn earthworks, but before he had even reached the ground, there was a loud yell and a platoon of Chereks charged out from behind the earthworks, racing at the Morindim at top speed, yelling. Some of them were even foaming at the mouth. Garion began to swear as he switched back into his real form, and strode to the earthworks to watch.
The Morindim stood up. They did not move any further.
"What are they doing?" Garion muttered. "This is crazy! This isn't how you fight!"
But the Chereks were gleeful as they sped screaming at their foe, their huge battleblades raised. Steel flashed in the hands of the Morindim, and Garion suddenly felt a chill strike his heart. They began their twisting dance: three measured steps, the spin, the kick, the step to the side, the spin... and the knives flashed from their hands to imbed themselves in the bodies of the charging Chereks. For a moment nothing took effect. The Chereks yanked the blades out and crashed into the Morindim, their large swords wheeling. Morindim were cut down like hay. Then the Chereks faltered, stiffened, and collapsed.
Garion stared, in shock.
"What happened?" asked Barak frantically, coming up behind him.
"WHAT did you DO!?" Garion yelled at him. "Why did you let them charge like that?"
"I didn't know!" protested Barak. "They just went!"
"GARION!" It was Belgarath's voice, infuriated. "Why didn't you stop them?"
"I couldn't, grandfather!" Garion shouted back, cold fury in his voice. "I got here too late! What was it? What was on those knives?"
"Poison, your Majesty." Garion turned to see Sadi, one long-fingered hand rubbing his shaved head. "It was obviously poison. You saw the way they stiffened. Very fast-acting. It must come from the seven kingdoms of Karand. We don't have anything like it here."
"Sadi told me it was poison, Grandfather," Garion passed it on, worry in his voice. "What are we going to do?"
Belgarath took a deep breath. "We're going to send out the Mimbrates. All right, this is what we do..."
Garion circled above in sky, climbing the updrafts, his eyes intently watching the ground below. The Morindim, a sea of rippling black, stood waiting. The forces of the West, in position, tensed themselves. They all waited for the signal, the signal that the real battle was about to begin. And then a horn rang out, the silver note echoing.
Like a great wave of steel, the Mimbrates pounded out from behind the earthworks, the iron-shod hooves of their war chargers making the ground shake as the dust swirled up. The light glinted off the gleaming armor, throwing a glare in the eyes of the Morindim. Leaping up, the Morindim readied their daggers. And the wave of Mimbrates crashed over them, and the black figures were boiling with silver. Clashes rang as the Morindim fought to drive their poisoned daggers between the joints of the Mimbrate armor, and the Mimbrates crushed them with their huge swords and slammed gauntleted hands down on their skulls.
Another silver horn rang out, and Drasnian pikemen, clothed in thick leather, pounded out from behind the trees and charged into the fray, their pikes picking out the Morindim who were too distracted to wield their poisoned knives. Black bodies were strewn everywhere, and here and there a horse thrashed in the throes of death.
A third horn call came, and Asturian arrows swept the rear of the Morindim army, and they ran from the deadly shafts, straight into the arms of the Mimbrates. Garion looked on with approval. The Morindim were being slowly smashed by the armored men and the arrows. The Drasnian pikemen were at risk, of course, but they had willingly volunteered. Garion kept a close eye on the right side of the Morindim army, and saw the Algars gallop alongside, their short cavalry bows firing rapidly. Then the Cherek force charged, now dressed in mail shirts, to batter against the left side.
"Ready, Garion?" asked Aunt Pol's voice in his head.
"Yes," he answered. The four sorcerers present at the battle(Durnik was staying with his children, and Beltira and Belkira weren't really of a fighting disposition) were going to have a different task. "If you want to get at a snake, cut off its head," as Belgarath had said.
Garion focused his mind on the idea of a heart faltering and stopping. He felt Belgarath's mind join him, and Poledra and Polgara merge with him. Belgarath was thinking about itches, Aunt Pol was thinking of stomach acid burning a hole in a liver, and Poledra was thinking of a throat being torn open. As a seamless hole, their awareness dove down into the heart of the fray, searching for a certain figure. A figure dressed in a black cloak like any other, but with an evil mind. Garion caught sight of him with his hawk's eyes, and drew their attention to the twisting figure.
They focused their mind on the leader, and drew in their wills. Garion felt like smirking. This was the end of it. Once the leader of the Morindim was dead, the rest would break and run. They poised to release their combined will.
"Wait," Poledra's voice came at the last moment. "There's something strange..." But it was too late. The will had been released. There was a moment where nothing happened. Then a heavy blow struck them, as if they had run into a brick wall. High in the air, he reeled in place, trying to figure out which way was up. He felt himself falling, falling, falling, the world spinning around and around, and he flung his wings wide desperately and gave a stroke. He found himself hovering barely ten feet above the treetops, and started upward again. He was feeling slightly disoriented, and similar feelings were coming to other parts of his mind--the parts linked to the other three sorcerers.
"What was that?" he finally had enough strength to gasp.
"A shield, I think," Belgarath said, breathing hard. "A very strong one."
"So we can't get to the leader," Aunt Pol said, anger in her voice. Garion could imagine her steel-gray eyes blazing. "What's our next step?"
"We attack the army itself," Poledra replied grimly.
"I have a feeling we're missing something," Belgarath said. "But it's the only way we can win. There are far too many of those Morindim down there to fight them without talent."
"Garion," Aunt Pol said then, "I want you to come down here. I don't want you falling to your death. If the backlash is too hard, you'll lose control of that bird body."
"Yes, Aunt Pol." Garion slowly circled downward, until he spotted the small forms of his grandmother, grandfather, and aunt, then landed beside them and shifted into his usual form.
"Now we are ready," Poledra joined their hands.
"What shall we use, mother?" asked Aunt Pol.
"Hail, I think, Pol," Belgarath replied.
"Right." Garion closed his eyes, feeling the hands of Poledra and Aunt Pol in his. They focused their wills. Their minds shooting upwards, they reached into the swollen rainclouds that hovered over the battlefield since almost noon.
Garion could feel Aunt Pol drawing the warmth out of the air, and a chill spread through them.
"Burst," murmured Belgarath, and the cloud opened up, huge chunks of ice cascading down from the heavens. The air was thick with them, and Garion opened his eyes, expecting to see the Morindim falling from heavy blows. But the hailstones had stopped a few feet above the combatants, and were resting on mid-air. Belgarath growled.
"Why don't we just knock them off their feet?" Garion asked, wiping sweat from his face. Although the air was cold, he felt very hot and tired.
They closed their eyes again, and braced themselves. Garion thought of a huge hand hitting the Morindim. Their will surged outward, and Garion felt it reaching toward the foe. But once again, they slammed into a solid wall of stone. They were all knocked off their feet, and lay on the ground, panting and trying to draw breath. Garion finally was able to sit up, and opened his eyes.
He froze, staring at the two figures who had ridden off a little distance from the battle. Then he asked quietly, "Grandfather?"
"What?" groaned Belgarath.
"I think I know what you were missing."
"What?" he asked again.
"The demons."
Belgarath opened his eyes, then sprang up in utter horror, staring at the massive, towering forms that rose, shimmering, over the boiling battle. Their faces, their forms, struck fear into Garion's heart, and he felt as if his entire body had frozen in stasis. Dimly he realized that Aunt Pol and Poledra had risen and were staring, too.
The demons.
Sorry if my battle was a little stunted. It was unusual circumstances, you see. And don't worry, there'll be several more. And, people, just because I say I like how many reviews I'm getting doesn't mean you should stop reviewing, you know!