wagon.
"I don't quite follow that," Durnik said.
"Algars are nomads," the little man explained. "They live in wagons like this one and follow their herds. The Stronghold gives Murgo raiders something to attack. That's its only real purpose. Very practical, really. It's much easier than looking for them all over these plains. The Murgos always come here, and it's a convenient place to wipe them out."
"Don't the Murgos realize that?" Durnik looked a bit skeptical.
"Quite possibly, but they come here anyway because they can't resist the place. They simply can't accept the fact that nobody really lives here." Silk grinned his ferretlike little grin. "You know how stubborn Murgos are. Anyway, over the years the Algar clans have developed a sort of competition. Every year they try to outdo one another in hauling rock, and the Stronghold keeps growing higher and higher."
"Did Kal Torak really lay siege to it for eight years?" Garion asked him.
Silk nodded. "They say that his army was like a sea of Angaraks dashing itself to pieces against the walls of the Stronghold. They might still be here, but they ran out of food. That's always been the problem with large armies. Any fool can raise an army, but you start running into trouble around suppertime."
As they approached the man-made mountain, the gates opened and a party emerged to greet them. In the lead on a white palfrey rode Queen Silar with Hettar close behind. At a certain point they stopped and sat waiting.
Garion lifted a small trapdoor in the roof of the wagon. "We're here, Aunt Pol," he reported in a hushed voice.
"Good," she replied.
"How's grandfather?"
"He's sleeping. His breathing seems a bit stronger. Go ask Cho-Hag to take us inside immediately. I want to get father into a warm bed as soon as possible."
"Yes, Aunt Pol." Garion lowered the trapdoor and then went down the steps at the rear of the slowly moving wagon. He untied his horse, mounted and rode to the front of the column where the Algar queen was quietly greeting her husband.
"Excuse me," he said respectfully, swinging down from his horse, "but Aunt Pol wants to get Belgarath inside at once."
"How is he?" Hettar asked.
"Aunt Pol says that his breathing's getting stronger, but she's still worried."
From the rear of the group that had emerged from the Stronghold, there was a flurry of small hooves. The colt that had been born in the hills above Maragor burst into view and came charging directly at them. Garion immediately found himself swarmed under by the colt's exuberant greetings. The small horse nuzzled him and butted at him with its head, then pranced away only to gallop back again. When Garion put his hand on the animal's neck to calm him, the colt quivered with joy at his touch.
"He's been waiting for you," Hettar said to Garion. "He seems to have known you were coming."
The wagon drew up and stopped. The door opened, and Aunt Pol looked out.
"Everything's ready, Polgara," Queen Silar told her.
"Thank you, Silar."
"Is he recovering at all?"
"He seems better, but it's very hard to say for sure at this point." Errand, who had been watching from the top of the wagon, suddenly clambered down the steps at the rear, hopped to the ground, and ran out along the legs of the horses.
"Catch him, Garion," Aunt Pol said. "I think he'd better ride in here with me until we get inside the Stronghold."
As Garion started after the little boy, the colt scampered away, and Errand, laughing with delight, ran after him. "Errand!" Garion called sharply. The colt, however, had turned in midgallop and suddenly bore down on the child, his hooves flailing wildly. Errand, showing no signs of alarm, stood smiling directly in its path. Startled, the little horse stiffened his legs and skidded to a stop. Errand laughed and held out his hand. The colt's eyes were wide as he sniffed curiously at the hand, and then the boy touched the small animal's face.
Again within the vaults of his mind Garion seemed to hear that
"I don't quite follow that," Durnik said.
"Algars are nomads," the little man explained. "They live in wagons like this one and follow their herds. The Stronghold gives Murgo raiders something to attack. That's its only real purpose. Very practical, really. It's much easier than looking for them all over these plains. The Murgos always come here, and it's a convenient place to wipe them out."
"Don't the Murgos realize that?" Durnik looked a bit skeptical.
"Quite possibly, but they come here anyway because they can't resist the place. They simply can't accept the fact that nobody really lives here." Silk grinned his ferretlike little grin. "You know how stubborn Murgos are. Anyway, over the years the Algar clans have developed a sort of competition. Every year they try to outdo one another in hauling rock, and the Stronghold keeps growing higher and higher."
"Did Kal Torak really lay siege to it for eight years?" Garion asked him.
Silk nodded. "They say that his army was like a sea of Angaraks dashing itself to pieces against the walls of the Stronghold. They might still be here, but they ran out of food. That's always been the problem with large armies. Any fool can raise an army, but you start running into trouble around suppertime."
As they approached the man-made mountain, the gates opened and a party emerged to greet them. In the lead on a white palfrey rode Queen Silar with Hettar close behind. At a certain point they stopped and sat waiting.
Garion lifted a small trapdoor in the roof of the wagon. "We're here, Aunt Pol," he reported in a hushed voice.
"Good," she replied.
"How's grandfather?"
"He's sleeping. His breathing seems a bit stronger. Go ask Cho-Hag to take us inside immediately. I want to get father into a warm bed as soon as possible."
"Yes, Aunt Pol." Garion lowered the trapdoor and then went down the steps at the rear of the slowly moving wagon. He untied his horse, mounted and rode to the front of the column where the Algar queen was quietly greeting her husband.
"Excuse me," he said respectfully, swinging down from his horse, "but Aunt Pol wants to get Belgarath inside at once."
"How is he?" Hettar asked.
"Aunt Pol says that his breathing's getting stronger, but she's still worried."
From the rear of the group that had emerged from the Stronghold, there was a flurry of small hooves. The colt that had been born in the hills above Maragor burst into view and came charging directly at them. Garion immediately found himself swarmed under by the colt's exuberant greetings. The small horse nuzzled him and butted at him with its head, then pranced away only to gallop back again. When Garion put his hand on the animal's neck to calm him, the colt quivered with joy at his touch.
"He's been waiting for you," Hettar said to Garion. "He seems to have known you were coming."
The wagon drew up and stopped. The door opened, and Aunt Pol looked out.
"Everything's ready, Polgara," Queen Silar told her.
"Thank you, Silar."
"Is he recovering at all?"
"He seems better, but it's very hard to say for sure at this point." Errand, who had been watching from the top of the wagon, suddenly clambered down the steps at the rear, hopped to the ground, and ran out along the legs of the horses.
"Catch him, Garion," Aunt Pol said. "I think he'd better ride in here with me until we get inside the Stronghold."
As Garion started after the little boy, the colt scampered away, and Errand, laughing with delight, ran after him. "Errand!" Garion called sharply. The colt, however, had turned in midgallop and suddenly bore down on the child, his hooves flailing wildly. Errand, showing no signs of alarm, stood smiling directly in its path. Startled, the little horse stiffened his legs and skidded to a stop. Errand laughed and held out his hand. The colt's eyes were wide as he sniffed curiously at the hand, and then the boy touched the small animal's face.
Again within the vaults of his mind Garion seemed to hear that
Similar Books
