Castle of Wizardry

capacity, a limit beyond which most sorcerers could not go. Garion realized with a certain surprise that he was already stronger than men who had been practicing this art for centuries, and that he was only beginning to touch the edges of his talent. The thought of what he might eventually be able to do was more than a little frightening.
    It did, however, make him feel somewhat more secure. He straightened in his saddle and rode a bit more confidently. Perhaps leadership wasn't so bad after all. It took some getting used to, but once you knew what you were doing, it didn't seem all that hard.
    The next attack came as the eastern horizon had begun to grow pale behind them. Aunt Pol, her horse, and the little boy all seemed to vanish as absolute blackness engulfed them. Garion struck back instantly and he added a contemptuous little twist to it - a stinging slap at the joined minds that had mounted the attack. He felt a glow of self satisfaction at the surprise and pain in the minds as they flinched back from his quick counterblow. There was a glimpse - just a momentary one - of nine very old men in black robes seated around a table in a room somewhere. One of the walls of the room had a large crack in it, and part of the ceiling had collapsed as a result of the earthquake that had convulsed Rak Cthol. Eight of the evil old men looked surprised and frightened; the ninth one had fainted. The darkness surrounding Aunt Pol disappeared.
    "What are they doing?" Silk asked him.
    "They're trying to break through Aunt Pol's shield," Garion replied. "I gave them something to think about." He felt a little smug about it.
    Silk looked at him, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Don't overdo things, Garion," he advised.
    "Somebody had to do something," Garion protested.
    "That's usually the way it works out. All I'm saying is that you shouldn't lose your perspective."
    The broken wall of peaks that marked the western edge of the waste land was clearly visible as the light began to creep up the eastern sky. "How far would you say it is?" Garion asked Durnik.
    The smith squinted at the mountains ahead. "Two or three leagues at least," he judged. "Distances are deceiving in this kind of light."
    "Well?" Barak asked. "Do we take cover for the day here or do we make a run for it?"
    Garion thought about that. "Are we going to change direction as soon as we get to the mountains?" he asked Mandorallen.
    "It would seem better mayhap to continue our present course for some little distance first," the knight replied thoughtfully. "A natural boundary such as that which lies ahead might attract more than passing scrutiny."
    "That's a good point," Silk agreed.
    Garion scratched at his cheek, noticing that his whiskers had begun to sprout again. "Maybe we should stop here then," he suggested. "We could start out again when the sun goes down, get up into the mountains a way and then rest. When the sun comes up tomorrow morning, we can change our route. That way, we'll have light enough to see any tracks we leave and cover them up."
    "Seems like a good plan," Barak approved.
    "Let's do it that way then," Garion decided.
    They sought out another ridge and another ravine, and once again concealed it with their tent canvas. Although he was tired, Garion was reluctant to lose himself in sleep. Not only did the cares of leadership press heavily on him, but he also felt apprehensive about the possibility of an attack by the Hierarchs coming while he was asleep. As the others began to unroll their blankets, he walked about rather aimlessly, stopping to look at Aunt Pol, who sat with her back against a large rock, holding the sleeping Errand and looking as distant as the moon behind her shimmering shield. Garion sighed and went on down to the mouth of the ravine where Durnik was attending to the horses. It had occurred to him that all their lives depended on the well-being of their mounts, and that gave him something else to worry about.
    "How are they?" he asked Durnik as he approached.
    "They're bearing up fairly well," Durnik replied. "They've come a long way, though, and it's beginning to show on some of them."
    "Is there anything we can do for them?"
    "A week's rest in a good pasture, perhaps," Durnik answered with a wry smile.
    Garion laughed. "I think we could all use a week's rest in a good pasture."
    "You've really grown, Garion," Durnik observed as he lifted another horse's hind hoof to examine it for cuts or bruises.
    Garion glanced at his arm and