Castle of Wizardry

plain. They rode on.
    Garion glanced back several times as he rode and noticed moving pinpoints of light along the base of the cliff. "Some of them have reached the bottom, grandfather," he called to the old man, who was pounding along in the lead. "I can see their torches."
    "It was bound to happen," the sorcerer replied.
    It was nearly midnight by the time they reached the Aldur River, lying black and oily-looking between its frosty banks.
    "Does anybody have any idea how we're going to find that ford in the dark?" Durnik asked.
    "I'll find it," Relg told him. "It isn't all that dark for me. Wait here."
    "That could give us a certain advantage," Silk noted. "We'll be able to ford the river, but the Murgos will flounder around on this side in the dark for half the night. We'll be leagues ahead of them before they get across."
    "That was one of the things I was sort of counting on," Belgarath replied smugly.
    It was a half an hour before Relg returned. "It isn't far," he told them.
    They remounted and rode through the chill darkness, following the curve of the river bank until they heard the unmistakable gurgle and wash of water running over stones. "That's it just ahead," Relg said.
    "It's still going to be dangerous fording in the dark," Barak pointed out.
    "It isn't that dark," Relg said. "Just follow me." He rode confidently a hundred yards farther upriver, then turned and nudged his horse into the shallow rippling water.
    Garion felt his horse flinch from the icy chill as he rode out into the river, following closely behind Belgarath. Behind him he heard Durnik coaxing the now-unburdened pack animals into the water.
    The river was not deep, but it was very wide - almost a half mileand in the process of fording, they were all soaked to the knees.
    "The rest of the night promises to be moderately unpleasant," Silk observed, shaking one sodden foot.
    "At least you've got the river between you and Taur Urgas," Barak reminded him.
    "That does brighten things up a bit," Silk admitted.
    They had not gone a half mile, however, before Mandorallen's charger went down with a squeal of agony. The knight, with a great clatter, tumbled in the grass as he was pitched out of the saddle. His great horse floundered with threshing legs, trying futilely to rise.
    "What's the matter with him?" Barak demanded sharply.
    Behind them, with another squeal, one of the packhorses collapsed. "What is it?" Garion asked Durnik, his voice shrill.
    "It's the cold," Durnik answered, swinging down from his saddle. "We've ridden them to exhaustion, and then we made them wade across the river. The chill's settled into their muscles."
    "What do we do?"
    "We have to rub them down - all of them - with wool."
    "We don't have time for that," Silk objected.
    "It's that or walk," Durnik declared, pulling off his stout wool cloak and beginning to rub vigorously at his horse's legs with it.
    "Maybe we should build a fire," Garion suggested, also dismounting and beginning to rub down his horse's shivering legs.
    "There isn't anything around here to burn," Durnik told him. "This is all open grassland."
    "And a fire would set up a beacon for every Murgo within ten miles," Barak added, massaging the legs of his gray horse.
    They all worked as rapidly as possible, but the sky to the east had begun to pale with the first hints of dawn before Mandorallen's horse was on his feet again and the rest of their mounts were able to move.
    "They won't be able to run," Durnik declared somberly. "We shouldn't even ride them."
    "Durnik," Silk protested, "Taur Urgas is right behind us."
    "They won't last a league if we try to make them run," the smith said stubbornly. "There's nothing left in them."
    They rode away from the river at a walk. Even at that pace, Garion could feel the trembling of his horse under him. They all looked back frequently, watching the dark-shrouded plain beyond the river as the sky grew gradually lighter. When they reached the top of the first low hills, the deep shadow which had obscured the grasslands behind them faded and they were able to see movement. Then, as the light grew stronger, they saw an army of Murgos swarming toward the river. In the midst of them were the flapping black banners of Taur Urgas himself.
    The Murgos came on in waves until they reached the far bank of the river. Then their mounted scouts ranged out until they located the ford. The bulk of the army Taur Urgas had brought down to the plain was still on foot, but clusters of