Enchanter's End Game

won't be able to track you in all this. Swing around and come at the city from the east side. There are fewer watchers on that flank."
    The downpour continued, punctuated by ripping claps of thunder and flashes of lightning.
    "How long will the rain last?" Belgarath shouted over the noise.
    "Long enough. It's been building in the Sea of the East for a week. It hit the coast this morning. Turn east."
    "Can we talk as we ride?" Belgarath asked. "I have a great many questions."
    "This is hardly the time for discussion, Belgarath. You have to hurry. The others arrived at Cthol Mishrak this morning, just ahead of the storm. Everything's ready there, so move."
    "It's going to be tonight?"
    "It will, if you get there in time. Torak's almost awake now. I think you'd better be there when he opens his eyes."
    Belgarath wiped his streaming face again, and his eyes had a worried look. "Let's go," he said sharply and he led them splashing off through the driving rain to solid ground.
    The rain continued for several hours, driven before a screaming wind. Sodden, miserable, and half blinded by flying leaves and twigs, the three of them cantered toward the east. The baying of the Hounds trapped in the swamp faded behind them, taking on a baffled, frustrated note as the thunderous deluge obliterated all scents from the swamp and the forest.
    When night fell, they had reached a low range of hills far to the east, and the rain had subsided into a steady, unpleasant drizzle, punctuated by periodic squalls of chilly, gusting wind and erratic downpours that swept in randomly off the Sea of the East.
    "Are you sure you know the way?" Silk asked Belgarath.
    "I can find it," Belgarath said grimly. "Cthol Mishrak's got a peculiar smell to it."
    The rain slackened into a few scattered droplets pattering on the leaves overhead and died out entirely by the time they reached the edge of the wood. The smell of which Belgarath had spoken was not a sharp reek, but rather was a muted, dank compound of odors. Damp rust seemed to be a major part of it, although the reek of stagnant water was also present, and the musty scent of fungus. The overall effect was one of decay. When they reached the last of the trees, Belgarath reined in.
    "Well, there it is," he said in a quiet voice.
    The basin before them was faintly illuminated by a kind of pale, sickly radiance that seemed to emanate from the ground itself, and in the center of that large depression reared the jagged, broken remains of the city.
    "What's that strange light?" Garion whispered tensely.
    Belgarath grunted. "Phosphorescence. It comes from the fungus that grows everywhere out there. The sun never shines on Cthol Mishrak, so it's a natural breeding ground for unwholesome things that grow in the dark. We'll leave the horses here." He dismounted.
    "Is that a very good idea?" Silk asked him as he too swung down from his saddle. "We might want to leave in a hurry." The little man was still wet and shivering.
    "No," Belgarath said calmly. "If things go well, nothing in the city's going to be interested in giving us any trouble. If things don't go well, it's not going to matter anyway."
    "I don't like unalterable commitments," Silk muttered sourly.
    "You picked the wrong journey, then," Belgarath replied. "What we're about to do is just about as unalterable as things ever get. Once we start, there won't be any possible way to turn back."
    "I still don't have to like it, do I? What now?"
    "Garion and I are going to change into something a bit less conspicuous. You're an expert at moving about in the dark without being seen or heard, but we aren't that skilled at it."
    "You're going to use sorcery - this close to Torak?" Silk asked him incredulously.
    "We're going to be very quiet about it," Belgarath assured him. "A shape-change is directed almost entirely inward, so there isn't that much noise involved anyway." He turned to Garion. "We're going to do it slowly," he said. "That spreads out what little sound there is and makes it even fainter. Do you understand?"
    "I think so, Grandfather."
    "I'll go first. Watch me." The old man glanced at their horses. "Let's move away a bit. Horses are afraid of wolves. We don't want them to get hysterical and start crashing around."
    They crept along the edge of the trees until they were some distance from the horses.
    "This ought to be far enough," Belgarath said. "Now watch." He concentrated for a moment, and then his form began to shimmer and blur. The