Guardians of the West

smile.
    "Where did the fellow come from, Barak?" Hettar asked.
    "Val Alorn, of all places. He always seemed like a good man, too. He did his work and kept his mouth shut. I'd never have suspected that he might have had religious convictions.
    "Maybe it's time for us to examine everybody's feet," Hettar suggested.
    Barak looked at him quizzically.
    "If Silk's right, then all the Bear-cultists have that brand on the soles of their right feet. It's probably easier in the long run to examine feet rather than have Garion offer his back to every dagger aboard your ship."
    "You might be right," Barak agreed.
    They sailed into the wide mouth of the inlet that wound its way up to Jarviksholm just as the sun was setting.
    "Shouldn't we have waited until after dark to come this close?" Garion asked as he and the other kings stood on the foredeck of the Seabird.
    Anheg shrugged. "They knew we were coming. They've been watching us ever since we left the Halberg straits. Besides, now that they know that we're here, those catapultists up there will concentrate on watching the ships. That ought to make it easier for you and Brendig to slip up behind them when the time comes."
    "That makes sense, I guess."
    Barak came forward with the one-armed General Brendig. "As close as we can figure it, we ought to start about midnight," he said. "Garion and the rest of us will climb up first and circle around until we're behind the city. Brendig and his men can follow us up and start taking over the catapults. As soon as it gets light enough to see, he's going to start throwing boulders across the inlet."
    "Will that give Garion time enough to get into position?" King Fulrach asked.
    "It should be plenty of time, your Majesty," Brendig assured him. "Lord Barak says that once we get to the top, the terrain is fairly flat."
    "There are trees, too," Barak told them. "That should give us plenty of concealment."
    "How much open space are we going to have to charge across when we attack the city?" Garion asked.
    "Oh, maybe five hundred yards," Barak replied.
    "That's quite a ways."
    "It's about as far as I want to run."
    Evening settled slowly over the calm waters of the inlet, purpling the sheer cliffs rising on either side. Garion used the last bit of light carefully to examine every inch of the steep slope which he and his men would be climbing in just a few hours. A flicker of movement just overhead caught his eye, and he looked up in time to see a ghostly white shape sliding silently through the calm, purple air. A single soft white feather slowly sifted down to settle on the deck not far away. Gravely, Hettar went over and picked it up.
    A moment or two later, Aunt Pol, wrapped in her blue cloak, came down the deck and joined them. "You're going to have to be very careful when you approach the shipyards," she told Anheg, who stood nearby with Brendig. "They've moved catapults down to the beaches to try to bold you off."
    "I expected that," he replied with an indifferent shrug.
    "You'd better pay attention to her, Anheg," Barak said in a threatening tone, "because if you get my ship sunk, I'll pull out your beard one whisker at a time."
    "What a novel way to address one's king," Silk murmured to Javelin.
    "How heavily is the rear of the city defended?" Garion asked Polgara.
    "The walls are high," she answered, "and the gate looks impressive. There aren't very many men there, though."
    "Good."
    Hettar silently handed her the feather.
    "Why, thank you," she said to him. "I would have missed that."
    The slope of the hill leading to the rolling plateau high above was even steeper than Garion's examination from the deck of the Seabird had led him to believe. Clumps of broken rock, almost invisible in the midnight darkness, rolled treacherously underfoot, and the stiff limbs of the scrubby bushes that choked the hillside seemed almost to push deliberately at his face and chest as he struggled upward. His mail shirt was heavy, and he was soon dripping with sweat.
    "Rough going," Hettar observed laconically.
    A pale sliver of a moon had risen when they finally crested that brutal slope. As they reached the top, they found that the plateau above was covered with a dense forest of fir and spruce trees.
    "This might take us a little longer than I'd thought," Barak muttered, eyeing the thick undergrowth.
    Garion paused to get his breath. "Let's stop for a moment," he told his friends. He stared glumly at the forest barring their way. "If all of us start