Guardians of the West

crashing through that, we're going to alert the catapultists along the top of the cliff," he said. "I think we'd better send out some scouts to see if we can find a path or a track of some kind."
    "Give me a while," Silk told him.
    "You'd better take some men with you."
    "They'd just slow me down. I'll be back before long." The little man vanished into the trees.
    "He never changes, does he?" Hettar murmured.
    Barak laughed shortly. "Did you really think he would?"
    "How long thinkest thou it will be until dawn, my Lord?", Mandorallen asked the big Cherek.
    "Two- maybe three hours," Barak replied. "That hill took a long time."
    Lelldorin, his bow slung across his back, joined them at the edge of the dark wood. "General Brendig's started up," he told them.
    "I wonder how he's going to manage that climb with only one arm," Barak said.
    "I don't think you need to worry too much about Brendig," Hettar replied. "He usually does what he sets out to do."
    "He's a good man," Barak agreed.
    They waited in the warm summer darkness as the moon slowly climbed the eastern sky. From far below Garion could heard the calls of Anheg's men and the rasp of windlasses as the sailors strove to make enough noise to cover any inadvertent sounds Brendig's men might make as they struggled up the brushy slope. Finally Silk returned, appearing soundlessly out of the bushes. "There's a road about a quarter of a mile south of here," he reported quietly. "lt seems to go toward Jarviksholm."
    "Excellent," Mandorallen said gaily. "Let us proceed, my Lords. The city doth await our coming."
    "I hope not," Garion said. "The whole idea is to surprise them."
    The narrow road SiIk had found proved to be a woodcutter's track and it meandered in a more or less easterly direction, leading them inland. Behind him Garion could hear the jingle of mail shirts and the steady, shuffling tread of his soldiers as they moved through the tag end of night in the deep shadows of the surrounding forest. There was a sense of inexorable purpose involved in this -leading a mass of faceless men through the darkness. A tense excitement had been building in him since they had left the ships. His impatience to begin the attack was so strong now that it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking into a run.
    They reached a large cleared area. At the far side of that open field, the white ribbon of a well-traveled highway cut due north across the moonlit pasture-land.
    "That's the Halberg road," Barak told them. "We're almost there."
    "I'd better see how Brendig's doing," Garion said. He carefully reached out, skirting the thoughts of the troops massed at his back and seeking the familiar touch of Durnik's mind. "Durnik," he said silently, "can you hear me?"
    "Garion?" the smith's thought came back.
    "Right," Garion replied. "Have you captured the catapults yet?"
    "We've still got a dozen or so to take. Brendig's moving slowly to keep down unnecessary noise."
    "Will you have them all by the time it starts getting light?"
    "I'm sure we will."
    "Good. Let me know when you capture the last one."
    "I will."
    "How are they doing?" Lelldorin asked. The young bowman's voice was tight with excitement.
    "They'll be ready when it's time," Garion replied.
    "What thinkest thou, my Lord?" Mandorallen asked Barak. "Might it not be the proper moment to select some few stout trees to serve as rams to reduce the city gates?"
    "I'll deal with the gate," Garion told them firmly.
    Barak stared at him. "You mean that you're going to-?" He made a gesture with one thick-fingered hand.
    Garion nodded.
    "That hardly seems proper, Garion," Barak objected disapprovingly .
    "Proper?"
    "There are certain ways that things are done. City gates are supposed to be knocked in with battering rams."
    "While the people inside pour boiling pitch down on the men trying to break in?"
    "That's part of the risk," Barak explained. "Without a little risk, a battle isn't very much fun."
    Hettar laughed quietly.
    "I hate to fly in the face of tradition," Garion said, "but I'm not going to let a lot of people get killed unnecessarily just for the sake of an old custom."
    A hazy ground fog, glowing in the moonlight, lay low on the broad, open expanse between the edge of the forest and the towering walls of Jarviksholm. Off to the east, the first pale glimmer of the approaching dawn stained the velvet sky. There were ruddy torches along the top of the heavy battlements of the city. By their light Garion could see a