Magician's Gambit

replied. "We caught them completely by surprise. I hate to admit it, but our chortling friend there was right for once."
    Garion thought about Mandorallen's changed behavior as they rode on down the valley. Back at the cave where the colt had been born, Durnik had told Mandorallen that fear could be conquered by laughing at it, and, though Durnik had probably not meant it in precisely that way, Mandorallen had taken his words quite literally. The laughter which so irritated Barak was not directed at the foes he met, but rather at the enemy within him. Mandorallen was laughing at his own fear as he rode to each attack.
    "It's unnatural," Barak was muttering to Silk. "That's what bothers me so much. Not only that, it's a breach of etiquette. If we ever get into a serious fight, it's going to be terribly embarrassing to have him giggling and carrying on like that. What will people think?"
    "You're making too much of it, Barak," Silk told him. "Actually, I think it's rather refreshing."
    "You think it's what?"
    "Refreshing. An Arend with a sense of humor is a novelty, after all sort of like a talking dog."
    Barak shook his head in disgust. "There's absolutely no point in ever trying to discuss anything seriously with you, Silk, do you know that? The compulsion of yours to make clever remarks turns everything into a joke."
    "We all have our little shortcomings," Silk admitted blandly.

Chapter Fourteen
    THE SNOW GRADUALLY slackened throughout the rest o the day and by evening only a few solitary flakes drifted down through the darkening air as they set up for the night in a grove of dense spruces. During the night, however, the temperature fell, and the air was bitterly cold when they arose the next morning.
    "How much farther to Prolgu?" Silk asked, standing close to the fire with his shivering hands stretched out to its warmth.
    "Two more days," Belgarath replied.
    "I don't suppose you'd consider doing something about the weather?" the little man asked hopefully.
    "I prefer not to do that unless I absolutely have to," the old man told him. "It disrupts things over a very wide area. Besides, the Gorim doesn't like us to tamper with things in his mountains. The Ulgos have reservations about that sort of thing."
    "I was afraid you might look at it that way."
    Their route that morning twisted and turned so often that by noon Garion was completely turned around. Despite the biting cold, the sky was overcast, a solid lead-gray. It seemed somehow as if the cold had frozen all color from the world. The sky was gray; the snow was a flat, dead white; and the tree trunks were starkly black. Even the rushing water in the streams they followed flowed black between snow-mounded banks. Belgarath moved confidently, pointing their direction as each succeeding valley intersected with another.
    "Are you sure?" the shivering Silk asked him at one point. "We've been going upstream all day, now you say we go down."
    "We'll hit another valley in a few miles. Trust me, Silk. I've been here before."
    Silk pulled his heavy cloak tighter. "It's just that I get nervous on unfamiliar ground," he objected, looking at the dark water of the river they followed.
    From far upstream came a strange sound, a kind of mindless hooting that was almost like laughter. Aunt Pol and Belgarath exchanged a quick look.
    "What is it?" Garion asked.
    "Rock-wolf," Belgarath answered shortly.
    "It doesn't sound like a wolf."
    "It isn't." The old man looked around warily. "They're scavengers for the most part and, if it's just a wild pack, they probably won't attack. It's too early in the winter for them to be that desperate. If it's one of the packs that has been raised by the Eldrakyn, though, we're in for trouble." He stood up in his stirrups to look ahead. "Let's pick up the pace a bit," he called to Mandorallen, "and keep your eyes open."
    Mandorallen, his armor glittering with frost, glanced back, nodded, and moved out at a trot, following the seething black water of the mountain river.
    Behind them the shrill, yelping laughter grew louder.
    "They're following us, father," Aunt Pol said.
    "I can hear that." The old man began searching the sides of the valley with his eyes, his face creased with a worried frown. "You'd better have a look, Pol. I don't want any surprises."
    Aunt Pol's eyes grew distant as she probed the thickly forested sides of the valley with her mind. After a moment, she gasped and then shuddered. "There's an Eldrak out there, father. He's