Magician's Gambit

watching us. His mind is a sewer."
    "They always are," the old man replied. "Could you pick up his name?"
    "Grul."
    "That's what I was afraid of. I knew we were getting close to his range." He put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.
    Barak and Mandorallen halted to wait while the rest caught up with them. "We've got trouble," Belgarath told them all seriously. "There's an Eldrak out there with a pack of rock-wolves. He's watching us right now. It's only a question of time until he attacks."
    "What's an Eldrak?" Silk asked.
    "The Eldrakyn are related to Algroths and Trolls, but they're more intelligent - and much bigger."
    "But only one?" Mandorallen asked.
    "One's enough. I've met this one. His name is Grul. He's big, quick, and as cruel as a hook-pointed knife. He'll eat anything that moves, and he doesn't really care if it's dead or not before he starts to eat."
    The hooting laughter of the rock-wolves drew closer.
    "Let's find an open place and build a fire," the old man said. "The rock-wolves are afraid of fire, and there's no point in fighting with them and Grul if we don't have to."
    "There?" Durnik suggested, pointing to a broad, snow-covered bar protruding out into the dark water of the river. The bar was joined to the near bank by a narrow neck of gravel and sand.
    "It's defensible, Belgarath," Barak approved, squinting at the bar. "The river will keep them off our backs, and they can only come at us across that one narrow place."
    "It will do," Belgarath agreed shortly. "Let's go."
    They rode out onto the snow-covered bar and quickly scraped an area clear with their feet while Durnik worked to build a fire under a large, gray driftwood snag that half blocked the narrow neck of the bar. Within a few moments, orange flames began to lick up around the snag. Durnik fed the fire with sticks until the snag was fully ablaze. "Give me a hand," the smith said, starting to pile larger pieces of wood on the fire. Barak and Mandorallen went to the jumbled mass of driftwood piled against the upstream edge of the gravel and began hauling limbs and chunks of log to the fire. At the end of a quarter of an hour they had built a roaring bonfire that stretched across the narrow neck of sand, cutting them off completely from the dark trees on the riverbank.
    "It's the first time I've been warm all day." Silk grinned, backing up to the fire.
    "They're coming," Garion warned. Back among the dark tree trunks, he had caught a few glimpses of furtive movements.
    Barak peered through the flames. "Big brutes, aren't they?" he observed grimly.
    "About the size of a donkey," Belgarath confirmed.
    "Are you sure they're afraid of fire?" Silk asked nervously.
    "Most of the time."
    "Most of the time?"
    "Once in a while they get desperate - or Grul could drive them toward us. They'd be more afraid of him than of the fire."
    "Belgarath," the weasel-faced little man objected, "sometimes you've got a nasty habit of keeping things to yourself."
    One of the rock-wolves came out onto the riverbank just upstream from the bar and stood sniffing the air and looking nervously at the fire. Its forelegs were noticeably longer than its hind ones, giving it a peculiar, half erect stance, and there was a large, muscular hump across its shoulders. Its muzzle was short, and it seemed snub-faced, almost like a cat. Its coat was a splotchy black and white, marked with a pattern hovering somewhere between spots and stripes. It paced nervously back and forth, staring at them with a dreadful intensity and yelping its highpitched, hooting laugh. Soon another came out to join it, and then another. They spread out along the bank, pacing and hooting, but staying well back from the fire.
    "They don't look like dogs exactly," Durnik said.
    "They're not," Belgarath replied. "Wolves and dogs are related, but rock-wolves belong to a different family."
    By now ten of the ugly creatures lined the bank, and their hooting rose in a mindless chorus.
    Then Ce'Nedra screamed, her face deathly pale and her eyes wide with horror.
    The Eldrak shambled out of the trees and stood in the middle of the yelping pack. It was about eight feet tall and covered with shaggy black fur. It wore an armored shirt that had been made of large scraps of chainmail tied together with thongs; over the mail, also held in place with thongs, was a rusty breastplate that appeared to have been hammered out with rocks until it was big enough to fit around the creature's massive chest. A conical