Queen of Sorcery

on the floor of the forest. The curious lumps and hummocks of that moss suggested the horror which lay moldering beneath. As he raised his eyes, he realized that the uneven surface extended as far as he could see, "How long until we reach the plain?" he asked in a hushed voice.
    "Two days, probably."
    "Two days? And it's all like this?"
    Lelldorin nodded.
    "Why?" Garion's tone was harsher, more accusing than he'd intended.
    "At first for pride - and honor," Lelldorin replied. "Later for grief and revenge. Finally it was simply because we didn't know how to stop. As you said before, sometimes we Arends aren't very bright."
    "But always brave," Garion answered quickly.
    "Oh yes," Lelldorin admitted. "Always brave. It's our national curse."
    "Belgarath," Hettar said quietly from behind them, "the horses smell something."
    Mister Wolf roused himself from the doze in which he usually rode. "What?"
    "The horses," Hettar repeated. "Something out there's frightening them."
    Wolf's eyes narrowed and then grew strangely blank. After a moment he drew in a sharp breath with a muttered curse.
    "Algroths," he swore.
    "What's an Algroth?" Durnik asked.
    "A non-human-somewhat distantly related to Trolls."
    "I saw a Troll once," Barak said. "A big ugly thing with claws and fangs."
    "Will they attack us?" Durnik asked.
    "Almost certainly." Wolf's voice was tense. "Hettar, you're going to have to keep the horses under control. We don't dare get separated."
    "Where did they come from?" Lelldorin asked. "There aren't any monsters in this forest."
    "They come down out of the mountains of Ulgo sometimes when they get hungry," Wolf answered. "They don't leave survivors to report their presence."
    "You'd better do something, father," Aunt Pol said. "They're all around us."
    Lelldorin looked quickly around as if getting his bearings. "We're not far from Elgon's tor," he offered. "We might be able to hold them off if we get there."
    "Elgon's tor?" Barak said. He had already drawn his heavy sword.
    "It's a high hillock covered with boulders," Lelldorin explained. "It's almost like a fort. Elgon held it for a month against a Mimbrate army."
    "Sounds promising," Silk said. "It would get us out of the trees at least." He looked nervously around at the forest looming about them in the drizzling rain.
    "Let's try for it," Wolf decided. "They haven't worked themselves up to the point of attacking yet, and the rain's confusing their sense of smell."
    A strange barking sound came from back in the forest.
    "Is that them?" Garion asked, his voice sounding shrill in his own ears.
    "They're calling to each other," Wolf told him. "Some of them have seen us. Let's pick up the pace a bit, but don't start running until we see the tor."
    They nudged their nervous horses into a trot and moved steadily along the muddy road as it began to climb toward the top of a low ridge. "Half a league," Lelldorin said tensely. "Half a league and we should see the tor."
    The horses were difficult to hold in, and their eyes rolled wildly at the surrounding woods. Garion felt his heart pounding, and his mouth was suddenly dry. It started to rain a bit harder. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked quickly. A manlike figure was loping along parallel to the road about a hundred paces back in the forest. It ran half crouched, its hands touching the ground. It seemed to be a loathsome gray color.
    "Over there!" Garion cried.
    "I saw him," Barak growled. "Not quite as big as a Troll."
    Silk grimaced. "Big enough."
    "If they attack, be careful of their claws," Wolf warned. "They're venomous."
    "That's exciting," Silk said.
    "There's the tor," Aunt Pol announced quite calmly.
    "Let's run!" Wolf barked.
    The frightened horses, suddenly released, leaped forward and fled up the road, their hoofs churning. An enraged howl came from the woods behind them, and the barking sound grew louder all around them.
    "We're going to make it!" Durnik shouted in encouragement. But suddenly a half-dozen snarling Algroths were in the road in front of them, their arms spread wide and their mouths gaping hideously. They were huge, with apelike arms and claws instead of fingers. Their faces were goatish, surmounted by short, sharp-pointed horns, and they had long, yellow fangs. Their gray skin was scaly, reptilian.
    The horses screamed and reared, trying to bolt. Garion clung to his saddle with one hand and fought the reins with the other.
    Barak beat at his horse's rump with the flat