Queen of Sorcery

of his sword and kicked savagely at the animal's flanks until the horse, finally more afraid of him than the Algroths, charged. With two great sweeps, one to either side, Barak killed two of the beasts as he plunged through. A third, claws outstretched, tried to leap on his back, but stiffened and collapsed facedown in the mud with one of Lelldorin's arrows between its shoulders. Barak wheeled his horse and chopped at the three remaining creatures. "Let's go!" he bellowed.
    Garion heard Lelldorin gasp and turned quickly. With sick horror he saw that a lone Algroth had crept out of the woods beside the road and was clawing at his friend, trying to hook him out of the saddle. Weakly, Lelldorin beat at the goat face with his bow. Garion desperately drew his sword, but Hettar, coming from behind, was already there. His curved sabre ran through the beast's body, and the Algroth shrieked and fell writhing to the ground beneath the pounding hoofs of the pack animals.
    The horses, running now in sheer panic, scrambled toward the slope of the boulder-strewn tor. Garion glanced back over his shoulder and saw Lelldorin swaying dangerously in his saddle, his hand pressed to his bleeding side. Garion pulled in savagely on his reins and turned his horse.
    "Save yourself, Garion!" Lelldorin shouted, his face deadly pale.
    "No!" Garion sheathed his sword, pulled in beside his friend and took his arm, steadying him in the saddle. Together they galloped toward the tor with Garion straining to hold the injured young man.
    The tor was a great jumble of earth and stone thrusting up above the tallest trees around it. Their horses scrambled and clattered up the side among the wet boulders. When they reached the small flat area at the top of the tor where the pack animals huddled together, trembling in the rain, Garion slid out of his saddle in time to catch Lelldorin, who toppled slowly to one side.
    "Over here," Aunt Pol called sharply. She was pulling her small bundle of herbs and bandages out of one of the packs. "Durnik, I'll need a fire - at once."
    Durnik looked around helplessly at the few scraps of wood lying in the rain at the top of the tor. "I'll try," he said doubtfully.
    Lelldorin's breathing was shallow and very fast. His face was still a deadly white, and his legs would not hold him. Garion held him up, a sick fear in the pit of his stomach. Hettar took the wounded man's other arm, and between them they half carried him to where Aunt Pol knelt, opening her bundle.
    "I have to get the poison out immediately," she told them. "Garion, give me your knife."
    Garion drew his dagger and handed it to her. Swiftly she ripped open Lelldorin's brown tunic along his side, revealing the savage wounds the Algroth's claws had made.
    "This will hurt," she said. "Hold him."
    Garion and Hettar took hold of Lelldorin's arms and legs, holding him down.
    Aunt Pol took a deep breath and then deftly sliced open each of the puffy wounds. Blood spurted and Lelldorin screamed once. Then he fainted.
    "Hettar!" Barak shouted from atop a boulder near the edge of the slope. "We need you!"
    "Go!" Aunt Pol told the hawk-faced Algar. "We can handle this now. Garion, you stay here." She was crushing some dried leaves and sprinkling the fragments into the bleeding wounds. "The fire, Durnik," she ordered.
    "It won't start, Mistress Pol," Durnik replied helplessly. "It's too wet."
    She looked quickly at the pile of sodden wood the smith had gathered.
    Her eyes narrowed, and she made a quick gesture. Garion's ears rang strangely and there was a sudden hissing. A cloud of steam burst from the wood, and then crackling flames curled up from the sticks. Durnik jumped back, startled.
    "The small pot, Garion," Aunt Pol instructed, "and water. Quickly." She pulled ofl' her blue cloak and covered Lelldorin with it.
    Silk, Barak and Hettar stood at the edge of the slope, heaving large rocks over the edge. Garion could hear the clatter and clash of the rocks striking the boulders below and the barking of the Algroths, punctuated by an occasional howl of pain.
    He cradled his friend's head in his lap, terribly afraid. "Is he going to be all right?" he appealed to Aunt Pol.
    "It's too early to tell," she answered. "Don't bother me with questions just now."
    "They're running!" Barak shouted.
    "They're still hungry," Wolf replied grimly. "They'll be back."
    From far off in the forest there came the sound of a brassy horn.
    "What's that?" Silk asked, still puffing from the