Queen of Sorcery

effort of heaving the heavy stones over the edge.
    "Someone I've been expecting," Wolf answered with a strange smile. He raised his hands to his lips and whistled shrilly.
    "I can manage now, Garion," Aunt Pol said, mashing a thick paste into a steaming pad of wet linen bandage. "You and Durnik go help the others."
    Reluctantly Garion lowered Lelldorin's head to the wet turf and ran over to where Wolf stood. The slope below was littered with dead and dying Algroths, crushed by the rocks Barak and the others had hurled down on them.
    "They're going to try again," Barak said, hefting another rock. "Can they get at us from behind?"
    Silk shook his head. "No. I checked. The back of the hill's a sheer face."
    The Algroths came out of the woods below, barking and snarling as they loped forward with their half crouched gait. The first of them had already crossed the road when the horn blew again, very close this time.
    And then a huge horse bearing a man in full armor burst out of the trees and thundered down upon the attacking creatures. The armored man crouched over his lance and plunged directly into the midst of the startled Algroths. The great horse screamed as he charged, and his ironshod hoofs churned up big clots of mud. The lance crashed through the chest of one of the largest Algroths and splintered from the force of the blow. The splintered end took another full in the face. The knight discarded the shattered lance and drew his broadsword with a single sweep of his arm. With wide swings to the right and left he chopped his way through the pack, his warhorse trampling the living and the dead alike into the mud of the road. At the end of his charge he whirled and plunged back again, once more opening a path with his sword. The Algroths turned and fled howling into the woods.
    "Mandorallen!" Wolf shouted. "Up here!"
    The armored knight raised his blood-spattered visor and looked up the hill. "Permit me to disperse this rabble first, my ancient friend," he answered gaily, clanged down his visor, and plunged into the rainy woods after the Algroths.
    "Hettar!" Barak shouted, already moving.
    Hettar nodded tersely, and the two of them ran to their horses. They swung into their saddles and plunged down the wet slope to the aid of the stranger.
    "Your friend shows a remarkable lack of good sense," Silk observed to Mister Wolf, wiping the rain from his face. "Those things will turn on him any second now."
    "It probably hasn't occurred to him that he's in any danger," Wolf replied. "He's a Mimbrate, and they tend to think they're invincible." The fight in the woods seemed to last for a long time. There were shouts and ringing blows and shrieks of terror from the Algroths. Then Hettar, Barak, and the strange knight rode out of the trees and trotted up the tor. At the top, the armored man clanged down from his horse. "Well met, my old friend," he boomed to Mister Wolf. "Thy friends below were most frolicsome." His armor gleamed wetly in the rain.
    "I'm glad we found something to entertain you," Wolf said dryly.
    "I can still hear them," Durnik reported. "I think they're still running."
    "Their cowardice hath deprived us of an amusing afternoon," the knight observed, regretfully sheathing his sword and removing his helmet.
    "We must all make sacrifices," Silk drawled.
    The knight sighed. "All too true. Thou art a man of philosophy, I see." He shook the water out of the white plume on his helmet.
    "Forgive me," Mister Wolf said. "This is Mandorallen, Baron of Vo Mandor. He'll be going with us. Mandorallen, this is Prince Kheldar of Drasnia and Barak, Earl of Trellheim and cousin to King Anheg of Cherek. Over there is Hettar, son of Cho-Hag, chief of the Clan-Chiefs of Algaria. The practical one is Goodman Durnik of Sendaria, and this boy is Garion, my grandson - several times removed."
    Mandorallen bowed deeply to each of them. "I greet you, comrades all," he declaimed in his booming voice. "Our adventure hath seen a fortuitous beginning. And pray tell, who is this lady, whose beauty doth bedazzle mine eye?"
    "A pretty speech, Sir Knight," Aunt Pol replied with a rich laugh, her hand going almost unconsciously to her damp hair. "I'm going to like this one, father."
    "The legendary Lady Polgara?" Mandorallen asked. "My life hath now seen its crown." His courtly bow was somewhat marred by the creaking of his armor.
    "Our injured friend is Lelldorin, son of the Baron of Wildantor," Wolf continued. "You may have heard of