The Belgariad 5: Enchanter's End Game (31 page)

"I didn't want this," Polgara said angrily and she began to mutter curses again.

Brand, the gray-cloaked Rivan Warder, accompanied by General Varana, rode up to join Mandorallen and Hettar at the top of the steep bank. The four of them dismounted and slid down the bank to the sand.

"We've begun evacuating the city," the big Rivan said in his deep voice, "and most of the fleet is pulling anchor. We're holding just enough ships to maintain the bridges across the south channel."

"Is there any possibility of putting the entire army on one bank or the other?" Polgara asked him.

He shook his head. "There isn't time, Polgara."

"We're going to be divided by the river," she pointed out, "and neither force is going to be strong enough to meet the Angaraks coming against it."

"A tactical necessity, my dear Lady Polgara," General Varana told her. "We have to hold both banks until the fleet is clear."

"I think Rhodar misjudged the Angarak intentions," Brand said. "He was so sure that Taur Urgas and 'Zakath would both want to avoid taking casualties that he didn't consider this possibility."

General Varana clasped his muscular hands behind his back and limped back and forth along the little beach, his face creased with thought. "I think I begin to understand the meaning of that Murgo column we destroyed in the uplands," he said.

"Your Grace?" Mandorallen asked, puzzled.

"It was a test of our commitment," Varana explained. "The Angaraks needed to know when we were making our major move. One of the basic rules of war is not to become involved in serious conflicts if what you're doing is merely diversionary. That column was bait. Unfortunately, we took it."

"You mean we shouldn't have attacked the column?" Hettar asked him.

Varana made a rueful face. "Apparently not. It gave away our intentions - let them know that this expedition was not a diversion. I underestimated Taur Urgas. He threw away a thousand men just to find out what we were up to."

"What now?" Hettar asked.

"We get ready to fight," Varana said. "I wish we had better terrain for it, but I suppose we'll have to make do with what we have."

Hettar looked out across the river, his hawk-face hungry. "I wonder if I've got time to make it over to the south bank," he mused.

"One side or the other," Brand said, looking puzzled. "What's the difference?"

"The Murgos are over there," Hettar replied. "I don't really have anything against Malloreans."

"This isn't a personal fight, Lord Hettar," Varana pointed out.

"It is with me," Hettar said grimly.

"We must needs see to the safety of Lady Polgara and the princess," Mandorallen said. "Mayhap an escort should be provided to convey them back to the forts atop the escarpment."

Brand shook his head. "The region is likely to be patrolled heavily," he disagreed. "It wouldn't be safe."

"He's right, Mandorallen," Polgara told the knight. "Besides, you need every man you've got right here." She looked off toward the northeast. "Then, too, there's that." She pointed toward a heavy cloudbank that had begun to stain the sky just above the horizon. The clouds were an inky black, seething and rolling and illuminated from within by fitful flickers of lightning.

"A storm?" General Varana asked, looking a bit surprised.

"Not at this time of year - and certainly not from that direction," Polgara replied. "The Grolims are up to something, and that's going to be my fight. Deploy your forces, gentlemen. If there's going to be a battle, let's be ready for it."

"The ships are moving," Durnik reported as he and Olban came back to the sheltered little cove, "and the troops are leaving the city."

King Rhodar rode up. His broad face was streaked with soot and perspiration. "Anheg's leaving," he said, swinging down from his saddle with a grunt.

"Where's Fulrach?" Brand asked.

"He's taking the bulk of the troops across to the south bank."

"Isn't that going to leave us a little undermanned on this side?" General Varana inquired politely.

"That bridge is too narrow," Rhodar told him. "It would take hours to bring enough men across to make any difference. Brendig's already got a crew undermining the supports so that we can bring the bridge down before the Angaraks get here."

"What for?" Ce'Nedra asked him.

"Thull Mardu's too good a vantage point, your Highness," General Varana explained. "We don't want any Angaraks on the island if we can help it." He looked at King Rhodar. "Have you given any thought to tactics?" he asked.

"We want to give Anheg a half a day, if possible," Rhodar replied. "The ground along the river gets marshy about twenty leagues downstream, and the Angaraks won't be able to get close enough to pester him, once he gets that far. Let's form up a conventional infantry linepikemen, the legions, Sendars, and so on. We'll put the archers in support and use the Algars to slash at the flanks. I want to hold the Mimbrate knights in reserve until the Malloreans mass up for their first charge."

"That's not a winning tactic, if your Majesty will forgive my saying so," General Varana said.

"We aren't here to win, Varana," Rhodar told him. "We're here to delay the Angaraks for about six hours and then withdraw. I'm not going to waste lives trying to win a battle I haven't any chance of winning." He turned to Hettar. "I want you to send a force of your clansmen on a sweep downriver. Tell them to uproot any Malloreans they find emplaced along the riverbank. The significance of the fleet still may have escaped 'Zakath and Taur Urgas. Angaraks aren't good sailors, so they probably don't realize what Anheg can do, once he gets into the Sea of the East."

"Excuse me, your Majesty," Varana objected, "but all of your strategy - even the fleet - is merely a delaying action."

"That's the whole point, Varana," Rhodar told him bluntly. "All of this is really rather insignificant. What's really important is going to happen in Mallorea when Belgarion reaches Cthol Mishrak. We'd better move, gentlemen. The Malloreans will be here before long, and we want to be ready for them."

The cloudbank Polgara had pointed out was sweeping toward them with an alarming speed, a seething darkness of rolling purple, stalking forward on crooked legs of lightning. A hot wind seemed to flee out ahead of it, flattening the grass and whipping the manes and tails of the horses wildly. As King Rhodar and the others moved out to meet the approaching Mallorean army, Polgara, her face pale and her hair tossing behind her in the wind, climbed the grassy bank with Ce'Nedra and Durnik behind her and stood watching the approach of the cloud. "Take the child, Ce'Nedra," she said quite calmly. "Don't let go of him, no matter what happens."

"Yes, Lady Polgara," Ce'Nedra said, holding out her arms to Errand. The child came to her immediately, his serious little face unafraid. She picked him up and held him close, her cheek against his.

"Errand?" he said, pointing at the approaching storm.

Then, among the ranks of their army, shadowy figures rose up out of the ground. The figures wore black robes and polished steel masks and carried cruel-pointed short spears. Without pausing to even think, a mounted young Mimbrate knight swept his broadsword from its scabbard and swung the whistling blade at one of the steel-masked figures. His sword passed through the figure with no effect. As he struck, however, a sizzling bolt of lightning struck him, seeming to attach itself to the point of his helmet. He stiffened convulsively as the lightning, like a writhing snake of intense light, clung to the tip of his steel helm. Smoke boiled out of the slits of his visor as he roasted inside his armor. His horse lurched forward onto its knees while the ghastly, flickering light engulfed them both. Then the lightning was gone, and horse and man collapsed, stone dead.

Polgara hissed and then raised her voice. She did not seem to be speaking that loudly, but the effect of her words reached the farthest edges of the army. "Do not touch the shadows," she warned. "They're Grolim illusions and can't hurt you unless you touch them. They're here to draw the lightning to you, so stay clear of them."

"But, Mistress Pol," Durnik protested, "the troops won't be able to hold ranks if they have to keep dodging the shadows."

"I'll take care of the shadows," she replied grimly. She raised both arms above her head, her fists clenched. A look of dreadful concentration filled her face, and then she spoke a single word, opening her hands as she did so. The grass, which had been bending toward them in the hot wind preceding the storm, suddenly flattened in the opposite direction as the force of Polgara's will rippled outward. As that force passed over each shadowy Grolim illusion, the figures seemed to flinch, then shrivel, and then with silent detonations, each shadow exploded into shards and fragments of darkness.

Polgara was gasping as the last of the shadows on the farthest edge of the army vanished, and she would have collapsed had Durnik not jumped to her side to support her. "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.

"Just give me a moment," she said, wilting against him. "That took a great deal of effort." She smiled at him, a wan little smile, and then her head drooped wearily.

"Won't they come back?" Ce'Nedra demanded. "What I mean is, it didn't actually hurt the real Grolims, did it? Just their shadows."

Polgara laughed weakly. "Oh, it hurt them, all right," she replied. "Those Grolims don't have shadows any more. Not one of them will ever cast a shadow again."

"Not ever?" the princess gasped.

"Not ever."

Then Beldin joined them, swooping in with the wind tearing at his feathers. "We've got work to do, Polgara," he growled even as he shimmered into his natural shape. "We're going to have to break up this storm they're bringing in from the west. I talked with the twins. They'll work on the southern side of it, and you and I'll take this side."

She looked at him inquiringly.

"Their army's going to be advancing right behind the storm," he explained. "There's no point in trying to hold it back now. It's got too much momentum. What we want to do is break open the rear edge of it and let it spill back over the Angaraks."

"How many Grolims are working on the storm, Uncle?" she asked him.

"Who knows?" He shrugged. "But it's taking every bit of effort they can muster just to keep it under control. If the four of us hit the back side all at once, the pressures in the storm itself will do the rest."

"Why not just let it pass over?" Durnik asked. "Our troops aren't children. They won't fall apart just because of a little squall."

"This isn't just a little squall, blacksmith," Beldin said acidly. Something large and white thudded to the ground a few feet away. "If you get four or five of those hailstones on top of the head, you won't care how the battle turns out."

"They're as big as hens' eggs," Durnik said in astonishment.

"And they'll probably get bigger." Beldin turned back to Polgara. "Give me your hand," he told her. "I'll pass the signal to Beltira, and we'll all strike at the same time. Get ready."

More of the hailstones thudded into the springy turf, and one particularly large one shattered into a thousand fragments as it crashed down on a large rock with stunning force. From the direction of the army came an intermittent banging as the hailstones bounced off the armor of the Mimbrate knights or clanged down on the hastily raised shields of the infantry.

And then, mixed with the hail, the rain squalls struck-seething sheets of water driven before the wind like raging waves. It was impossible to see, and almost impossible to breathe. Olban jumped forward with his shield raised to protect Ce'Nedra and Errand. He winced once as a large hailstone struck his shoulder, but his shield arm did not waver.

"It's breaking, Pol!" Beldin shouted. "Let's push it once more. Let them eat their own storm for a while."

Polgara's face twisted into an agony of concentration, and then she half slumped as she and Beldin unleashed their combined wills at the rolling sky. The sound of it was beyond belief as the vast forces collided. The sky ripped suddenly apart and lightning staggered and lurched through the smoking air. Great, incandescent bolts crashed into each other high above, showering the earth beneath with fireballs. Men fell, charred instantly into black, steaming husks in the driving downpour, but the casualties were not only among the men of the west.

The vast storm with its intolerable pressures recoiled as the combined wills of Polgara and Beldin on the north bank and the twins on the south bank ripped open the back edge of it, and the advancing Malloreans received that recoil full in the teeth. A curtain of lightning swept back across their close-packed ranks like an enormous, blinding broom, littering the earth with their smoking dead. As the fabric of Grolim sorcery which had driven the stormfront toward the river ripped apart, the gale winds suddenly reversed and flowed back, shrieking and howling, confounding the advancing Angaraks with rain and hail.

From out of the center of the dreadful cloud overhead, swirling fingers of murky black twitched and reached down toward the earth with hideous roaring sounds. With a last, almost convulsive jerk, one of those huge, swirling funnels touched the earth in the midst of the redclad Malloreans. Debris sprayed up and out from the point of the dreadful vortex as, with ponderous immensity, it cut an erratic course two hundred yards wide directly through the enemy ranks. Men and horses were ripped to pieces by the insane winds within the swirling column of cloud, and bits of armor and shreds of red tunics - and worse - showered down on the stunned and terrified Malloreans on either side of the swath of absolute destruction moving inexorably through their midst.