under the rain of Lelldorin's arrows, and then Barak and Hettar were upon them. With a great sweep, Barak's heavy sword shattered an upflung blade and crunched down into the angle between the neck and shoulder of the black-whiskered man who had held it. The man collapsed. Hettar made a quick feint with his sabre, then ran it smoothly through the body of a pockmarked ruffian. The man stiffened, and a gush of bright blood burst from his mouth as Hettar pulled out his blade. Durnik ran forward with his axe, and Silk drew his long dagger from under his vest and ran directly at a man with a shaggy brown beard. At the last moment, he dived forward, rolled and struck the bearded man full in the chest with both feet. Without pausing he came up and ripped his dagger into his enemy's belly. The dagger made a wet, tearing sound as it sliced upward, and the stricken man clutched at his stomach with a scream, trying to hold in the blue-colored loops and coils of his entrails that seemed to come boiling out through his fingers.
Garion dived for the packs to get his own sword, but was suddenly grabbed roughly from behind. He struggled for an instant, then felt a stunning blow on the back of his head, and his eyes filled with a blinding flash of light.
"This is the one we want," a rough voice husked as Garion sank into unconsciousness.
He was being carried - that much was certain. He could feel the strong arms under him. He didn't know how long it had been since he had been struck on the head. His ears still rang, and he was more than a little sick to his stomach. He stayed limp, but carefully opened one eye. His vision was blurred and uncertain, but he could make out Barak's bearded face looming above him in the darkness, and merged with it, as once before in the snowy woods outside Val Alorn, he seemed to see the shaggy face of a great bear. He closed his eyes, shuddered, and started to struggle weakly.
"It's all right, Garion," Barak said, his voice sunk in a kind of despair. "It's me."
Garion opened his eyes again, and the bear seemed to be gone. He wasn't even sure he had ever really seen it.
"Are you all right?" Barak asked, setting him on the ground.
"They hit me on the head," Garion mumbled, his hand going to the swelling behind his ear.
"They won't do it again," Barak muttered, his tone still despairing. Then the huge man sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands. It was dark and difficult to see, but it looked as if Barak's shoulders were shaking with a kind of terrible suppressed grief - a soundless, wrenching series of convulsive sobs.
"Where are we?" Garion asked, looking around into the darkness.
Barak coughed and wiped at his face.
"Quite a ways from the tents. It took me a little while to catch up to the two who were carrying you off."
"What happened?" Garion was still a bit confused.
"They're dead. Can you stand up?"
"I don't know." Garion tried to get up, but a wave of giddiness swept over him, and his stomach churned.
"Never mind. I'll carry you," Barak said in a now - grimly practical voice. An owl screeched from a nearby tree, and its ghostly white shape drifted off through the trees ahead of them. As Barak lifted him, Garion closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his stomach under control.
Before long they came out into the clearing and its circle of firelight.
"Is he all right?" Aunt Pol asked, looking up from bandaging a cut on Durnik's arm.
"A bump on the head is all," Barak replied, setting Garion down.
"Did you run them off?"
His voice was harsh, even brutal.
"Those that could still run," Silk answered, his voice a bit excited and his ferret eyes bright. "They left a few behind." He pointed at a number of still shapes lying near the edge of the firelight.
Lelldorin came back into the clearing, looking over his shoulder and with his bow half drawn. He was out of breath, his face was pale, and his hands were shaking. "Are you all right?" he asked as soon as he saw Garion.
Garion
Garion dived for the packs to get his own sword, but was suddenly grabbed roughly from behind. He struggled for an instant, then felt a stunning blow on the back of his head, and his eyes filled with a blinding flash of light.
"This is the one we want," a rough voice husked as Garion sank into unconsciousness.
He was being carried - that much was certain. He could feel the strong arms under him. He didn't know how long it had been since he had been struck on the head. His ears still rang, and he was more than a little sick to his stomach. He stayed limp, but carefully opened one eye. His vision was blurred and uncertain, but he could make out Barak's bearded face looming above him in the darkness, and merged with it, as once before in the snowy woods outside Val Alorn, he seemed to see the shaggy face of a great bear. He closed his eyes, shuddered, and started to struggle weakly.
"It's all right, Garion," Barak said, his voice sunk in a kind of despair. "It's me."
Garion opened his eyes again, and the bear seemed to be gone. He wasn't even sure he had ever really seen it.
"Are you all right?" Barak asked, setting him on the ground.
"They hit me on the head," Garion mumbled, his hand going to the swelling behind his ear.
"They won't do it again," Barak muttered, his tone still despairing. Then the huge man sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands. It was dark and difficult to see, but it looked as if Barak's shoulders were shaking with a kind of terrible suppressed grief - a soundless, wrenching series of convulsive sobs.
"Where are we?" Garion asked, looking around into the darkness.
Barak coughed and wiped at his face.
"Quite a ways from the tents. It took me a little while to catch up to the two who were carrying you off."
"What happened?" Garion was still a bit confused.
"They're dead. Can you stand up?"
"I don't know." Garion tried to get up, but a wave of giddiness swept over him, and his stomach churned.
"Never mind. I'll carry you," Barak said in a now - grimly practical voice. An owl screeched from a nearby tree, and its ghostly white shape drifted off through the trees ahead of them. As Barak lifted him, Garion closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his stomach under control.
Before long they came out into the clearing and its circle of firelight.
"Is he all right?" Aunt Pol asked, looking up from bandaging a cut on Durnik's arm.
"A bump on the head is all," Barak replied, setting Garion down.
"Did you run them off?"
His voice was harsh, even brutal.
"Those that could still run," Silk answered, his voice a bit excited and his ferret eyes bright. "They left a few behind." He pointed at a number of still shapes lying near the edge of the firelight.
Lelldorin came back into the clearing, looking over his shoulder and with his bow half drawn. He was out of breath, his face was pale, and his hands were shaking. "Are you all right?" he asked as soon as he saw Garion.
Garion
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