Chapter Twenty-Four
THE NEXT MORNING they followed the ridgeline that angled off toward the east. The wintry sky above them was an icy blue, and there was no warmth to the sun. Relg kept his eyes veiled against the light and muttered prayers as he rode to ward off his panic. Several times they saw dust clouds far out on the desolation of sand and salt flats to the south, but they were unable to determine whether the clouds were caused by Murgo patrols or vagrant winds.
About noon, the wind shifted and blew in steadily from the south. A ponderous cloud, black as ink, blotted out the jagged line of peaks lying along the southern horizon. It moved toward them with a kind of ominous inexorability, and flickers of lightning glimmered in its sooty underbelly.
"That's a bad storm coming, Belgarath," Barak rumbled, staring at the cloud.
Belgarath shook his head. "It's not a storm," he replied. "It's ashfall. That volcano out there is erupting again, and the wind's blowing the ash this way."
Barak made a face, then shrugged. "At least we won't have to worry about being seen, once it starts," he said.
"The Grolims won't be looking for us with their eyes, Barak," Aunt Pol reminded him.
Belgarath scratched at his beard. "We'll have to take steps to deal with that, I suppose."
"This is a large group to shield, father," Aunt Pol pointed out, "and that's not even counting the horses."
"I think you can manage it, Pol. You were always very good at it."
"I can hold up my side as long as you can hold up yours, Old Wolf."
"I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to help you, Pol. Ctuchik himself is looking for us. I've felt him several times already, and I'm going to have to concentrate on him. If he decides to strike at us, he'll come very fast. I'll have to be ready for him, and I can't do that if I'm all tangled up in a shield."
"I can't do it alone, father," she protested. "Nobody can enclose this many men and horses without help."
"Garion can help you."
"Me?" Garion jerked his eyes off the looming cloud to stare at his grandfather.
"He's never done it before, father," Aunt Pol pointed out.
"He's going to have to learn sometime."
"This is hardly the time or place for experimentation."
"He'll do just fine. Walk him through it a time or two until he gets the hang of it."
"Exactly what is it I'm supposed to do?" Garion asked apprehensively.
Aunt Pol gave Belgarath a hard look and then turned to Garion. "I'll show you dear," she said. "The first thing you have to do is stay calm. It really isn't all that difficult."
"But you just said-"
"Never mind what I said, dear. Just pay attention."
"What do you want me to do?" he asked doubtfully.
"The first thing is to relax," she replied, "and think about sand and rock."
"That's all?"
"Just do that first. Concentrate."
He thought about sand and rock.
"No, Garion, not white sand. Black sand - like the sand all around us."
"You didn't say that."
"I didn't think I had to."
Belgarath started to laugh.
"Do you want to do this, father?" she demanded crossly. Then she turned back to Garion. "Do it again, dear. Try to get it right this time."
He fixed it in his mind.
"That's better," she told him. "Now, as soon as you get sand and rock firmly in your mind, I want you to sort of push the idea out in a half circle so that it covers your entire right side. I'll take care of the left."
He strained with it. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. "Don't push quite so hard, Garion. You're wrinkling it, and it's very hard for me to make the seams match when you do that. Just keep it steady and smooth."
"I'm sorry." He smoothed it out.
"How does it look, father?" she asked the old man.
Garion felt a tentative push against the idea he was holding.
"Not bad, Pol," Belgarath replied. "Not bad at all. The boy's got talent."
"Just exactly what are we doing?" Garion asked. In spite of the chill, he felt sweat standing out on his forehead.
"You're making a shield," Belgarath told him. "You enclose yourself in the idea of sand and rock, and it merges with the real sand and rock all around us. When Grolims go looking for things with their minds, they're looking for men and horses. They'll sweep right past us, because all they'll see here is more sand and more rock."
"That's all there is to it?" Garion was quite pleased with how simple it was.
"There's a bit more, dear," Aunt Pol said. "We're going to extend it now so that it covers all of us. Go out slowly, a few feet at a time."
That was much less simple. He tore the fabric of the idea several times before he got it pushed out as far as Aunt Pol wanted it. He felt a strange merging of his mind with hers along the center of the idea where the two sides joined.
"I think we've got it now, father," Aunt Pol said.
"I told you he could do it, Pol."
The purple-black cloud was rolling ominously up the sky toward them, and faint rumbles of thunder growled along its leading edge.
"If that ash is anything like what it was in Nyissa, we're going to be wandering blind out here, Belgarath," Barak said.
"Don't worry about it," the sorcerer replied. "I've got a lock on Rak Cthol. The Grolims aren't the only ones who can locate things that way. Let's move out."