Chapter Twenty
"Mistress Pol says that it's time for you to come back to the tents," Durnik told them when he reached the glade. There was a faint hint of amusement on his plain, dependable face, and he looked knowingly at the two of them.
Garion blushed and then grew angry with himself for blushing. Ce'Nedra, however, showed no concern at all.
"Have the Dryads come yet?" she asked, getting to her feet and brushing the grass from the back of her tunic.
"Not yet," Durnik answered. "Wolf says that they should find us soon. There seems to be some kind of storm building up to the south, and Mistress Pol thought the two of you ought to come back."
Garion glanced at the sky and saw a layer of inky clouds moving up from the south, staining the bright blue sky as they rolled ponderously northward. He frowned. "I've never seen clouds like that, have you, Durnik?"
Durnik looked up. "Strange," he agreed.
Garion rolled up the two wet towels, and they started back down the stream. The clouds blotted out the sun, and the woods became suddenly very dark. The sense of watchfulness was still there, that wary awareness they had all felt since they had entered the wood, but now there was something else as well. The great trees stirred uneasily, and a million tiny messages seemed to pass among the rustling leaves.
"They're afraid," Ce'Nedra whispered. "Something's frightening them."
"What?" Durnik asked.
"The trees - they're afraid of something. Can't you feel it?"
He stared at her in perplexity.
Far above them the birds suddenly fell silent, and a chill breeze began to blow, carrying with it a foul reek of stagnant water and rotting vegetation.
"What's that smell?" Garion asked, looking about nervously.
"Nyissa is south of here," Ce'Nedra said. "It's mostly swamps."
"Is it that close?" Garion asked.
"Not really," she said with a small frown. "It must be sixty leagues or more."
"Would a smell carry that far?"
"It's not likely," Durnik said. "At least it wouldn't be in Sendaria."
"How far is it to the tents?" Ce'Nedra asked.
"About a half-mile," Durnik answered.
"Maybe we should run," she suggested.
Durnik shook his head. "The ground's uneven," he said, "and running in bad light's dangerous. We can walk a bit faster, though." They hurried on through the gathering gloom. The wind began to blow harder, and the trees trembled and bent with its force. The strange fear that seemed to permeate the wood grew stronger.
"There's something moving over there," Garion whispered urgently and pointed at the dark trees on the other side of the stream.
"I don't see anything," Ce'Nedra said.
"There, just beyond the tree with the large white limb. Is it a Dryad?"
A vague shape slid from tree to another in the half light. There was something chillingly wrong with the figure. Ce'Nedra stared at it with revulsion. "It's not a Dryad," she said. "It's something alien."
Durnik picked up a fallen limb and gripped it like a cudgel with both hands. Garion looked quickly around and saw another limb. He too armed himself.
Another figure shambled between two trees, a bit closer this time. "We'll have to chance it," Durnik said grimly. "Be careful, but run. Get the others. Now go!"
Garion took Ce'Nedra's hand, and they started to run along the streambank, stumbling often. Durnik lagged farther and father behind, his two-handed club swinging warningly about him.
The figures were now all around them, and Garion felt the first surges of panic.
Then Ce'Nedra screamed. One of the figures had risen from behind a low bush directly in front of them. It was large and ill-shaped, and there was no face on the front of its head. Two eye-holes stared vacantly as it shambled forward with its half-formed hands reaching out for them. The entire figure was a dark gray mud color, and it was covered with rotting, stinking moss that adhered to its oozing body.
Without thinking, Garion thrust Ce'Nedra behind him and leaped to the attack. The first blow of his club struck the creature solidly in the side, and the club merely sank into the body with no visible effect. One of the outstretched hands touched his face, and he recoiled from that slimy touch with revulsion. Desperately he swung again and struck the thing solidly on the forearm. With horror he saw the arm break off at the elbow. The creature paused to pick up the still-moving arm.
Ce'Nedra screamed again, and Garion spun about. Another of the mud-men had come up behind her and had grasped her about the waist with both arms. It was starting to turn, lifting the struggling princess from the ground when Garion swung his club with all his might. The blow was not aimed at head or back, but rather at the ankles.
The mud-man toppled backward with both of its feet broken off. Its grip about Ce'Nedra's waist, however, did not loosen as it fell.
Garion jumped forward, discarding his club and drawing his dagger. The substance of the thing was surprisingly tough. Vines and dead twigs were encased in the clay which gave it its shape. Feverishly, Garion cut away one of the arms and then tried to pull the screaming princess free. The other arm still clung to her. Almost sobbing with the need to hurry, Garion started hacking at the remaining arm.
"Look out!" Ce'Nedra shrieked. "Behind you!"
Garion looked quickly over his shoulder. The first mud-man was reaching for him. He felt a cold grip about his ankle. The arm he had just severed had inched its way across the ground and grasped him.
"Garion!" Barak's voice roared from a short distance off.
"Over here!" Garion shouted. "Hurry!"
There was a crashing in the bushes, and the great, red-bearded Cherek appeared, sword in hand, with Hettar and Mandorallen close behind. With a mighty swing, Barak cut off the head of the first mudman. It sailed through the air and landed with a sickening thump several yards away. The headless creature turned and groped blindly, trying to put its hands on its attacker. Barak paled visibly and then chopped away both outstretched arms. Still the thing shambled forward.
"The legs," Garion said quickly. He bent and hacked at the clay hand about his ankle.
Barak lopped off the mud-man's legs, and the thing fell. The dismembered pieces crawled toward him.
Other mud-men had appeared, and Hettar and Mandorallen were laying about them with their swords, filling the air with chunks and pieces of living clay.
Barak bent and ripped away the remaining arm which held Ce'Nedra.
Then he jerked the girl to her feet and thrust her at Garion. "Get her back to the tents!" he ordered. "Where's Durnik?"
"He stayed behind to hold them off," Garion said.
"We'll go help him," Barak said. "Run!"
Ce'Nedra was hysterical, and Garion had to drag her to the tents.
"What is it?" Aunt Pol demanded.
"Monsters out there in the woods," Garion said, pushing Ce'Nedra at her. "They're made out of mud, and you can't kill them. They've got Durnik." He dove into one of the tents and emerged a second later with his sword in his hand and fire in his brain.
"Garion!" Aunt Pol shouted, trying to disentangle herself from the sobbing princess. "What are you doing?"
"I've got to help Durnik," he said.
"You stay where you are."
"No!" he shouted. "Durnik's my friend." He dashed back toward the fight, brandishing his sword.
"Garion! Come back here!"
He ignored her and ran through the dark woods.