spellsinger universe

The man in the green cloak sat grimly watching for a moment, then he too turned his horse and rode back the way he had come.

Garion rose from his crouched position behind the tree. His hands

were clenched so tightly around the shaft of his spear that they

actually ached. This had gone entirely too far, he decided. The matter

must be brought to someone's attention.

And then, some way ofi in the snowy depths of the wood, he heard the

sound of hunting horns and the steely clash of swords ringing

rhythmically on shields. The huntsmen were coming, driving all the

beasts of the forest before them.

He heard a crackling in the bushes, and a great stag bounded into

view, his eyes wild with fright and his antlers flaring above his head.

With three huge leaps he was gone. Garion trembled with excitement.

Then there was a squealing rush, and a red-eyed sow plunged down the

trail followed by a half dozen scampering piglets. Garion stepped behind

his tree and let them pass.

The next squeals were deeper and rang less with fright than with

rage. It was the boar-Garion knew that before the beast even broke out

of the heavy brush. When the boar appeared, Garion felt his heart quail.

This was no fat, sleepy porker, but rather a savage, infuriated

beast. The horrid tusks jutting up past the flaring snout were yellow,

and bits of twigs and bark clung to them, mute evidence that the boar

would slash at anything in his path-trees, bushes or a Sendarian boy

without sense enough to get out of his way.

Then a peculiar thing happened. As in the long-ago fight with

Rundorig or in the scuffle with Brill's hirelings in the dark streets of

Muros, Garion felt his blood begin to surge, and there was a wild

ringing in his ears. He seemed to hear a defiant, shouted challenge and

could scarcely accept the fact that it came from his own throat. He

suddenly realized that he was stepping into the middle of the trail and

crouching with his spear braced and leveled at the massive beast.

The boar charged. Red-eyed and frothing from the mouth, with a

deep-throated squeal of fury, he plunged at the waiting Garion. The

powdery snow sprayed up from his churning hooves like foam from the prow

of a ship.The snow crystals seemed to hang in the air, sparkling in a

single ray of sunlight that chanced just there to reach the forest

floor.

The shock as the boar hit the spear was frightful, but Garion's aim

was good. The broad-bladed spearhead penetrated the coarsely haired

chest, and the white froth dripping from the boar's tusks suddenly

became bloody foam. Garion felt himself driven back by the impact, his

feet slipping out from under him, and then the shaft of his spear

snapped like a dry twig and the boar was on him.

The first slashing, upward-ripping blow of the boar's tusks took

Garion full in the stomach, and he felt the wind whoosh out of his

lungs. The second slash caught his hip as he tried to roll, gasping, out

of the way. His chain-mail shirt deflected the tusks, saving him from

being wounded, but the blows were stunning. The boar's third slash

caught him in the back, and he was flung through the air and crashed

into a tree. His eyes filled with shimmering light as his head banged

against the rough bark.

And then Barak was there, roaring and charging through the snowbut

somehow it seemed not to be Barak. Garion's eyes, glazed from the shock

of the blow to his head, looked uncomprehendingly at something that

could not be true. It was Barak, there could be no doubt of that, but it

was also something else. Oddly, as if somehow occupying the same space

as Barak, there was also a huge, hideous bear. The images of the two

figures crashing through the snow were superimposed, their movements

identical as if in sharing the same space they also shared the same

thoughts.

Huge arms grasped up the wriggling, mortally wounded boar and crushed

in upon it. Bright blood fountained from the boar's mouth, and the

shaggy, half man thing that seemed to be Barak and something else at the

same time raised the dying pig and smashed it brutally to the ground.

The man-thing lifted its awful face and roared in earthshaking triumph

as the light slid away from Garion's eyes and he felt himself drifting

down into the gray well of unconsciousness.

There was no way of knowing how much time passed until he came to in

the sleigh. Silk was applying a cloth filled with snow to the back of

his neck as they flew across the glaring white fields toward Val Alorn.

"I see you've decided to live." Silk grinned at him.

"Where's Barak?" Garion mumbled groggily.

"In the sleigh behind us," Silk said, glancing back.

"Is he-all right?"

"What could hurt Barak?" Silk asked.

"I mean -,does he seem like himself?"

"He seems like Barak to me." Silk shrugged. "No, boy, lie still. That

wild pig may have cracked your ribs." He placed his hands on Garion's

chest and gently held him down.

"My boar?" Garion demanded weakly. "Where is it?"

"The huntsmen are bringing it," Silk said. "You'll get your triumphal

entry. If I might suggest it, however, you should give some thought to

the virtue of constructive cowardice. These instincts of yours could

shorten your life."

But Garion had already slipped back into unconsciousness.

And then they were in the palace, and Barak was carrying him, and Aunt Pol was there, white-faced at the sight of all the blood.

"It's not his," Barak assured her quickly. "He speared a boar, and it

bled on him while they were tussling. I think the boy's all right - a

little rap on the head is all."

"Bring him," Aunt Pol said curtly and led the way up the stairs toward Garion's room.

Later, with his head and chest wrapped and a foul-tasting cup of Aunt

Pol's brewing making him light-headed and sleepy, Garion lay in his bed

listening as Aunt Pol finally turned on Barak.

"You great overgrown dolt," she raged. "Do you see what all your foolishness has done?"

"The lad is very brave," Barak said, his voice low and sunk in a kind of bleak melancholy.

"Brave doesn't interest me," Aunt Pol snapped. Then she stopped.

"What's the matter with you?" she demanded. She reached out suddenly and

put her hands on the sides of the huge man's head. She looked for a

moment into his eyes and then slowly released him. "Oh," she said

softly, "it finally happened, I see."

"I couldn't control it, Polgara," Barak said in misery.

"It'll be all right, Barak," she said, gently touching his bowed head.

"It'll never be all right again," Barak said.

"Get some sleep," she told him. "It won't seem so bad in the morning."

The huge man turned and quietly left the room.

Garion knew they were talking about the strange thing he had seen

when Barak had rescued him from the boar, and he wanted to ask Aunt Pol

about it; but the bitter drink she had given him pulled him down into a

deep and dreamless sleep before tIe could put the words together to ask

the question.