"Not really. They're Grolims - rather specialized ones. When the Angaraks built the city, Torak decided that he needed something to guard the surrounding countryside. Certain Grolims volunteered to take on nonhuman shapes. The change was permanent."

"I've dealt with watchdogs before," Silk said confidently.

"Not like these. Let's see if we can outrun them." Belgarath didn't sound very hopeful.

They pushed their horses into a gallop, weaving in and out among the tree trunks. The limbs slapped against their faces as they rode, and Garion raised his arm to ward them off as the three of them plunged on.

They crested a low ridge and galloped down the far side. The baying behind them seemed to be closer now.

Then Silk's horse stumbled, and the little man was almost thrown from his saddle.

"T'his isn't working, Belgarath," he said as the old man and Garion reined in. "This ground's too treacherous for us to keep this pace."

Belgarath held up his hand and listened for a moment. The deeptoned baying was definitely closer.

"They're outrunning us anyway," the old man agreed.

"You'd better think of something," Silk said, looking back nervously.

"I'm working on it." Belgarath raised his face to sniff at the air. "Let's keep going. I just got a whiff of stagnant water. The area's dotted with swampy places. We might be able to hide our scent if we can get into a big enough patch of water."

They moved on down the slope toward the bottom of the valley. The odor of standing water grew steadily stronger as they rode.

"Just ahead." Garion pointed toward a patch of brown water intermittently visible among the white tree trunks.

The swamp was quite extensive, a broad patch of reeking, oily water trapped in the bottom of a thickly grown basin. Dead trees thrust up out of the water, their leafless branches seeming almost tike clawed hands reaching up in mute supplication to the indifferent sky.

Silk wrinkled his nose. "It stinks bad enough to hide our scent from almost anything," he said.

"We'll see," Belgarath replied. "This would probably throw off an ordinary dog, but don't forget that the Hounds are really Grolims. They have the ability to reason, so they won't be relying on scent alone."

They pushed their reluctant horses into the murky water and began to splash along, changing direction frequently, weaving in and out among the dead tree trunks. Their horses' hoofs stirred up rotting vegetation from the bottom, filling the air with an even more powerful stench.

The sound of the baying Hounds drew closer, filled now with an excitement and a terrible hunger.

"I think they've hit the edge of the swamp," Silk said, cocking his head to listen.

There was a momentary bafflement in the baying behind them.

"Grandfather!" Garion cried, reining in sharply.