"You were listening at the wrong time," the voice of Garion's inner companion replied. "I set it in motion early last spring. It's just now getting here."

"You knew we'd need it?"

"Obviously. Turn east. The Hounds won't be able to track you in all this. Swing around and come at the city from the east side. There are fewer watchers on that flank."

The downpour continued, punctuated by ripping claps of thunder and flashes of lightning.

"How long will the rain last?" Belgarath shouted over the noise.

"Long enough. It's been building in the Sea of the East for a week. It hit the coast this morning. Turn east."

"Can we talk as we ride?" Belgarath asked. "I have a great many questions."

"This is hardly the time for discussion, Belgarath. You have to hurry. The others arrived at Cthol Mishrak this morning, just ahead of the storm. Everything's ready there, so move."

"It's going to be tonight?"

"It will, if you get there in time. Torak's almost awake now. I think you'd better be there when he opens his eyes."

Belgarath wiped his streaming face again, and his eyes had a worried look. "Let's go," he said sharply and he led them splashing off through the driving rain to solid ground.

The rain continued for several hours, driven before a screaming wind. Sodden, miserable, and half blinded by flying leaves and twigs, the three of them cantered toward the east. The baying of the Hounds trapped in the swamp faded behind them, taking on a baffled, frustrated note as the thunderous deluge obliterated all scents from the swamp and the forest.

When night fell, they had reached a low range of hills far to the east, and the rain had subsided into a steady, unpleasant drizzle, punctuated by periodic squalls of chilly, gusting wind and erratic downpours that swept in randomly off the Sea of the East.

"Are you sure you know the way?" Silk asked Belgarath.

"I can find it," Belgarath said grimly. "Cthol Mishrak's got a peculiar smell to it."

The rain slackened into a few scattered droplets pattering on the leaves overhead and died out entirely by the time they reached the edge of the wood. The smell of which Belgarath had spoken was not a sharp reek, but rather was a muted, dank compound of odors. Damp rust seemed to be a major part of it, although the reek of stagnant water was also present, and the musty scent of fungus. The overall effect was one of decay. When they reached the last of the trees, Belgarath reined in.

"Well, there it is," he said in a quiet voice.

The basin before them was faintly illuminated by a kind of pale, sickly radiance that seemed to emanate from the ground itself, and in the center of that large depression reared the jagged, broken remains of the city.

"What's that strange light?" Garion whispered tensely.