“That string’s out of tune,” Durnik advised him.
“I know,” the juggler replied. “The peg keeps slippin’ “
“Let me see it,” Durnik offered. “Maybe I can fix it.”
“ ‘Tis too worn, I fear, friend Durnik. ‘Tis a grand instrument, but it’s old.”
“Those are the ones that are worth saving.” Durnik took the lute and twisted the loose peg, tentatively testing the pitch of the string with his thumb. Then he took his knife and cut several small slivers of wood. He carefully inserted them around the peg, tapping them into place with the hilt of his knife. Then he twisted the peg, retuning the string. “That should do it,” he said. He took up the lute and strummed it a few times. Then, to a slow measure, he picked out an ancient air, the single notes quivering resonantly. He played the air through once, his fingers seeming to grow more confident as he went along.
Then he returned to the beginning again, but this time, to Garion’s amazement, he accompanied the simple melody with a rippling counterpoint so complex that it seemed impossible that it could come from a single instrument. “It has a nice tone,” he observed to Feldegast.
“ ‘Tis a marvel that ye are, master smith. First ye repair me lute, an’ then ye turn around an’ put me t’ shame by playin’ it far better than I could ever hope to.”
Polgara’s eyes were very wide and luminous. “Why haven’t you told me about this, Durnik?” she asked.
“Actually, it’s been so long that I almost forgot about it.” He smiled, his fingers still dancing on the strings and bringing forth that rich‑toned cascade of sound.
“When I was young, I worked for a time with a lute maker. He was old, and his fingers were stiff, but he needed to hear the tone of the instruments he made, so he taught me how to play them for him.”
He looked across the fire at his giant friend, and something seemed to pass between them. Toth nodded, reached inside the rough blanket he wore across one shoulder, and produced a curious‑looking set of pipes, a series of hollow reeds, each longer than the one preceding it, all bound tightly together. Quietly, the mute lifted the pipes to his lips as Durnik returned again to the beginning of the air. The sound he produced from his simple pipes had an aching poignancy about it that pierced Garion to the heart, soaring through the intricate complexity of the lute song.
“I’m beginnin’ t’ feel altogether unnecessary,” Feldegast said in wonder. “Me own playin’ of lute or pipe be good enough fer taverns an’ the like, but I be no virtuoso like these two.” He looked at the huge Toth. “How is it possible fer a man so big t’ produce so delicate a sound?”
“He’s very good,” Eriond told him. “He plays for Durnik and me sometimes ‑when the fish aren’t biting.”
“Ah, ’tis a grand sound,” Feldegast said, “an’ far too good t’ be wasted.” He looked across the fire at Vella. “Would ye be willin’ t’ give us a bit of a dance, me girl, t’ sort of round out the evenin’?”
“Why not?” She laughed with a toss of her head. She rose to her feet and moved to the opposite side of the fire. “Follow this beat,” she instructed, raising her rounded arms above her head and snapping her fingers to set the tempo. Feldegast picked up the beat, clapping his hands rhythmically.
Garion had seen Vella dance before ‑long ago in a forest tavern in Gar og Nadrak‑ so he knew more or less what to expect. He was sure, however, that Eriond certainly ‑and Ce’Nedra probably‑ should not watch a performance of such blatant sensuality. Vella’s dance began innocuously enough, though, and he began to think that perhaps he had been unduly sensitive the last time he had watched her.
When the sharp staccato of her snapping fingers and Feldegast’s clapping increased the tempo, however, and she began to dance with greater abandon, he realized that his first assessment had been correct. Eriond should really not be watching this dance, and Ce’Nedra should be sent away almost immediately. For the life of him, however, he could not think of any way to do it.
When the tempo slowed again and Durnik and Toth returned to a simple restatement of the original air, the Nadrak girl concluded her dance with that proud, aggressive strut that challenged every man about the fire.
To Garion’s absolute astonishment, Eriond warmly applauded with no trace of embarrassment showing on his young face. He knew that his own neck was burning and that his breath was coming faster.
Ce’Nedra’s reaction was about what he had expected.
Her cheeks were flaming and her eyes were wide. Then she suddenly laughed with delight. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed, and her eyes were full of mischief as she cast a sidelong glance at Garion. He coughed nervously.
Feldegast wiped a tear from his eye and blew his nose gustily. Then he rose to his feet. “Ah, me fine, lusty wench,” he said fulsomely to Vella, hanging a regretful embrace about her neck and ‑endangering life and limb just a little in view of her ever‑ready daggers‑ bussing her noisily on the lips, “it’s destroyed altogether I am that we must part. I’ll miss ye, me girl, an’ make no mistake about that. But I make ye me promise that we’ll meet again, an’ I’ll delight ye with a few of me naughty little stories, an’ ye’ll fuddle me brains with yer wicked brew, an’ we’ll laugh an’ sing together an’ enjoy spring after spring in the sheer delight of each others’ company. “ Then he slapped her rather familiarly on the bottom and moved quickly out of range before she could find the hilt of one of her daggers.
“Does she dance for you often, Yarblek?” Silk asked his partner, his eyes very bright.
“Too often,” Yarblek replied mournfully, “and every time she does, I find myself starting to think that her daggers aren’t really all that sharp and that a little cut or two wouldn’t really hurt too much.”
“Feel free to try at any time, Yarblek,” Vella offered, her hand suggestively on the hilt of one of her daggers.
Then she looked at Ce’Nedra with a broad wink.
“Why do you dance like that?” Ce’Nedra asked, still blushing slightly. “You know what it does to every man who watches.”
“That’s part of the fun, Ce’Nedra. First you drive them crazy, and then you hold them off with your daggers. It makes them absolutely wild. Next time we meet, I’ll show you how it’s done.” She looked at Garion and laughed a wicked laugh.
Belgarath returned to the fire. He had left at some time during Vella’s dance, though Garion’s eyes had been too busy to notice. “It’s dark enough,” he told them all. “I think we can leave now without attracting any notice.” They all rose from where they had been sitting.
“You know what to do?” Silk asked his partner.
Yarblek nodded.
“All right. Do whatever you have to to keep me out of the soup.”
“Why do you persist in playing around in politics, Silk?”
“Because it gives me access to greater opportunities to steal.”
“Oh,” Yarblek said. “That’s all right then.” He extended his hand. “Take care, Silk,” he said.
“You, too, Yarblek. Try to keep us solvent if you can, and I’ll see you in a year or so.”
“If you live.”
“There’s that, too.”
“I enjoyed your dance, Vella,” Polgara said, embracing the Nadrak girl.
“I’m honored, Lady,” Vella replied a bit shyly. “ And we’ll meet again, I’m sure.”
“I’m certain that we will.”
“ Are ye sure that ye won’t reconsider yer outrageous askin’ price, Master Yarblek?” Feldegast asked.
“Talk to her about it,” Yarblek replied, jerking his head in Vella’s direction. “She’s the one who set it.”
“ ‘Tis a hardhearted woman ye are, me girl,” the juggler accused her.
She shrugged. “If you buy something cheap, you don’t value it.”
“Now that’s the truth, surely. I’ll see what I kin do t’ put me hands on some money, fer make no mistake, me fine wench, I mean t’ own ye.”
“We’ll see,” she replied with a slight smile.
They went out of the circle of firelight to their picketed horses ‑and the juggler’s mule‑ and mounted quietly. The moon had set, and the stars lay like bright jewels across the warm, velvet throat of night as they rode out of Yarblek’s camp and moved at a cautious walk toward the north. When the sun rose several hours later, they were miles away, moving northward along, a well-maintained highway toward Mal Rukuth, the Angarak city lying on the south bank of the Raku River, the stream that marked the southern border of Venna. The morning was warm, the sky was clear, and they made good time. Once again there were refugees on the road, but unlike yesterday, significant numbers of them were fleeing toward the south.