“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody use a lance that way before,” Silk said gaily to Garion.
“I just made it up,” Garion replied with an excited grin. “I’m sure that there are at least a half‑dozen rules against it.”
“We probably shouldn’t mention it, then.”
“I won’t tell anybody if you don’t.”
Durnik was looking around critically. The ground was littered with Guardsmen who were either unconscious or groaning over assorted broken bones. Only the man Toth had poked in the stomach was still in his saddle, though he was doubled over, gasping for breath. Durnik rode up to him. “Excuse me,” he said politely, removed the poor fellow’s helmet, and then rapped him smartly on top of the head with the butt of his axe. The Guardsman’s eyes glazed, and he toppled limply out of the saddle.
Belgarath suddenly doubled over, howling with laughter. “Excuse me?” he demanded of the smith.
“There’s no need to be uncivil to people, Belgarath,” Durnik replied stiffly.
Polgara came riding sedately down the hill, followed by Ce’Nedra, Velvet, and Eriond. “Very nice, gentlemen,” she complimented them all, looking around at the fallen Guardsmen. Then she rode up to the pole gate.
“Garion, dear,” she said pleasantly, reining in her mount, “would you mind?”
He laughed, rode Chretienne over to the gate, and kicked it out of her way.
“Why on earth were you jumping fences in the very middle of the fight?” she asked him curiously.
“It wasn’t altogether my idea,” he replied.
“Oh,” she said, looking critically at the big horse. “I think I understand.”
Chretienne managed somehow to look slightly ashamed of himself.
They rode on past the border as evening began imperceptibly to darken an already gloomy sky. Feldegast pulled in beside Belgarath. “Would yer morals be at all offended if I was t’ suggest shelterin’ fer the night in a snug little smugglers’ cave I know of a few miles or so farther on?” he asked.
Belgarath grinned and shook his head. “Not in the slightest,” he replied. “When I need a cave, I never concern myself about the previous occupants.” Then he laughed. “I shared quarters for a week once with a sleeping bear ‑nice enough bear, actually, once I got used to his snoring.”
“ ‘Tis a fascinatin’ story, I’m sure, an’ I’d be delighted t’ hear it ‑but the night’s comin’ on, an’ ye kin tell me about it over supper. Shall we be off, then?” The juggler thumped his heels into his mule’s flanks and led them on up the rutted road in the rapidly descending twilight at a jolting gallop.
As they moved into the first of the foothills, they found the poorly maintained road lined on either side by mournful‑looking evergreens. The road, however, was empty, though it showed signs of recent heavy traffic -all headed south.
“How much farther to this cave of yours?” Belgarath called to the juggler.
“ ‘Tis not far, Ancient One,” Feldegast assured him. “There be a dry ravine that crosses the road up ahead, an’ we go up that a bit of a ways, an’ there we are.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Trust me.”
Somewhat surprisingly, Belgarath let that pass.
They pounded on up the road as a sullen dusk settled into the surrounding foothills and deep shadows began to gather about the trunks of the evergreens.
“Ah, an’ there it is,” Feldegast said, pointing at the rocky bed of a dried‑up stream. “The footin’ be treacherous here, so we’d best lead the mounts.” He swung down from his mule and cautiously began to lead the way up the ravine. It grew steadily darker, the light fading quickly from the overcast sky. As the ravine narrowed and rounded a sharp bend, the juggler rummaged through the canvas pack strapped to the back of his mule. He lifted out the stub of a candle and looked at Durnik. “Kin ye be makin’ me a bit of a flame, Goodman?” he asked. “I’d do it meself, but I seem t’ have misplaced me tinder.”
Durnik opened his pouch, took out his flint and steel and his wad of tinder, and, after several tries, blew a lighted spark into a tiny finger of fire. He held it out, shielded between his hands, and Feldegast lit his bit of candle.
“ An’ here we are now,” the juggler said grandly, holding up his candle to illuminate the steep banks of the ravine.
“Where?” Silk asked, looking about in puzzlement.
“Well now, Prince Kheldar, it wouldn’t be much of a hidden cave if the openin’ was out in plain sight fer just anybody t’ stumble across, now would it?” Feldegast went over to the steep side of the ravine to where a huge slab of water‑scoured granite leaned against the bank. He lowered his candle, shielding it with his hand, ducked slightly, and disappeared behind it with his mule trailing along behind him.
The interior of the cave was floored with clean white sand, and the walls had been worn smooth by centuries of swirling water. Feldegast stood in the center of the cave holding his candle aloft. There were crude log bunks along the walls, a table and some benches in the center of the cave, and a rough fireplace near the far wall with a fire already laid. Feldegast crossed to the fireplace, bent, and lit the kindling lying under the split logs resting on a rough stone grate with his candle. “Well now, that’s better,” he said, holding his hands out to the crackling flames. “Isn’t this a cozy little haven?”
Just beyond the fireplace was an archway, in part natural and in part the work of human hands. The front of the archway was closed off with several horizontal poles.
Feldegast pointed at it. “There be the stable fer the horses, an’ also a small spring at the back of it. ‘Tis altogether the finest smugglers’ cave in this part of Mallorea.”
“A cunning sort of place,” Belgarath agreed, looking around.
“What do they smuggle through here?” Silk asked with a certain professional curiosity.
“Gem stones fer the most part. There be rich deposits in the cliffs of Katakor, an’ quite often whole gravel bars of the shiny little darlin’s lyin’ in the streams t’ be had fer the trouble it takes t’ pick ’em up. The local taxes be notorious cruel, though, so the bold lads in this part of these mountains have come up with various ways t’ take their goods across the border without disturbin’ the sleep of the hardworkin’ tax collectors.”
Polgara was inspecting the fireplace. There were several iron pothooks protruding from its inside walls and a large iron grill sitting on stout legs to one side. “Very nice,” she murmured approvingly. “Is there adequate firewood?”
“
More than enough, me dear lady,” the juggler replied. “Tis stacked in the stable, along with fodder fer the horses.”
“Well, then,” she said, removing her blue cloak and laying it across one of the bunks, “I think I might be able to expand the menu I’d planned for this evening’s meal. As long as we have such complete facilities here, it seems a shame to waste them. I’ll need more firewood stacked here -and water, of course.” She went to the packhorse that carried her cooking utensils and her stores, humming softly to herself.
Durnik, Toth, and Eriond led the horses into the stable and began to unsaddle them. Garion, who had left his lance outside, went to one of the bunks, removed his helmet and laid it, along with his shield, under the bunk, and then he began to struggle out of his mail shirt.
Ce’Nedra came over to assist him..
“You were magnificent today, dear,” she told him warmly.
He grunted noncommittally, leaning forward and extending his arms over his head so that she could pull the shirt off.
She tugged hard, and the mail shirt came free all at once. Thrown off balance by the weight, she sat down heavily on the sandy floor with the shirt in her lap.
Garion laughed and quickly went to her. “Oh, Ce’Nedra,” he said, still laughing, “I do love you.” He kissed her and then helped her to her feet.
“This is terribly heavy, isn’t it?” she said, straining to lift the steel‑link shirt.
“You noticed,” he said, rubbing at one aching shoulder. “And here you thought I was just having fun.”
“Be nice, dear. Do you want me to hang it up for you?” He shrugged. “Just kick it under the bunk.”
Her look was disapproving.
“I don’t think it’s going to wrinkle, Ce’Nedra.”
“But it’s untidy to do it that way, dear.” She made some effort to fold the thing, then gave up, rolled it in a ball, and pushed it far back under the bunk with her foot.
Supper that evening consisted of thick steaks cut from a ham Vella had provided them, a rich soup so thick that it hovered on the very edge of stew, large slabs of bread that had been warmed before the fire, and baked apples with honey and cinnamon.