the years, quite a few babies had been born there, and I seldom
throw anything away that I might need later. By the time father
returned with a pail of warm goat’s milk, Garion was dressed, lying
in an eight-hundred year old cradle, and holding a little rattle that
had been made generations ago.
‘I think it’s colder down here than it is up in the mountains,’
father noted, holding his hands out over the stove.
‘It just seems that way, father. Were you able to contact the
twins?’
‘Oh, I got them, all right. I just hope they understood what I was
saying to them when I said we needed them in the rose-garden.’
‘I’m sure they did.’
‘I’m still going to stay here until they arrive. Then I’m going to
track down Chamdar and settle this once and for all. I should have
killed him a long time ago.’
‘You’re starting to sound like uncle Beldin.’
‘Beldin’s approach to problems might be simplistic, Pol, but it
does have the charm of being permanent.’ Then he looked at me
gravely. ‘Have you decided where you’re going to take the baby
yet? I probably ought to know the name of the town.’
‘I don’t think I’ll go to a town, father – not this time. Towns have
a tendency to leak information. I don’t like being at the mercy of
the gabbiest old drunkard in town. I think I’ll try an isolated farm
instead, and I’m going to do something differently this time.’
‘Oh? What’s that ?’
‘I’ve always made a point of telling the young man in question
who he really is so that he understands the necessity for ordinariness.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Some of them haven’t been very good actors. Sometimes they get
carried away – probably because they’re related to you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You over-act, father. I’m sorry, but you do. You go to extremes
I’ll fix it so that Garion doesn’t have to act.
‘How do you plan to manage that ?’
‘It’s simple, father. I just won’t tell him who he is. I’ll let him find
it out for himself. I’ll raise him as an ordinary farm boy, and he’ll
believe that he’s an ordinary farm boy. Acting won’t be necessary.
All he’ll have to do is just be himself.’
‘I think that might be a little dangerous, Pol. He’s bound to find
out eventually who you are. You give that away a dozen times a
day.’
‘Then I’ll have to learn to control myself, won’t I?
He shook his head stubbornly. ‘It won’t work. There are dozens
of books out there that describe you all the way down to your
toenails.’
‘They won’t mean very much to him if he can’t read. will they?’
‘Pol! He’s going to be a king! You can’t put an illiterate on a
throne!’
‘Dras Bull-neck worked out fairly well, as I recall.
‘That was three thousand years ago, Pol. The world was different
then.’
‘Not all that much different, father. If it bothers you so much, you
can teach him how to read after he’s been crowned.’
‘Me? Why me?’
I gave him a smug little smirk that spoke volumes. and then let
it drop.
The twins arrived the following morning to take over father’s
guard-duty, and my vengeful parent went off in search of Asharak
the Murgo.
I spent the rest of that winter in the kitchen with Garion – and
with whichever of the twins wasn’t on guard duty at the moment.
I planned to leave just as soon as the weather broke. and I didn’t
see much sense in heating the whole house, so I kept the kitchen
doors closed. The kitchen had a large iron stove, and that suited me
right down to the ground. The other rooms had fireplaces. which
ae
are pretty, but not very efficient.
Garion and I grew very close during those interminable months.
He was a loveable baby, and I owed him a great deal because of
my ghastly failure at Annath. His mind was barely awakened, but
a bit of gentle probing gave me a few hints about what he’d become,
and a few more hints about how much trouble I’d have raising him
without losing my mind. This boy was going to be a challenge.
Spring eventually arrived, and after the mud had dried on the
local country lanes, I selected a few of my most nondescript dresses,
some odds and ends of clothing for Garion, and bundled them all
up in a slightly threadbare blanket. Then I bade the twins goodbye
and set out with my bundle slung over one shoulder and Garion in
my arms and my goat trailing along behind me.
I reached the village of Upper Gralt, which wasn’t at all like Outer
Gralt, by late afternoon. I went to a seedy-looking inn and haggled
down the price of a single room for the night. I wanted to give the
impression of teetering perilously on the brink of poverty. After I’d
fed Garion and put him down for the night, I went on back
downstairs to have a word with the innkeeper. ‘I’m looking for work,’ I
told him.
‘Sorry, but I’m not hiring right now.’
‘That wasn’t what I had in mind,’ I told him. ‘Do you know of
any local farmers who might need a good cook or housekeeper?’
He frowned, scratching at one cheek. ‘You might try Faldor,’ he
suggested. ‘Some of his farmhands were by last week, and they said
that Faldor’s cook’s starting to slip quite a bit. She’s getting old, and
she’s slowing down. Faldor’s men were complaining about the meals
always being late and only about half-cooked. It’s coming on toward
planting time, and if a farm kitchen’s falling apart at planting time
or harvest time, the farm hands start looking for new jobs. Faldor’s
got a big farm, and he can’t plant it all by himself. If there’s not an
opening for a cook right now, there probably will be in just a few
weeks.’
‘Where’s his farm?’
‘About a day’s walk off toward the west. Faldor’s a good-hearted
fellow, and even if he can’t hire you right away, he’ll make sure
that you and your baby don’t go hungry. Just follow that road that
leads west out of here toward the Medalia highway. Faldor’s place
is the only one on the south side of the road, so you can’t miss it.’
‘I’ll find it,’ I assured him. ‘Thank you for the information.’ Then
I checked on my goat out in the stables, climbed back up the stairs,
and went to bed, nestling Garion close in my arms.
The next morning dawned clear and bright. I fed Garion and we
were on the road leading off toward the west soon after the sun
had peeped above the horizon. I knew exactly where I was going
and I now had a sense of purpose, so my goat and I stepped right
along.
It was about mid-afternoon when we topped a rise and saw a
large neat farmstead lying about a half mile south of the road in
the next valley. It looked almost as if it were walled in, but that
wasn’t actually the case. The farm buildings were laid out in a
square, with the barns, stables, and work-shops on the ground floor
and the sleeping rooms for the farm hands lining a second floor
gallery. All the buildings faced inward onto a large open compound,
and everything was all in one place. The largest building stood at
the back of the compound opposite that main gate. It was neat,
well-organized, and convenient.
I definitely approved of what I saw, though it all may have been
arranged so that I would well in advance. I went on down the hill
and entered the compound, a little puzzled at what sounded very
much like a bell singing out in measured tones.
As soon as I entered, I saw that what I’d been hearing hadn’t
been a bell, but the sound of a smith hammering on a glowing
horseshoe in his open-fronted smithy.
That, of course, explains how I missed the sound of that secret
personal bell of mine. It was artfully concealed in the sound of that
hammer on the steel anvil.
The smith’s hammering had a steady, no-nonsense rhythm to it,
announcing that here was a fellow who was serious about his work.
He was a rather plain-looking young man, about twenty-five and
of medium height and deceptively medium build. The heavy sound
of his hammer spoke volumes about just how strong he really was.
He wore an ordinary tunic and a burn–spotted leather apron. That
made a lot of sense. When you work with white-hot metal, you
should really have something sturdy between your skin and the
work.
I waited until the smith turned and quenched the horseshoe in
the water barrel beside his anvil, sending up a cloud of steam.