“Aren’t you afraid of her?” Barak asked pointedly.
“No,” Garion said, and then realized that was not precisely true. “Well-not really afraid. It’s more-” He left it hanging, not knowing how to explain it.
“Exactly,” Barak said. “And I’m no more foolhardy than you, my boy. You’re too full of questions I’d be far wiser not to answer. If you want to know about these things, you’ll have to ask your Aunt.”
“She won’t tell me,” Garion said glumly. “She won’t tell me anything. She won’t even tell me about my parents-not really.”
Barak frowned.
“That’s strange,” he said.
“I don’t think they were Sendars,” Garion said. “Their names weren’t Sendarian, and Silk says that I’m not a Sendar – at least I don’t look like one.”
Barak looked at him closely. “No,” he said finally. “Now that you mention it, you don’t. You look more like a Rivan than anything else, but not quite that either.”
“Is Aunt Pol a Rivan?”
Barak’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I think we’re getting to some more of those questions I hadn’t better answer,” he said.
“I’m going to find out someday,” Garion said.
“But not today,” Barak said. “Come along. I need some exercise. Let’s go out into the innyard and I’ll teach you how to use a sword.”
“Me?” Garion said, all his curiosity suddenly melting away in the excitement of that thought.
“You’re at an age where you should begin to learn,” Barak said. “The occasion may someday arise when it will be a useful thing for you to know.”
Late that afternoon when Garion’s arm had begun to ache from the effort of swinging Barak’s heavy sword and the whole idea of learning the skills of a warrior had become a great deal less exciting, Mister Wolf and Silk returned. Their clothes were wet from the snow through which they had trudged all day, but Wolf’s eyes were bright, and his face had a curiously exultant expression as he led them all back up the stairs to the sitting room.
“Ask your Aunt to join us,” he told Garion as he removed his sodden mantle and stepped to the fire to warm himself.
Garion sensed quickly that this was not the time for questions. He hurried to the polished door where Aunt Pol had been closeted with her dressmaker all day and rapped.
“What is it?” her voice came from inside.
“Mister-uh-that is, your chamberlain has returned, my Lady,” Garion said, remembering at the last moment that she was not alone. “He requests a word with you.”
“Oh, very well,” she said. After a minute she came out, firmly closing the door behind her.
Garion gasped. The rich, blue velvet gown she wore made her so magnificent that she quite took his breath away. He stared at her in helpless admiration.
“Where is he?” she asked. “Don’t stand and gape, Garion. It’s not polite.”
“You’re beautiful, Aunt Pol,” he blurted.
“Yes, dear,” she said, patting his cheek, “I know. Now where’s the Old Wolf?”
“In the room with the tapestries,” Garion said, still unable to take his eyes from her.
“Come along, then,” she said and swept down the short hall to the sitting room. They entered to find the others all standing by the fireplace.
“Well?” she asked.
Wolf looked up at her, his eyes still bright. “An excellent choice, Pol,” he said admiringly. “Blue has always been your best color.”
“Do you like it?” she asked, holding out her arms and turning almost girlishly so that they all might see how fine she looked. “I hope it pleases you, old man, because it’s costing you a great deal of money.”
Wolf laughed. “I was almost certain it would,” he said.
The effect of Aunt Pol’s gown on Durnik was painfully obvious. The poor man’s eyes literally bulged, and his face turned alternately very pale and then very red, then finally settled into an expression of such hopelessness that Garion was touched to the quick by it.
Silk and Barak in curious unison both bowed deeply and wordlessly to Aunt Pol, and her eyes sparkled at their silent tribute.
“It’s been here,” Wolf announced seriously.
“You’re certain?” Aunt Pol demanded.
He nodded. “I could feel the memory of its passage in the very stones.”
“Did it come by sea?” she asked.
“No. He probably came ashore with it in some secluded cove up the coast and then traveled here by land.”
“And took ship again?”
“I doubt that,” Wolf said. “I know him well. He’s not comfortable on the sea.”
“Besides which,” Barak said, “one word to King Anheg of Cherek would have put a hundred warships on his trail. No one can hide on the sea from the ships of Cherek, and he knows that.”
“You’re right,” Wolf agreed. “I think he’ll avoid the domains of the Alorns. That’s probably why he chose not to pass along the North Road through Algaria and Drasnia. The Spirit of Belar is strong in the kingdoms of the Alorns, and not even this thief is bold enough to risk a confrontation with the Bear-God.”
“Which leaves Arendia,” Silk said, “or the land of the Ulgos.”
“Arendia, I think,” Wolf said. “The wrath of UL is even more fearsome than that of Belar.”
“Forgive me,” Durnik said, his eyes still on Aunt Pol. “This is all most confusing. I’ve never heard just exactly who this thief is.”
“I’m sorry, gentle Durnik,” Wolf said. “It’s not a good idea to speak his name. He has certain powers which might make it possible for him to know our every move if we alert him to our location, and he can hear his name spoken a thousand leagues away.”
“A sorcerer?” Durnik asked unbelievingly.
“The word isn’t one I’d choose,” Wolf said. “It’s a term used by men who don’t understand that particular art. Instead let’s call him `thief,’ though there are a few other names I might call him which are far less kindly.”
“Can we be certain that he’ll make for the kingdoms of the Angaraks?” Silk asked, frowning. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be quicker to take a ship directly to Tol Honeth and pick up his trail on the South Caravan Route into Cthol Murgos?”
Wolf shook his head. “Better to stay with this trail now that we’ve found it. We don’t know what he intends. Maybe he wants to keep the thing he’s stolen for himself rather than deliver it over to the Grolims. He might even seek sanctuary in Nyissa.”
“He couldn’t do that without the connivance of Salmissra,” Aunt Pol said.
“It wouldn’t be the first time that the Queen of the Serpent People has tampered with things that are none of her concern,” Wolf pointed out.
“If that turns out to be true,” Aunt Pol said grimly, “I think I’ll give myself the leisure to deal with the snake-woman permanently.”
“It’s too early to know,” Wolf said. “Tomorrow we’ll buy provisions and ferry across the river to Arendia. I’ll take up the trail there. For the time being all we can do is follow that trail. Once we know for certain where it leads, we’ll be able to consider our alternatives.”
From the evening-darkened innyard outside there came suddenly the sound of many horses.
Barak stepped quickly to the window and glanced out.
“Soldiers,” he said shortly.
“Here?” Silk said, also hurrying to the window.
“They appear to be from one of the king’s regiments,” Barak said. “They won’t be interested in us,” Aunt Pol said.
“Unless they aren’t what they seem,” Silk said. “Uniforms of one kind or another aren’t that difficult to come by.”
“They aren’t Murgos,” Barak said. “I’d recognize Murgos.”
“Brill isn’t a Murgo either,” Silk said, staring down into the innyard.
“See if you can hear what they say,” Wolf instructed.
Barak carefully opened one of the windows a crack, and the candles all flickered in the gust of icy wind. In the yard below the captain of the soldiers was speaking with the innkeeper.
“He’s a man of somewhat more than medium height, with white hair and a short white beard. He may be traveling with some others.”
“There’s such a one here, your Honor,” the innkeeper said dubiously, “but I’m sure he isn’t the one you seek. This one is chief steward to the Duchess of Erat, who honors my inn with her presence.”
“The Duchess of where?” the captain asked sharply.
“Of Erat,” the innkeeper replied. “A most noble lady of great beauty and a commanding presence.”
“I wonder if I might have a word with her Grace,” the captain said, climbing down from his horse.
“I’ll ask her if she will receive your Honor,” the innkeeper replied.
Barak closed the window.
“I’ll deal with this meddlesome captain,” he said firmly.
“No,” Wolf said. “He’s got too many soldiers with him, and if they’re who they seem to be, they’re good men who haven’t done us any harm.”
“There’s the back stairs,” Silk suggested. “We could be three streets away before he reached our door.”