“And if he stationed soldiers at the back of the inn?” Aunt Pol suggested. “What then? Since he’s coming to speak with the Duchess of Erat, why don’t we let the duchess deal with him?”
“What have you got in mind?” Wolf asked.
“If the rest of you stay out of sight, I’ll speak with him,” she said. “I should be able to put him off until morning. We can be across the river into Arendia before he comes back.”
“Perhaps,” Wolf said, “but this captain sounds like a determined man.”
“I’ve dealt with determined men before,” she said.
“We’ll have to decide quickly,” Silk said from the door. “He’s on the stairs right now.”
“We’ll try it your way, Pol,” Wolf said, opening the door to the next chamber.
“Garion,” Aunt Pol said, “you stay here. A duchess wouldn’t be unattended.”
Wolf and the others quickly left the room.
“What do you want me to do, Aunt Pol?” Garion whispered.
“Just remember that you’re my page, dear,” she said, seating herself in a large chair near the center of the room and carefully arranging the folds of her gown. “Stand near my chair and try to look attentive. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Yes, my Lady,” Garion said.
The captain, when he arrived behind the innkeeper’s knock, proved to be a tall, sober-looking man with penetrating gray eyes. Garion, trying his best to sound officious, requested the soldier’s name and then turned to Aunt Pol.
“There’s a Captain Brendig to see you, your Grace,” he announced. “He says that it’s a matter of importance.”
Aunt Pol looked at him for a moment as if considering the request. “Oh, very well,” she said finally. “Show him in.”
Captain Brendig stepped into the room, and the innkeeper left hurriedly.
“Your Grace,” the captain said, bowing deferentially to Aunt Pol.
“What is it, Captain?” she demanded.
“I would not trouble your Grace if my mission were not of such urgency,” Brendig apologized. “My orders are directly from the king himself, and you of all people will know that we must defer to his wishes.”
“I suppose I can spare you a few moments for the king’s business,” she said.
“There’s a certain man the king wishes to have apprehended,” Brendig said. “An elderly man with white hair and beard. I’m informed that you have such a one among your servants.”
“Is the man a criminal?” she asked.
“The king didn’t say so, your Grace,” he told her. “I was only told that the man was to be seized and delivered to the palace at Sendarand, all who are with him as well.”
“I am seldom at court,” Aunt Pol said. “It’s most unlikely that any of my servants would be of such interest to the king.”
“Your Grace,” Brendig said delicately, “in addition to my duties in one of the king’s own regiments, I also have the honor to hold a baronetcy. I’ve been at court all my life and must confess that I’ve never seen you there. A lady of your striking appearance would not be soon forgotten.”
Aunt Pol inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment of the compliment. “I suppose I should have guessed, my Lord Brendig,” she said. “Your manners are not those of a common soldier.”
“Moreover, your Grace,” he continued, “I’m familiar with all the holdings of the kingdom. If I’m not mistaken, the district of Erat is an earldom, and the Earl of Erat is a short, stout man – my great uncle incidentally. There has been no duchy in that part of Sendaria since the kingdom was under the dominion of the Wacite Arends.”
Aunt Pol fixed him with an icy stare.
“My Lady,” Brendig said almost apologetically, “the Wacite Arends were exterminated by their Asturian cousins in the last years of the third millenium. There has been no Wacite nobility for over two thousand years.”
“I thank you for the history lesson, my Lord,” Aunt Pol said coldly.
“All of that, however, is hardly the issue, is it?” Brendig continued. “I am bidden by my king to seek out the man of whom I spoke. Upon your honor, Lady, do you know such a man?”
The question hung in the air between them, and Garion, knowing in sudden panic that they were caught, almost shouted for Barak.
Then the door to the next chamber opened, and Mister Wolf stepped into the room. “There’s no need to continue with this,” he said. “I’m the one you’re looking for. What does Fulrach of Sendaria want with me?”
Brendig looked at him without seeming surprise. “His Majesty did not see fit to take me into his confidence,” he said. “He will explain it himself, I have no doubt, as soon as we reach the palace at Sendar.”
“The sooner the better then,” Wolf said. “When do we leave?”
“We depart for Sendar directly after breakfast in the morning,” Brendig said. “I will accept your word that none of you will attempt to leave this inn during the night. I’d prefer not to subject the Duchess of Erat to the indignity of confinement at the local barracks. The cells there are most uncomfortable, I’m told.”
“You have my word,” Mister Wolf said.
“Thank you,” Brendig said, bowing slightly. “I must also advise you that I am obliged to post guards about this inn – for your protection, of course.”
“Your solicitude overwhelms us, my Lord,” Aunt Pol said dryly.
“Your servant, my Lady,” Brendig said with a formal bow. And then he turned and left the room.
The polished door was only wood; Garion knew that, but as it closed behind the departing Brendig it seemed to have that dreadful, final clang of the door to a dungeon.
Chapter Eleven
THEY WERE NINE DAYS on the coast road from Camaar to the capital at Sendar, though it was only fifty-five leagues. Captain Brendig measured their pace carefully, and his detachment of soldiers was arranged in such fashion that even the thought of escape was impossible. Although it had stopped snowing, the road was still difficult, and the wind which blew in off the sea and across the broad, snow-covered salt marshes was raw and chill. They stayed each night in the evenly spaced Sendarian hostels which stood like mileposts along that uninhabited stretch of coast. The hostels were not quite so well appointed as were their Tolnedran counterparts along the Great North Road, but they were at least adequate. Captain Brendig seemed solicitous about their comfort, but he also posted guards each night.
On the evening of the second day, Garion sat near the fire with Durnik, staring moodily into the flames. Durnik was his oldest friend, and Garion felt a desperate need for friendship just then.
“Durnik,” he said finally.
“Yes, lad?”
“Have you ever been in a dungeon?”
“What could I have done to be put in a dungeon?”
“I thought that you might have seen one sometime.”
“Honest folk don’t go near such places,” Durnik said.
“I’ve heard they’re awful-dark and cold and full of rats.” “What is this talk of dungeons?” Durnik asked.
“I’m afraid we may find out all about places like that very soon,” Garion said, trying not to sound too frightened.
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Durnik said.
“Then why would the king have us seized like this? Kings don’t do things like that without good reason.”
“We haven’t done anything wrong,” Durnik repeated stubbornly.
“But maybe Mister Wolf has,” Garion suggested. “The king wouldn’t send all these soldiers after him without some reason – and we could all be thrown in the dungeon with him just because we happened to be his companions.”
“Thing like that don’t happen in Sendaria,” Durnik said firmly.
The next day the wind was very strong as it blew in off the sea; but it was a warm wind, and the foot-deep snow on the road began to turn slushy. By midday it had started to rain. They rode in sodden misery toward the next hostel.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to delay our journey until this blows out,” Captain Brendig said that evening, looking out one of the tiny windows of the hostel. “The road’s going to be quite impassable by morning.”
They spent the next day, and the next, sitting in the cramped main room of the hostel listening to the wind-driven rain slashing at the walls and roof, all the while under the watchful eyes of Brendig and his soldiers.
“Silk,” Garion said on the second day, moving over to the bench where the rat-faced little man sat dozing.
“Yes, Garion?” Silk asked, rousing himself.
“What kind of man is the king?”
“Which king?”
“Of Sendaria.”
“A foolish man – like all kings.” Silk laughed. “The Sendarian kings are perhaps a bit more foolish, but that’s only natural. Why do you ask?”
“Well” Garion hesitated. “Let’s suppose that somebody did something that the king didn’t like, and there were some other people traveling with him, and the king had these people seized. Would the king just throw them all into the dungeon? Or would he let the others go and just keep the one who’d angered him?”