“What do they do in the summer?” Silk asked.
“They throw rocks,” Barak said. “The drinking and singing and falling off the benches stays the same, though.”
“Hello, Barak,” a green-eyed young woman called from an upper window. “When are you coming to see me again?”
Barak glanced up, and his face flushed, but he didn’t answer.
“That lady’s talking to you, Barak,” Garion said.
“I heard her,” Barak replied shortly.
“She seems to know you,” Silk said with a sly look.
“She knows everyone,” Barak said, flushing even more. “Shall we move along?”
Around another corner a group of men dressed in shaggy furs shufted along in single file. Their gait was a kind of curious swaying from side to side, and people quickly made way for them.
“Hail, Lord Barak,” their leader intoned.
“Hail, Lord Barak,” the others said in unison, still swaying. Barak bowed stitpy.
“May the arm of Belar protect thee,” the leader said. “All praise to Belar, Bear-God of Aloria,” the others said. Barak bowed again and stood until the procession had passed.
“Who were they?” Durnik asked.
“Bear-cultists,” Barak said with distaste. “Religious fanatics.”
“A troublesome group,” Silk explained. “They have chapters in all the Alorn kingdoms. They’re excellent warriors, but they’re the instruments of the High Priest of Belar. They spend their time in rituals, military training, and interfering in local politics.”
“Where’s this Aloria they spoke of?” Garion asked.
“All around us,” Barak said with a broad gesture. “Aloria used to be all the Alorn kingdoms together. They were all one nation. The cultists want to reunite them.”
“That doesn’t seem unreasonable,” Durnik said.
“Aloria was divided for a reason,” Barak said. “A certain thing had to be protected, and the division of Aloria was the best way to do that.”
“Was this thing so important?” Durnik asked.
“It’s the most important thing in the world,” Silk said. “The Bearcultists tend to forget that.”
“Only now it’s been stolen, hasn’t it?” Garion blurted as that dry voice in his mind informed him of the connection between what Barak and Silk had just said and the sudden disruption of his own life. “It’s this thing that Mister Wolf is following.”
Barak glanced quickly at him. “The lad is wiser than we thought, Silk,” he said soberly.
“He’s a clever boy,” Silk agreed, “and it’s not hard to put it all together.” His weasel face was grave. “You’re right, of course, Garion,” he said. “We don’t know how yet, but somebody’s managed to steal it. If Belgarath gives the word, the Alorn Kings will take the world apart stone by stone to get it back.”
“You mean war?” Durnik said in a sinking voice.
“There are worse things than war,” Barak said grimly. “It might be a good opportunity to dispose of the Angaraks once and for all.”
“Let’s hope that Belgarath can persuade the Alorn Kings otherwise,” Silk said.
“The thing has to be recovered,” Barak insisted.
“Granted,” Silk agreed, “but there are other ways, and I hardly think a public street’s the place to discuss our alternatives.”
Barak looked around quickly, his eyes narrowing.
They had by then reached the harbor where the masts of the ships of Cherek rose as thickly as trees in a forest. They crossed an icy bridge over a frozen stream and came to several large yards where the skeletons of ships lay in the snow.
A limping man in a leather smock came from a low stone building in the center of one of the yards and stood watching their approach.
“Ho, Krendig,” Barak called.
“Ho, Barak,” the man in the leather smock replied.
“How does the work go?” Barak asked.
“Slowly in this season,” Krendig said. “It’s not a good time to work with wood. My artisans are fashioning the fittings and sawing the boards, but we won’t be able to do much more until spring.”
Barak nodded and walked over to lay his hand on the new wood of a ship prow rising out of the snow. “Krendig is building this for me,” he said, patting the prow. “She’ll be the finest ship afloat.”
“If your oarsmen are strong enough to move her,” Krendig said. “She’ll be very big, Barak, and very heavy.”
“Then I’ll man her with big men,” Barak said, still gazing at the ribs of his ship.
Garion heard a gleeful shout from the hillside above the shipyard and looked up quickly. Several young people were sliding down the hill on smooth planks. It was obvious that Barak and the others were going to spend most of the rest of the afternoon discussing the ship. While that might be all very interesting, Garion realized that he hadn’t spoken with anyone his own age for a long time. He drifted away from the others and stood at the foot of the hill, watching.
One blond girl particularly attracted his eye. In some ways she reminded him of Zubrette, but there were some differences. Where Zubrette had been petite, this girl was as big as a boy – though she was noticeably not a boy. Her laughter rang out merrily, and her cheeks were pink in the cold afternoon air as she slid down the hill with her long braids flying behind her.
“That looks like fun,” Garion said as her improvised sled came to rest nearby.
“Would you like to try?” she asked, getting up and brushing the snow from her woolen dress.
“I don’t have a sled,” he told her.
“I might let you use mine,” she said, looking at him archly, “if you give me something.”
“What would you want me to give you?” he asked.
“We’ll think of something,” she said, eyeing him boldly. “What’s your name?”
“Garion,” he said.
“What an odd name. Do you come from here?”
“No. I’m from Sendaria.”
“A Sendar? Truly?” Her blue eyes twinkled. “I’ve never met a Sendar before. My name is Maidee.”
Garion inclined his head slightly.
“Do you want to use my sled?” Maidee asked.
“I might like to try it,” Garion said.
“I might let you,” she said, “for a kiss.”
Garion blushed furiously, and Maidee laughed.
A large red-haired boy in a long tunic slid to a stop nearby and rose with a menacing look on his face.
“Maidee, come away from there,” he ordered.
“What if I don’t want to?” she asked.
The red-haired boy swaggered toward Garion.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I was talking with Maidee,” Garion said.
“Who gave you permission?” the red-haired boy asked. He was a bit taller than Garion and somewhat heavier.
“I didn’t bother to ask permission,” Garion said.
The red-haired boy glowered, flexing his muscles threateningly.
“I can thrash you if I like,” he announced.
Garion realized that the redhead was feeling belligerent and that a fight was inevitable. The preliminaries-threats, insults and the likewould probably go on for several more minutes, but the fight would take place as soon as the boy in the long tunic had worked himself up to it. Garion decided not to wait. He doubled his fist and punched the larger boy in the nose.
The blow was a good one, and the redhead stumbled back and sat down heavily in the snow. He raised one hand to his nose and brought it away bright red.
“It’s bleeding!” he wailed accusingly. “You made my nose bleed.”
“It’ll stop in a few minutes,” Garion said.
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Nose bleeds don’t last forever,” Garion told him.
“Why did you hit me?” the redhead demanded tearfully, wiping his nose. “I didn’t do anything to you.”
“You were going to,” Garion said. “Put snow on it, and don’t be such a baby.”
“It’s still bleeding,” the boy said.
“Put snow on it,” Garion said again.
“What if it doesn’t stop bleeding?”
“Then you’ll probably bleed to death,” Garion said in a heartless tone. It was a trick he had learned from Aunt Pol. It worked as well on the Cherek boy as it had on Doroon and Rundorig. The redhead blinked at him and then took a large handful of snow and held it to his nose.
“Are all Sendars so cruel?” Maidee asked.
“I don’t know all the people in Sendaria,” Garion said. The affair hadn’t turned out well at all, and regretfully he turned and started back toward the shipyard.
“Garion, wait,” Maidee said. She ran after him and caught him by the arm. “You forgot my kiss,” she said, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips.
“There,” she said, and she turned and ran laughing back up the hill, her blond braids flying behind her.
Barak, Silk and Durnik were all laughing when he returned to where they stood.
“You were supposed to chase her,” Barak said.
“What for?” Garion asked, flushing at their laughter.
“She wanted you to catch her.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Barak,” Silk said, “I think that one of us is going to have to inform the Lady Polgara that our Garion needs some further education.”