“Honest is a better word for it,” Garion told him. “You’ve just never learned to hide your feelings, that’s all.”
“Was it really true?” Lelldorin blurted. “I’m not doubting your word, but was there really a Murgo in Cherek plotting against King Anheg?”
“Ask Silk,” Garion suggested, “or Barak, or Hettar-any of them. We were all there.”
“Nachak isn’t like that, though,” Lelldorin said quickly, defensively.
“Can you be sure?” Garion asked him. “The plan was his in the first place, wasn’t it? How did you happen to meet him?”
“We’d all gone down to the Great Fair, Torasin, me, several of the others. We bought some things from a Murgo merchant, and Tor made a few remarks about Mimbrates-you know how Tor is. The merchant said that he knew somebody we might be interested in meeting and he introduced us to Nachak. The more we talked with him, the more sympathetic he seemed to become to the way we felt.”
“Naturally.”
“He told us what the king is planning. You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Probably not.”
Lelldorin gave him a quick, troubled look. “He’s going to break up our estates and give them to landless Mimbrate nobles.” He said it accusingly.
“Did you verify that with anybody but Nachak?”
“How could we? The Mimbrates wouldn’t admit it if we confronted them with it, but it’s the kind of thing Mimbrates would do.”
“So you’ve only got Nachak’s word for it? How did this plan of yours come up?”
“Nachak said that if he were an Asturian, he wouldn’t let anybody take his land, but he said that it’d be too late to try to stop them when they came with knights and soldiers. He said that if he were doing it, he’d strike before they were ready and that he’d do it in such a way that the Mimbrates wouldn’t know who’d done it. That’s when he suggested the Tolnedran uniforms.”
“When did he start giving you money?”
“I’m not sure. Tor handled that part of it.”
“Did he ever say why he was giving you money?”
“He said it was out of friendship.”
“Didn’t that seem a little odd?”
“I’d give someone money out of friendship,” Lelldorin protested.
“You’re an Asturian,” Garion told him. “You’d give somebody your life out of friendship. Nachak’s a Murgo, though, and I’ve never heard that they were all that generous. What it comes down to, then, is that a stranger tells you that the king’s planning to take your land. Then he gives you a plan to kill the king and start a war with Tolnedra; and to make sure you succeed with his plan, he gives you money. Is that about it.
Lelldorin nodded mutely, his eyes stricken.
“Weren’t any of you just the least bit suspicious?”
Lelldorin seemed almost about to cry.
“It’s such a good plan,” he burst out finally. “It couldn’t help but succeed.”
“That’s what makes it so dangerous,” Garion replied.
“Garion, what am I going to do?” Lelldorin’s voice was anguished.
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do right now,” Garion told him. “Maybe later, after we’ve had time to think about it, we’ll come up with something. If we can’t, we can always tell my grandfather about it. He’ll think of a way to stop it.”
“We can’t tell anybody,” Lelldorin reminded him. “We’re pledged to silence.”
“We might have to break that pledge,” Garion said somewhat reluctantly. “I don’t see that either of us owes that Murgo anything, but it’s going to have to be up to you. I won’t say anything to anybody without your permission.”
“You decide,” Lelldorin pleaded then. “I can’t do it, Garion.”
“You’re going to have to,” Garion told him. “I’m sure that if you think about it, you’ll see why.”
They reached the Great West Road then, and Barak led them south at a brisk trot, cutting off the possibility of further discussion.
A league or so down the road they passed a muddy village, a dozen or so turf roofed huts with walls made of wattles plastered over with mud. The fields around the village were dotted with tree stumps, and a few scrawny cows grazed near the edge of the forest. Garion could not control his indignation as he looked at the misery implicit in the crude collection of hovels.
“Lelldorin,” he said sharply, “look!”
“What? Where?” The blond young man came out of his troubled preoccupation quickly as if expecting some danger.
“The village,” Garion told him. “Look at it.”
“It’s only a serfs’ village,” Lelldorin said indifferently. “I’ve seen hundreds like it.” He seemed ready to return to his own inner turmoil.
“In Sendaria we wouldn’t keep pigs in places like that.” Garion’s voice rang with fervor. If he could only make his friend see!
Two ragged serfs were dispiritedly hacking chunks of firewood from one of the stumps near the road. As the party approached, they dropped their axes and bolted in terror for the forest.
“Does it make you proud, Lelldorin?” Garion demanded. “Does it make you feel good to know that your own countrymen are so afraid of you that they run from the very sight of you?”
Lelldorin looked baffled.
“They’re serfs, Garion,” he said as if that explained.
“They’re men. They’re not animals. Men deserve to be treated better.”
“I can’t do anything about it. They aren’t my serfs.” And with that Lelldorin’s attention turned inward again as he continued to struggle with the dilemma Garion had placed upon him.
By late afternoon they had covered ten leagues and the cloudy sky was gradually darkening as evening approached.
“I think we’re going to have to spend the night in the forest, Belgarath,” Silk said, looking around. “There’s no chance of reaching the next Tolnedran hostel.”
Mister Wolf had been half-dozing in his saddle. He looked up, blinking a bit.
“All right,” he replied, “but let’s get back from the road a bit. Our fire could attract attention, and too many people know we’re in Arendia already.”
“There’s a woodcutter’s track right there.” Durnik pointed at a break in the trees just ahead. “It should lead us back into the trees.”
“All right,” Wolf agreed.
The sound of their horses’ hooves was muffled by the sodden leaves on the forest floor as they turned in among the trees to follow the narrow track. They rode silently for the better part of a mile until a clearing opened ahead of them.
“How about here?” Durnik asked. He indicated a brook trickling softly over mossy stones on one side of the clearing.
“It will do,” Wolf agreed.
“We’re going to need shelter,” the smith observed.
“I bought tents in Camaar,” Silk told him. “They’re in the packs.”
“That was foresighted of you,” Aunt Pol complimented him.
“I’ve been in Arendia before, my Lady. I’m familiar with the weather.”
“Garion and I’ll go get wood for a fire then,” Durnik said, climbing down from his horse and untying his axe from his saddle.
“I’ll help you,” Lelldorin offered, his face still troubled.
Durnik nodded and led the way off into the trees. The woods were soaked, but the smith seemed to know almost instinctively where to find dry fuel. They worked quickly in the lowering twilight and soon had three large bundles of limbs and fagots. They returned to the clearing where Silk and the others were erecting several dun-colored tents. Durnik dropped his wood and cleared a space for the fire with his foot. Then he knelt and began striking sparks with his knife from a piece of flint into a wad of dry tinder he always carried. In a short time he had a small fire going, and Aunt Pol set out her pots beside it, humming softly to herself.
Hettar came back from tending the horses, and they all stood back watching Aunt Pol prepare a supper from the stores Count Reldegen had pressed on them before they had left his house that morning.
After they had eaten, they sat around the fire talking quietly.
“How far have we come today?” Durnik asked.
“Twelve leagues,” Hettar estimated.
“How much farther do we have to go to get out of the forest?”
“It’s eighty leagues from Camaar to the central plain,” Lelldorin replied.
Durnik sighed. “A week or more. I’d hoped that it’d be only a few days.”
“I know what you mean, Durnik,” Barak agreed. “It’s gloomy under all these trees.”
The horses, picketed near the brook, stirred uneasily. Hettar rose to his feet.
“Something wrong?” Barak asked, also rising.
“They shouldn’t be-” Hettar started. Then he stopped. “Back!” he snapped.
“Away from the fire. The horses say there are men out there. Many – with weapons.” He jumped back from the fire, drawing his sabre.
Lelldorin took one startled look at him and bolted for one of the tents. Garion’s sudden disappointment in his friend was almost like a blow to the stomach.
An arrow buzzed into the light and shattered on Barak’s mail shirt.