“I met an old friend in the marketplace,” Silk said from the chair in which he lounged. “She tells me that Asharak’s been involved in the politics of succession. It appears that he’s managed to buy the Grand Duke of Vordue. If the Vorduvians get the throne, Asharak’s going to have Tolnedra in the palm of his hand.”
Mister Wolf scratched thoughtfully at his beard. “We’re going to have to do something about him sooner or later. He’s beginning to make me just a little tired.”
“We could stop over for a day or so,” Aunt Pol suggested. “Attend to it once and for all.”
“No,” Wolf decided. “It’s probably best not to do that sort of thing here in the city. The business is likely to be a bit noisy, and Tolnedrans get excited about things they can’t understand. I’m sure he’ll give us an opportunity later – in some less-populated place.”
“Do we leave now, then?” Silk asked.
“Let’s wait until early morning,” Wolf told him. “We’ll probably be followed, but if the streets are empty, it will make things a little more difficult for them.”
“I’ll talk to my cook, then,” Grinneg said. “The least I can do is send you on your way with a good meal to help you face the road. Then, of course, there’s still that barrel of ale to be dealt with.”
Mister Wolf smiled broadly at that, then caught Aunt Pol’s reproving frown. “It would only go flat, Pol,” he explained. “Once it’s broached, you have to drink it up fairly quickly. It would be a shame to waste it, wouldn’t it?”
Chapter Eighteen
THEY LEFT GRINNEG’S HOUSE before dawn the next morning, dressed once more in their traveling clothes. They slipped quietly out a back gate and proceeded through those narrow alleys and back streets Silk always seemed able to find. The sky to the east was beginning to lighten when they reached the massive bronze gate on the south end of the island.
“How long until the gate opens?” Mister Wolf asked one of the legionnaires.
“Not much longer,” the legionnaire told him. “Just as soon as we can see the far bank clearly.”
Wolf grunted. He had grown quite mellow the evening before and he was obviously troubled by a headache this morning. He dismounted, went to one of the packhorses, and drank from a leather waterskin.
“That isn’t going to help, you know,” Aunt Pol told him a bit smugly. He chose not to answer.
“I think it’s going to be a lovely day today,” she said brightly, looking first at the sky and then at the men around her who slumped in their saddles in attitudes of miserable dejection.
“You’re a cruel woman, Polgara,” Barak said sadly.
“Did you talk to Grinneg about that ship?” Mister Wolf asked.
“I think so,” Barak replied. “I seem to remember saying something about it.”
“It’s fairly important,” Wolf said.
“What’s this?” Aunt Pol asked.
“I thought it might not be a bad idea to have a ship waiting off the mouth of the River of the Woods,” Wolf said. “If we have to go to Sthiss Tor, it would probably be better to sail there rather than wade through the swamps in northern Nyissa.”
“That’s a very good idea, actually,” she approved. “I’m surprised it occurred to you – considering your condition last night.”
“Do you suppose we could talk about something else?” he asked somewhat plaintively.
It grew imperceptibly lighter, and the command to open the gate came from the watchtower on the wall above. The legionnaires slipped the iron bar and swung the ponderous gate open. With Mandorallen at his side, Silk led them out through the thick portal and across the bridge that spanned the dark waters of the Nedrane.
By noon they were eight leagues south of Tol Honeth, and Mister Wolf had somewhat regained his composure, though his eyes still seemed a bit sensitive to the bright spring sunlight, and he winced now and then when a bird sang a bit too near.
“Riders coming up behind,” Hettar said.
“How many?” Barak asked.
“Two.”
“Ordinary travelers, perhaps,” Aunt Pol said.
The two figures on horseback appeared from around a bend behind them and stopped. They spoke together for a moment or two and then came on, their bearing somewhat cautious. They were a peculiar pair. The man wore a green Tolnedran mantle, a garment not really suited for riding. His forehead was quite high, and his hair was carefully combed to conceal his encroaching baldness. He was very skinny, and his ears stuck out from the side of his head like flaps. His companion appeared to be a child dressed in a hooded traveling cloak and with a kerchief across her face to keep out the dust.
“Good day to you,” the skinny man greeted them politely as the pair drew alongside.
“Hello,” Silk returned.
“Warm for so early in the year, isn’t it?” the Tolnedran said.
“We noticed that,” Silk agreed.
“I wonder,” the skinny man asked, “do you have a bit of water you could spare?”
“Of course,” Silk said. He looked at Garion and gestured toward the pack animals. Garion dropped back and unhooked a leather waterskin from one of the packs. The stranger removed the wooden stopper and carefully wiped the mouth of the skin. He offered the bag to his companion. She removed her kerchief and looked at the skin with an expression of perplexity.
“Like this, your-uh-my Lady,” the man explained, taking the skin back, raising it in both hands and drinking.
“I see,” the girl said.
Garion looked at her more closely. The voice was familiar for some reason, and there was something about her face. She was not a child, though she was very small, and there was a kind of self indulged petulance about her tiny face. Garion was almost certain he had seen her somewhere before.
The Tolnedran handed the waterskin back to her, and she drank, making a small face at the resinous taste. Her hair was a purplish black, and there were faint dark smears on the collar of her traveling cloak that indicated that the color was not natural.
“Thank you, Jeebers,” she said after she had drunk. “And thank you, sir,” she said to Silk.
Garion’s eyes narrowed as a dreadful suspicion began to grow in his mind.
“Are you going far?” the skinny man asked Silk.
“Quite a ways,” Silk answered. “I’m Radek of Boktor, a Drasnian merchant, and I’m bound to the south with Sendarian woolens. This break in the weather destroyed the market in Tol Honeth, so I thought I’d try Tol Rane. It’s in the mountains, and it’s probably still cold there.”
“You’re taking the wrong road, then,” the stranger said. “The road to Tol Rane lies off to the east.”
“I’ve had trouble on that road,” Silk said glibly. “Robbers, you know. I thought it’d be safer to go through Tol Borune.”
“What a coincidence,” the skinny man told him. “My pupil and I are bound for Tol Borune ourselves.”
“Yes,” Silk admitted. “Quite a coincidence.”
“Perhaps we could ride along together.”
Silk looked doubtful.
“I don’t see any reason why not,” Aunt Pol decided before he could refuse.
“You’re most kind, gracious lady,” the stranger said. “I am Master Jeebers, Fellow of the Imperial Society, a tutor by profession. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”
“I can’t really say so,” Silk told him, “although that’s not too remarkable, since we’re strangers here in Tolnedra.”
Jeebers looked a bit disappointed. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “This is my pupil, Lady Sharell. Her father’s a grand master merchant, the Baron Reldon. I’m accompanying her to Tol Borune where she’s to visit relatives.”
Garion knew that was not true. The tutor’s name had confirmed his suspicions.
They rode several miles further, with Jeebers babbling animatedly at Silk. He spoke endlessly about his learning and continually prefaced his remarks with references to important people who seemed to rely on his judgment. Although he was tiresome, he appeared to be quite harmless. His pupil rode beside Aunt Pol, saying very little.
“I think it’s time we stopped for a bite to eat,” Aunt Pol announced. “Would you and your pupil care to join us, Master Jeebers? We have plenty.”
“I’m quite overcome by your generosity,” the tutor said. “We’d be delighted.”
They stopped the horses near a small bridge that crossed a brook and led them into the shade of a thick clump of willows not far from the road. Durnik built a fire, and Aunt Pol began to unload her pots and kettles.
Master Jeebers’ pupil sat in her saddle until the tutor quickly stepped over to help her down. She looked at the slightly marshy ground near the brook unenthusiastically. Then she glanced imperiously at Garion. “You-boy,” she called. “Fetch me a cup of fresh water.”
“The brook’s right there,” he told her, pointing.
She stared at him in amazement. “But the ground’s all muddy,” she objected.