“Are you sure the patrols won’t follow us?” Durnik asked Mister Wolf. “Jeebers knew we were coming here, after all, and I’m sure he told the Borunes.”
“The Borunes won’t violate their treaty with the Dryads,” Wolf assured him. “Not for any reason.”
“I’ve never known of a treaty a Tolnedran wouldn’t step around if it was to his advantage.” Silk spoke skeptically.
“This one is a bit different,” Wolf said. “The Dryads gave one of their princesses to a young noble of the House of Borune. She became the mother of the Emperor of the First Borune Dynasty. The fortunes of the Borunes are very intimately tied up with the treaty. They’re not going to gamble with that – not for any reason.”
“What exactly is a Dryad?” Garion asked. The strange sense of a presence, an awareness in the wood, made him want to talk to cover the oppressive, watchful silence.
“A small group,” Mister Wolf said. “Quite gentle. I’ve always rather liked them. They aren’t human, of course, but that’s not all that important.”
“I’m a Dryad,” Ce’Nedra said rather proudly.
Garion stared at her.
“Technically she’s right,” Wolf said. “The Dryad line seems to breed true on the female side of the House of Borune. That’s one of the things that keeps the family honest about the treaty – all those wives and mothers who’d pack up and leave if it were ever broken.”
“She looks human,” Garion objected, still staring at the princess.
“The Dryads are so closely related to humans that the differences are hardly significant,” Wolf said. “That probably explains why they didn’t go mad like the other monsters did when Torak cracked the world.”
“Monsters!” Ce’Nedra protested loudly.
“Your pardon, Princess,” Wolf apologized. “It’s an Ulgo term used to describe the non-humans who supported Gorim at Prolgu when he met with the God UL.”
“Do I look like a monster to you?” she demanded, tossing her head angrily.
“A poor choice of words, perhaps,” Wolf murmured. “Forgive me.”
“Monsters indeed!” Ce’Nedra fumed.
Wolf shrugged. “There’s a stream not far ahead, if I remember right. We’ll stop there and wait until word of our arrival reaches Queen Xantha. It’s not a good idea to go into the territory of the Dryads without the queen’s permission. They can get quite nasty if they’re provoked.”
“I thought you said they were gentle,” Durnik said.
“Within reason,” Wolf told him. “But it’s not a good idea to irritate people who communicate with trees when you’re in the middle of a forest. Unpleasant things have a way of happening.” He frowned. “That reminds me. You’d better stow your axe away out of sight. Dryads have strong feelings about axes – and fires. They’re most unreasonable about fire. We’ll have to keep our fires small and only for cooking.”
They rode in under a colossal oak beside a sparkling stream purling over mossy rocks, dismounted and set up their dun-colored tents. After they had eaten, Garion wandered around feeling bored. Mister Wolf was napping, and Silk had lured the others into a dice game. Aunt Pol had seated the Princess on a log and was stripping the purple dye from her hair.
“If you don’t have anything else to do, Garion,” she said, “why don’t you go bathe?”
“Bathe?” he asked. “Where?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a pool somewhere along the stream,” she said, carefully lathering Ce’Nedra’s hair.
“You want me to bathe in that water? Aren’t you afraid I’ll catch cold?”
“You’re a healthy boy, dear,” she told him, “but a very dirty one. Now go wash.”
Garion gave her a dark look and went to one of the packs for clean clothing, soap, and a towel. Then he stamped off upstream, grumbling at every step.
Once he was alone under the trees, he felt even more strongly that peculiar sense of being watched. It was not anything definable. There seemed to be nothing specific about it, but rather it felt as if the oaks themselves were aware of him and were passing information about his movements among themselves with a kind of vegetative communication he could not begin to understand. There seemed to be no menace in it, merely a kind of watchfulness.
Some distance from the tents he found a fairly large pool where the stream dropped in a waterfall from the rocks above. The water in the pool was very clear, and he could see the bright pebbles on the bottom and several large trout that eyed him warily. He tested the water with his hand and shuddered. He considered subterfuge – a quick splashing of water on his body and a bit of soap on the more obvious smudgesbut on reflection, he gave up the notion. Aunt Pol would settle for nothing less than a complete bath. He sighed bitterly and began to take oft his clothing.
The first shock was awful, but after a few minutes he found that he could bear it. In a short time it even became exhilarating. The waterfall provided a convenient means for rinsing off the soap, and before long he found that he was actually enjoying himself.
“You’re making an awful lot of noise,” Ce’Nedra said, standing on the bank and appraising him quite calmly.
Garion immediately dove to the bottom of the pool.
Unless one was a fish, however, one could hardly remain underwater indefinitely. After about a minute, he struggled to the surface and popped his head out of the water, gasping and sputtering.
“Whatever are you doing?” Ce’Nedra asked. She was wearing a short white tunic, sleeveless and belted at the waist, and open sandals with laces that crisscrossed her slender ankles and calves and tied just below her knees. She carried a towel in one hand.
“Go away,” Garion spluttered.
“Don’t be so silly,” she said, sitting down on a large stone and beginning to unlace her sandals. Her coppery hair was still damp and tumbled in a heavy mass about her shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to bathe,” she said. “Are you going to be much longer?”
“Go someplace else,” Garion cried, starting to shiver, but remaining determinedly crouched over in the water with only his head sticking out.
“This place looks just fine,” she said. “How’s the water?”
“Cold,” he chattered, “but I’m not coming out until you go away.”
“Don’t be such a ninny,” she told him.
He shook his head stubbornly, his face flaming.
She sighed with exasperation. “Oh, very well,” she said. “I won’t look, but I think you’re being very silly. At the baths in Tol Honeth, no one thinks anything at all about such things.”
“This isn’t Tol Honeth,” he told her pointedly.
“I’ll turn my back, if that’ll make you feel better,” she said, getting up and standing with her back to the pool.
Not entirely trusting her, Garion crept from the pool and, still dripping, jerked on his drawers and hose. “All right,” he called, “you can have the pool now.” He mopped at his streaming face and hair with his towel. “I’m going back to the tents.”
“The Lady Polgara says that you’re to stay with me,” she said, calmly untying the cord about her waist.
“Aunt Pol said what?” he demanded, terribly shocked.
“You’re supposed to stay with me to protect me,” she told him. She took hold of the hem of her tunic, obviously preparing to take it off.
Garion spun about and stared determinedly at the trees. His ears flamed, and his hands trembled uncontrollably.
She laughed a small, silvery laugh, and he could hear splashing as she entered the pool. She squealed from the shock of the cold water, and then there was more splashing.
“Bring me the soap,” she commanded.
Without thinking, he bent to pick up the soap and caught one brief glimpse of her standing waist-deep in the water before he shut his eyes tightly. He backed toward the pool, his eyes closed and the hand holding the soap thrust out awkwardly behind him.
She laughed again and took the soap from his hand.
After what seemed an eternity, the princess completed her bath, emerged from the pool, dried herself and put her clothes back on. Garion kept his eyes firmly shut the entire time.
“You Sendars have such curious notions,” she said as they sat together in the sun-warmed glade beside the pool. She was combing her deep red hair, her head inclined to one side and the comb pulling down through the thick, damp tangles. “The baths in Tol Honeth are open to all, and athletic contests are always conducted without clothing. Just last summer I myself ran against a dozen other girls in the Imperial Stadium. The spectators were most appreciative.”
“I can imagine,” Garion said dryly.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the amulet resting against his bare chest.
“My grandfather gave it to me last Erastide,” Garion answered.
“Let me see.” She held out her hand.
He leaned forward.