"He's a man of somewhat more than medium height, with white hair and a short white beard. He may be traveling with some others."
"There's such a one here, your Honor," the innkeeper said dubiously, "but I'm sure he isn't the one you seek. This one is chief steward to the Duchess of Erat, who honors my inn with her presence."
"The Duchess of where?" the captain asked sharply.
"Of Erat," the innkeeper replied. "A most noble lady of great beauty and a commanding presence."
"I wonder if I might have a word with her Grace," the captain said, climbing down from his horse.
"I'll ask her if she will receive your Honor," the innkeeper replied.
Barak closed the window.
"I'll deal with this meddlesome captain," he said firmly.
"No," Wolf said. "He's got too many soldiers with him, and if they're who they seem to be, they're good men who haven't done us any harm."
"There's the back stairs," Silk suggested. "We could be three streets away before he reached our door."
"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," Durni
k 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?"
Silk looked at him for a moment and then spoke firmly.
"That question is unworthy of you, Garion."
Garion flushed.
"I'm afraid of dungeons," he said in a small voice, suddenly very ashamed of himself. "I don't want to be locked up in the dark forever when I don't even know what for."
"The kings of Sendaria are just and honest men," Silk told him. "Not too bright, I'm afraid, but always fair."
"How can they be kings if they aren't wise?" Garion objected.
"Wisdom's a useful trait in a king," Silk said, "but hardly essential."
"How do they get to be kings, then?" Garion demanded.
"Some are born to it," Silk said. "The stupidest man in the world can be a king if he has the right parents. Sendarian kings have a disadvantage because they started so low."
"Low?"
"They were elected. Nobody ever elected a king before - only the Sendars."
"How do you elect a king?"
Silk smiled.
"Very badly, Garion. It's a poor way to select a king. The other ways are worse, but election is a very bad way to choose a king."
"Tell me how it was done," Garion said.
Silk glanced briefly at the rain-spattered window across the room and shrugged.
"It's a way to pass the time," he said. And then he leaned back, stretched his feet toward the fire and began.
"It all started about fifteen hundred years ago," he said, his voice loud enough to reach the ears of Captain Brendig, who sat nearby writing on a piece of parchment. "Sendaria wasn't a kingdom then, nor even a separate country. It had belonged from time to time to Cherek, Algaria or the northern Arends - Wacite or Asturian, depending on the fortunes of the Arendish civil war. When that war finally came to an end and the Wacites were destroyed and the Asturians had been defeated and driven into the untracked reaches of the great forest in northern Arendia, the Emperor of Tolnedra, Ran Horb II, decided that there ought to be a kingdom here."
"How could a Tolnedran emperor make that kind of decision for Sendaria?" Garion asked.
"The arm of the Empire is very long," Silk said. "The Great North Road had been built during the Second Borune Dynasty- I think it was Ran Borune IV who started the construction, wasn't it, Captain?"
"The fifth," Brendig said somewhat sourly without looking up. "Ran Borune V."
"Thank you, Captain," Silk said. "I can never keep the Borune Dynasties straight. Anyway, there were already imperial legions in Sendaria to maintain the highway, and if one has troops in an area, one has a certain authority, wouldn't you say, Captain?"
"It's your story," Brendig said shortly.
"Indeed it is," Silk agreed. "Now it wasn't really out of any kind of generosity that Ran Horb made his decision, Garion. Don't misunderstand that. Tolnedrans never give anything away. It was just that the Mimbrate Arends had finally won the Arendish civil war - a thousand years of bloodshed and treachery - and Tolnedra couldn't afford to allow the Mimbrates to expand into the north. The creation of an independent kingdom in Sendaria would block Mimbrate access to the trade routes down out of Drasnia and prevent the seat of world power from moving to Vo Mimbre and leaving the imperial capital at Tol Honeth in a kind of backwater."
"It all sounds terribly involved," Garion said.
"Not really," Silk said. "It's only politics, and that's a very simple game, isn't it, Captain?"
"A game I do not play," Brendig said, not looking up.
"Really?" Silk asked. "So long at court and not a politician? You're a rare man, Captain. At any rate, the Sendars suddenly discovered that they had themselves a kingdom but that they had no genuine hereditary nobility. Oh, there were a few retired Tolnedran nobles living on estates here and there, assorted pretenders to this or that Wacite or Asturian title, a Cherek war chief or two with a few followers, but no genuine Sendarian nobility. And so it was that they decided to hold a national election - select a king, don't you see, and then leave the bestowing of titles up to him. A very practical approach, and typically Sendarian."
"How do you elect a king?" Garion asked, beginning to lose his dread of dungeons in his fascination with the story.
"Everybody votes," Silk said simply. "Parents, of course, probably cast the votes for their children, but it appears that there was very little cheating. The rest of the world stood around and laughed at all this foolishness, but the Sendars continued to cast ballot after ballot for a dozen years."
"Six years, actually," Brendig said with his face still down over his parchment. "3827 to 3833."
"And there were over a thousand candidates," Silk said expansively.
"Seven hundred and forty-three," Brendig said tightly.
"I stand corrected, noble Captain," Silk said. "It's an enormous comfort to have such an expert here to catch my errors. I'm but a simple Drasnian merchant with little background in history. Anyway, on the twenty-third ballot, they finally elected their king - a rutabaga farmer named Fundor."
"He raised more than just rutabagas," Brendig said, looking up with an angry face.
"Of course he did," Silk said, smacking his forehead with an open palm. "How could I have forgotten the cabbages? He raised cabbages, too, Garion. Never forget the cabbages. Well, everybody in Sendaria who thought he was important journeyed to Fundor's farm and found him vigorously fertilizing his fields, and they greeted him with a great cry, 'Hail, Fundor the Magnificent, King of Sendaria,' and fell on their knees in his august presence."
"Must we continue with this?" Brendig asked in a pained voice, looking up.
"The boy wants to know, Captain," Silk replied with an innocent face. "It's our duty as his elders to instruct him in the history of our past, wouldn't you say?"
"Say whatever you like," Brendig said in a stiff voice.
"Thank you for your permission, Captain," Silk said, inclining his head. "Do you know what the King of Sendaria said then, Garion?" he asked.
"No," Garion said. "What?"
" 'I pray you, your eminences,' the king said, 'have a care for your finery. I have just well manured the bed in which you are kneeling.' "
Barak, who was sitting nearby, roared with l
aughter, pounding his knee with one huge hand.
"I find this less than amusing, sir," Captain Brendig said coldly, rising to his feet. "I make no jokes about the King of Drasnia, do I?"
"You're a courteous man, Captain," Silk said mildly, "and a noble man. I'm merely a poor man trying to make his way in the world."
Brendig looked at him helplessly and then turned and stamped from the room.
The following morning the wind had blown itself out and the rain had stopped. The road was very nearly a quagmire, but Brendig decided that they must continue. Travel that day was difficult, but the next was somewhat easier as the road began to drain.
Aunt Pol seemed unconcerned by the fact that they had been seized at the king's orders. She maintained her regal bearing even though Garion saw no real need to continue the subterfuge and wished fervently that she would abandon it. The familiar practical sensibility with which she had ruled her kitchen at Faldor's farm had somehow been replaced by a kind of demanding willfulness that Garion found particularly distressing. For the first time in his life he felt a distance between them, and it left a vacancy that had never been there before. To make matters worse, the gnawing uncertainty which had been steadily growing since Silk's unequivocal declaration on the hilltop outside Winold that Aunt Pol could not possibly be his Aunt sawed roughly at his sense of his own identity, and Garion often found himself staring at the awful question, "Who am I?"
Mister Wolf seemed changed as well. He seldom spoke either on the road nor at night in the hostels. He spent a great deal of time sitting by himself with an expression of moody irritability on his face.
Finally, on the ninth day after their departure from Camaar, the broad salt marshes ended, and the land along the coast became more rolling. They topped a hill about midday just as the pale winter sun broke through the clouds, and there in the valley below them the walled city of Sendar lay facing the sea.
The detachment of guards at the south gate of the city saluted smartly as Captain Brendig led the little party through, and he returned their salute crisply. The broad streets of the city seemed filled with people in the finest clothing, all moving about importantly as if their errands were the most vital in the world.
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