The floor and bed were littered with rumpled clothes and personal belongings. Garion knew instantly that this was not simple untidiness, but rather was the sign of a hasty departure, and he did not know exactly how it was that he knew.
Wolf stood for a moment, holding his little torch. His face seemed somehow empty, as if his mind were searching for something.
"The stables," he said sharply. "Quickly, boy!"
Garion turned and dashed from the room with Wolf close behind. The burning wisp of rope drifted down into the yard, illuminating it briefly after Wolf discarded it over the railing as he ran.
There was a light in the stable. It was dim, partially covered, but faint beams shone through the weathered cracks in the door. The horses were stirring uneasily.
"Stay clear, boy," Wolf said as he jerked the stable door open.
Brill was inside, struggling to saddle a horse that shied from his rank smell.
"Leaving, Brill?" Wolf asked, stepping into the doorway with his arms crossed.
Brill turned quickly, crouched and with a snarl on his unshaven face. His off center eye gleamed whitely in the half muffled light of the lantern hanging from a peg on one of the stalls, and his broken teeth shone behind his pulled-back lips.
"A strange time for a journey," Wolf said dryly.
"Don't interfere with me, old man," Brill said, his tone menacing. "You'll regret it."
"I've regretted many things in my life," Wolf said. "I doubt that one more will make all that much difference."
"I warned you." Brill snarled, and his hand dove under his cloak and emerged with a short, rust-splotched sword.
"Don't be stupid," Wolf said in a tone of overwhelming contempt. Garion, however, at the first flash of the sword, whipped his hand to his belt, drew his dagger, and stepped in front of the unarmed old man. "Get back, boy," Wolf barked.
But Garion had already lunged forward, his bright dagger thrust out ahead of him. Later, when he had time to consider, he could not have explained why he reacted as he did. Some deep instinct seemed to take over.
"Garion," Wolf said, "get out of the way!"
"So much the better," Brill said, raising his sword.
And then Durnik was there. He appeared as if from nowhere, snatched up an ox yoke and struck the sword from Brill's hand. Brill turned on him, enraged, and Durnik's second blow took the cast-eyed man in the ribs, a little below the armpit. The breath whooshed from Brill's lungs, and he collapsed, gasping and writhing to the straw-littered floor.
"For shame, Garion," Durnik said reproachfully. "I didn't make that knife of yours for this kind of thing."
"He was going to kill Mister Wolf," Garion protested.
"Never mind that," Wolf said, bending over the gasping man on the floor of the stable. He searched Brill roughly and pulled a jingling purse out from under the stained tunic. He carried the purse to the lantern and opened it.
"That's mine," Brill gasped, trying to rise. Durnik raised the ox yoke, and Brill sank back again.
"A sizable sum for an ordinary farmhand to have, friend Brill," Wolf said, pouring the jingling coins from the purse into his hand. "How did you manage to come by it?"
Brill glared at him.
Garion's eyes grew wide at the sight of the coins. He had never seen gold before.
"You don't really need to answer, friend Brill," Wolf said, examining one of the coins. "Your gold speaks for you." He dumped the coins back in the purse and tossed the small leather pouch back to the man on the floor. Brill grabbed it quickly and pushed it back inside his tunic.
"I'll have to tell Faldor of this," Durnik said.
"No," Wolf said.
"It's a serious matter," Durnik said. "A bit of wrestling or a few blows exchanged is one thing, but drawing weapons is quite another."
"There's no time for all of that," Wolf said, taking a piece of harness strap from a peg on the wall. "Bind his hands behind him, and we'll put him in one of the grain bins. Someone will find him in the morning."
Durnik stared at him.
"Trust me, good Durnik," Wolf said. "The matter is urgent. Bind him and hide him someplace; then come to the kitchen. Come with me, Garion." And he turned and left the stable.
Aunt Pol was pacing her kitchen nervously when they returned.
"Well?" she demanded.
"He was attempting to leave," Wolf said. "We stopped him."
"Did you-?" she left it hanging.
"No. He drew a sword, but Durnik chanced to be nearby and knocked the belligerence out of him. The intervention was timely. Your cub here was about to do battle. That little dagger of his is a pretty thing, but not really much of a match for a sword."
Aunt Pol turned on Garion, her eyes ablaze. Garion prudently stepped back out of reach.
"There's no time for that," Wolf said, retrieving the tankard he had set down before leaving the kitchen. "Brill had a pouchful of good red Angarak gold. The Murgos have set eyes to watching this place. I'd wanted to make our going less noticeable, but since we're already being watched, there's no point in that now. Gather what you and the boy will need. I want a few leagues between us and Brill before he manages to free himself. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for Murgos every place I go."
Durnik, who had just come into the kitchen, stopped and stood staring at them.
"Things aren't what they seem here," he said. "What manner of folk are you, and how is it that you have such dangerous enemies?"
"That's a long story, good Durnik," Wolf said, "but I'm afraid there's no time to tell it now. Make our apologies to Faldor, and see if you can't detain Brill for a day or so. I'd like our trail to be quite cold before he or his friends try to find it."
"Someone else is going to have to do that," Durnik said slowly. "I'm not sure what this is all about, but I am sure that there's danger involved in it. It appears that I'll have to go with you - at least until I've gotten you safely away from here."
Aunt Pol suddenly laughed.
"You, Durnik? You mean to protect us?"
He drew himself up.
"I'm sorry, Mistress Pol," he said. "I will not permit you to go unescorted."
"Will not permit?" she said incredulously.
"Very well," Wolf said, a sly look on his face.
"Have you totally taken leave of your senses?" Aunt Pol demanded, turning on him.
"Durnik has shown himself to be a useful man," Wolf said. "If nothing else, he'll give me someone to talk with along the way. Your tongue has grown sharper with the years, Pol, and I don't relish the idea of a hundred leagues or more with nothing but abuse for companionship."
"I see that you've finally slipped into your dotage, Old Wolf," she said acidly.
"That's exactly the sort of thing I meant," Wolf replied blandly. "Now gather a few necessary things, and let's be away from here. The night is passing rapidly."
She glared at him a moment and then stormed out of the kitchen.
"I'll have to fetch some things too," Durnik said. He turned and went out into the gusty night.
Garion's mind whirled. Things were happening far too fast.
"Afraid, boy?" Wolf asked.
"Well-" Garion said. "It's just that I don't understand. I don't understand any of this at all."
"You will in time, Garion," Wolf said. "For now it's better perhaps that you don't. There's danger in what we're doing, but not all that great a danger. Your Aunt and I - and good Durnik, of course - will see that no harm comes to you. Now help me in the pantry." He took a lantern into the pantry and began loading some loaves of bread, a ham, a round yellow cheese and several bottles of wine into a sack which he took down from a peg.
It was nearly midnight, as closely as Garion could tell, when they quietly left the kitchen and crossed the dark courtyard. The faint creak of the gate as Durnik swung it open seemed enormously loud.
As they passed through the gate, Garion felt a momentary pang. Faldor's farm had been the only home he had ever known. He was le
aving now, perhaps forever, and such things had great significance. He felt an even sharper pang at the memory of Zubrette. The thought of Doroon and Zubrette together in the hay barn almost made him want to give the whole thing up altogether, but it was far too late now.
Beyond the protection of the buildings, the gusty wind was chill and whipped at Garion's cloak. Heavy clouds covered the moon, and the road seemed only slightly less dark than the surrounding fields. It was cold and lonely and more than a little frightening. He walked a bit closer to Aunt Pol.
At the top of the hill he stopped and glanced back. Faldor's farm was only a pale, dim blur in the valley behind. Regretfully, he turned his back on it. The valley ahead was very dark, and even the road was lost in the gloom before them.
Chapter Six
THEY HAD WALKED for miles, how many Garion could not say. He nodded as he walked, and sometimes stumbled over unseen stones on the dark road. More than anything now he wanted to sleep. His eyes burned, and his legs trembled on the verge of exhaustion.
At the top of another hill - there always seemed to be another hill, for that part of Sendaria was folded like a rumpled cloth - Mister Wolf stopped and looked about, his eyes searching the oppressive gloom.
"We turn aside from the road here," he announced.
"Is that wise?" Durnik asked. "There are woods hereabout, and I've heard that there may be robbers hiding there. Even if there aren't any robbers, aren't we likely to lose our way in the dark?" He looked up at the murky sky, his plain face, dimly seen, troubled. "I wish there was a moon."
"I don't think we need to be afraid of robbers," Wolf said confidently, "and I'm just as happy that there isn't a moon. I don't think we're being followed yet, but it's just as well that no one happens to see us pass. Murgo gold can buy most secrets." And with that he led them into the fields that lay beside the road.
For Garion the fields were impossible. If he had stumbled now and then on the road, the unseen furrows, holes, and clumps in the rough ground seemed to catch at his feet with every step. At the end of a mile, when they reached the black edge of the woods, he was almost ready to weep with exhaustion.
"How can we find our way in there?" he demanded, peering into the utter darkness of the woods.
"There's a woodcutter's track not far to this side," Wolf said, pointing. "We only have a little farther to go." And he set off again, following the edge of the dark woods, with Garion and the others stumbling along behind him. "Here we are," he said finally, stopping to allow them to catch up. "It's going to be very dark in there, and the track isn't wide. I'll go first, and the rest of you follow me."
"I'll be right behind you, Garion," Durnik said. "Don't worry. Everything will be all right." There was a note in the smith's voice, however, that hinted that his words were more to reassure himself than to calm the boy.
It seemed warmer in the woods. The trees sheltered them from the gusty wind, but it was so dark that Garion could not understand how Wolf could possibly find his way. A dreadful suspicion grew in his mind that Wolf actually did not know where he was going and was merely floundering along blindly, trusting to luck.
"Stop," a rumbling voice suddenly, shockingly, said directly ahead of them. Garion's eyes, accustomed slightly now to the gloom of the woods, saw a vague outline of something so huge that it could not possibly be a man.
"A giant!" he screamed in a sudden panic. Then, because he was exhausted and because everything that had happened that evening had simply piled too much upon him all at one time, his nerve broke and he bolted into the trees.
"Garion!" Aunt Pol's voice cried out after him, "come back!"
But panic had taken hold of him. He ran on, falling over roots and bushes, crashing into trees and tangling his legs in brambles. It seemed like some endless nightmare of blind flight. He ran full tilt into a lowhanging, unseen branch, and sparks flared before his eyes with the sudden blow to his forehead. He lay on the damp earth, gasping and sobbing, trying to clear his head.
And then there were hands on him, horrid, unseen hands. A thousand terrors flashed through his mind at once, and he struggled desperately, trying to draw his dagger.
"Oh, no," a voice said. "None of that, my rabbit." His dagger was taken from him.
"Are you going to eat me?" Garion babbled, his voice breaking.
His captor laughed.
"On your feet, rabbit," he said, and Garion felt himself pulled up by a strong hand. His arm was taken in a firm grasp, and he was half dragged through the woods.
Somewhere ahead there was a light, a winking fire among the trees, and it seemed that he was being taken that way. He knew that he must think, must devise some means of escape, but his mind, stunned by fright and exhaustion, refused to function.
There were three wagons sitting in a rough half circle around the fire. Durnik was there, and Wolf, and Aunt Pol, and with them a man so huge that Garion's mind simply refused to accept the possibility that he was real. His tree-trunk sized legs were wrapped in furs cross-tied with leather thongs, and he wore a chain-mail shirt that reached to his knees, belted at the waist. From the belt hung a ponderous sword on one side and a short-handled axe on the other. His hair was in braids, and he had a vast, bristling red beard.
As they came into the light, Garion was able to see the man who had captured him. He was a small man, scarcely taller than Garion himself, and his face was dominated by a long pointed nose. His eyes were small and squinted, and his straight, black hair was raggedly cut. The face was not the sort to inspire confidence, and the man's stained and patched tunic and short, wicked-looking sword did little to contradict the implications of the face.
"Here's our rabbit," the small, weasel-like man announced as he pulled Garion into the circle of the firelight. "And a merry chase he led me, too."
Aunt Pol was furious.
"Don't you ever do that again," she said sternly to Garion.
"Not so quick, Mistress Pol," Wolf said. "It's better for him to run than to fight just yet. Until he's bigger, his feet are his best friends."
"Have we been captured by robbers?" Garion asked in a quavering voice.
"Robbers?" Wolf laughed. "What a wild imagination you have, boy. These two are our friends."
"Friends?" Garion asked doubtfully, looking suspiciously at the redbearded giant and the weasel-faced man beside him. "Are you sure?" The giant laughed then too, his voice rumbling like an earthquake.
"The boy seems mistrustful," he boomed. "Your face must have warned him, friend Silk."
The smaller man looked sourly at his burly companion.
"This is Garion," Wolf said, pointing at the boy. "You already know Mistress Pol." His voice seemed to stress Aunt Pol's name. "And this is Durnik, a brave smith who has decided to accompany us."
"Mistress Pol?" the smaller man said, laughing suddenly for no apparent reason.
"I am known so," Aunt Pol said pointedly.
"It shall be my pleasure to call you so then, great lady," the small man said with a mocking bow.
"Our large friend here is Barak," Wolf went on. "He's useful to have around when there's trouble. As you can see, he's not a Sendar, but a Cherek from Val Alorn."
Garion had never seen a Cherek before, and the fearful tales of their prowess in battle became suddenly quite believable in the presence of the towering Barak.
"And I," the small man said with one hand to his chest, "am called Silk - not much of a name, I'll admit, but one which suits me - and I am from Boktor in Drasnia. I am a juggler and an acrobat."
"And also a thief and a spy," Barak rumbled good-naturedly.
"We all have our faults," Silk admitted blandly, scratching at his scraggly whiskers.
"And I'm called Mister Wolf in this particular time and place," the old man said. "I'm rather fond of the name, since the boy there gave it to me."
"Mister Wolf?" Silk asked, and then he laughed again. "What a merry name for you, old friend."
"I'm delighted that you find it so, old f
riend," Wolf said flatly. "Mister Wolf it shall be, then," Silk said. "Come to the fire, friends. Warm yourselves, and I'll see to some food."
Garion was still uncertain about the oddly matched pair. They obviously knew Aunt Pol and Mister Wolf - and just as obviously by different names. The fact that Aunt Pol might not be whom he had always thought she was was very disturbing. One of the foundation stones of his entire life had just disappeared.
The food which Silk brought was rough, a turnip stew with thick chunks of meat floating in it and crudely hacked off slabs of bread, but Garion, amazed at the size of his appetite, fell into it as if he had not eaten for days.
And then, his stomach full and his feet warmed by the crackling campfire, he sat on a log, half dozing.
"What now, Old Wolf?" he heard Aunt Pol ask. "What's the idea behind these clumsy wagons?"
"A brilliant plan," Wolf said, "even if I do say it myself. There are, as you know, wagons going every which way in Sendaria at this time of year. Harvests are moving from field to farm, from farm to village and from village to town. Nothing is more unremarkable in Sendaria than wagons. They're so common that they're almost invisible. This is how we're going to travel. We're now honest freight haulers."
"We're what?" Aunt Pol demanded.
"Wagoneers," Wolf said expansively. "Hard-working transporters of the goods of Sendaria - out to make our fortunes and seek adventure, bitten by the desire to travel, incurably infected by the romance of the road."
"Have you any idea how long it takes to travel by wagon?" Aunt Pol asked.
"Six to ten leagues a day," he told her. "Slow, I'll grant you, but it's better to move slowly than to attract attention."
She shook her head in disgust.
"Where first, Mister Wolf?" Silk asked.
"To Darine," Wolf announced. "If the one we're following went to the north, he'll have to have passed through Darine on his way to Boktor and beyond."
"And what exactly are we carrying to Darine?" Aunt Pol asked.
"Turnips, great lady," Silk said. "Last morning my large friend and I purchased three wagonloads of them in the village of Winold."
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