The small man looked out into the fog. "Let's act as if we believed
that it is," he suggested. "Under the circumstances, I think it would be
a bad idea to make a mistake."
"Are you afraid too, Silk?" Garion asked.
Silk sighed. "Yes," he admitted, "but we can behave as if we believed that we aren't, can't we?"
"I guess we can try," Garion said, and the two of them turned to go
back into the chamber at the foot of the tower where the firelight
danced on the low stone arches, holding the fog and chill at bay.
Part one arendia Chapter Three
THE NEXT MORNING Silk came out of the tower wearing a rich maroon
doublet and a baglike black velvet cap cocked jauntily over one
ear."What's all that about?" Aunt Pol asked him.
"I chanced across an old friend in one of the packs," Silk replied airily. "Radek of Boktor by name."
"What happened to Ambar of Kotu?"
"Ambar's a good enough fellow, I suppose," Silk said a bit
deprecatingly, "but a Murgo named Asharak knows about him and may have
dropped his name in certain quarters. Let's not look for trouble if we
don't have to."
"Not a bad disguise," Mister Wolf agreed. "One more Drasnian merchant
on the Great West Road won't attract any attention - whatever his
name."
"Please," Silk objected in an injured tone. "The name's very important. You hang the whole disguise on the name."
"I don't see any difference," Barak asserted bluntly.
"There's all the difference in the world. Surely you can see that
Ambar's a vagabond with very little regard for ethics, while Radek's a
man of substance whose word is good in all the commercial centers of the
West. Besides, Radek's always accompanied by servants."
"Servants?" One of Aunt Pol's eyebrows shot up.
"Just for the sake of the disguise," Silk assured her quickly. "You, of course, could never be a servant, Lady Polgara."
"Thank you."
"No one would ever believe it. You'll be my sister instead, traveling with me to see the splendors of To1 Honeth."
"Your sister?"
"You could be my mother instead, if you prefer," Silk suggested
blandly, "making a religious pilgrimage to Mar Terrin to atone for a
colorful past."
Aunt Pol gazed steadily at the small man for a moment while he
grinned impudently at her. "Someday your sense of humor's going to get
you into a great deal of trouble, Prince Kheldar."
"I'm always in trouble, Lady Polgara. I wouldn't know how to act if I weren't."
"Do you two suppose we could get started?" Mister Wolf asked.
"Just a moment more," Silk replied. "If we meet anyone and have to
explain things, you, Lelldorin, and Garion are Polgara's servants.
Hettar, Barak, and Durnik are mine."
"Anything you say," Wolf agreed wearily.
"There are reasons."
"All right."
"Don't you want to hear them?"
"Not particularly."
Silk looked a bit hurt.
"Are we ready?" Wolf asked.
"Everything's out of the tower," Durnik told him. "Oh just a moment. I forgot to put out the fire." He went back inside.
Wolf glanced after the smith in exasperation. "What difference does it make?" he muttered. "This place is a ruin anyway."
"Leave him alone, father," Aunt Pol said placidly. "It's the way he is."
As they prepared to mount, Barak's horse, a large, sturdy gray,
sighed and threw a reproachful look at Hettar, and the Algar chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Barak demanded suspiciously.
"The horse said something," Hettar replied. "Never mind."
Then they swung into their saddles and threaded their way out of the
foggy ruins and along the narrow, muddy track that wound into the
forest. Sodden snow lay under wet trees, and water dripped continually
from the branches overhead. They all drew their cloaks about them to
ward off the chill and dampness. Once they were under the trees,
Lelldorin pulled his horse in beside Garion's, and they rode together.
"Is Prince Kheldar always so - well - extremely complicated?" he asked.
"Silk? Oh yes. He's very devious. You see, he's a spy, and disguises and clever lies are second nature to him."
"A spy? Really?" Lelldorin's eyes brightened as his imagination caught hold of the idea.
"He works for his uncle, the King of Drasnia," Garion explained.
"From what I understand, the Drasnians have been at this sort of thing
for centuries."
"We've got to stop and pick up the rest of the packs," Silk was reminding Mister Wolf.
"I haven't forgotten," the old man replied.
"Packs?" Lelldorin asked.
"Silk picked up some wool cloth in Camaar," Garion told him. "He said
it would give us a legitimate reason to be on the highway. We hid them
in a cave when we left the road to come to Vo Wacune."
"He thinks of everything, doesn't he?"
"He tries. We're lucky to have him with us."
"Maybe we could have him show us a few things about disguises,"
Lelldorin suggested brightly. "It might be very useful when we go
looking for your enemy."
Garion had thought that Lelldorin had forgotten his impulsive pledge.
The young Arend's mind seemed too flighty to keep hold of one idea for
very long, but he saw now that Lelldorin only seemed to forget things.
The prospect of a serious search for his parents' murderer with this
young enthusiast adding embellishments and improvisations at every turn
began to present itself alarmingly.
By midmorning, after they had picked up Silk's packs and lashed them
to the backs of the spare horses, they were back out on the Great West
Road, the Tolnedran highway running through the heart of the forest.
They rode south at a loping canter that ate up the miles.
They passed a heavily burdened serf clothed in scraps and pieces of
sackcloth tied on with bits of string. The serf's face was gaunt, and he
was very thin under his dirty rags. He stepped off the road and stared
at them with apprehension until they had passed. Garion felt a sudden
stab of compassion. He briefly remembered Lammer and Detton, and he
wondered what would finally happen to them. It seemed important for some
reason. "Is it really necessary to keep them so poor?" he demanded of
Lelldorin, unable to hold it in any longer.
"Who?" Lelldorin asked, looking around.
"That serf."
Lelldorin glanced back over his shoulder at the ragged man. "You didn't even see him," Garion accused.