"Is Torak's body at Rak Cthol?" Silk asked quickly.
Mister Wolf shrugged. "Nobody knows for sure, but I doubt it. After
Zedar carried him away from the battlefield at Vo Mimbre, I don't think
he'd have just handed him over to Ctuchik. He could be in Mallorea or
somewhere in the southern reaches of Cthol Murgos. It's hard to say."
"But at the moment, Chamdar's the one we have to worry about," Silk concluded.
"Not if we keep moving," Wolf told him.
"We'd better get moving then," Barak said, standing up.
By midmorning the heavy clouds had begun to break up, and patches of
blue sky showed here and there. Enormous pillars of sunlight stalked
ponderously across the rolling fields that waited, damp and expectant,
for the first touches of spring. With Mandorallen in the lead they had
ridden hard and had covered a good six leagues. Finally they slowed to a
walk to allow their steaming horses to rest.
"How much farther is it to Vo Mimbre, grandfather?" Garion asked, pulling his horse in beside Mister Wolf.
"Sixty leagues at least," Wolf answered. "Probably closer to eighty."
"That's a long way." Garion winced as he shifted in his saddle.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry I ran away like that back there," Garion apologized.
"It wasn't your fault. Chamdar was playing games."
"Why did he pick me? Couldn't he have done the same thing to Durnik - or Barak?"
Mister Wolf looked at him. "You're younger, more susceptible."
"That's not really it, is it?" Garion accused.
"No," Wolf admitted, "not really, but it's an answer, of sorts."
"This is another one of those things you aren't going to tell me, isn't it?"
"I suppose you could say that," Wolf answered blandly.
Garion sulked about that for a while, but Mister Wolf rode on, seemingly unconcerned by the boy's reproachful silence.
They stopped that night at a Tolnedran hostel, which, like all of
them, was plain, adequate, and expensive. The next morning the sky had
cleared except for billowy patches of white cloud scampering before the
brisk wind. The sight of the sun made them all feel better, and there
was even some bantering between Silk and Barak as they rode along -
something Garion hadn't heard in all the weeks they'd spent traveling
under the gloomy skies of northern Arendia.
Mandorallen, however, scarcely spoke that morning, and his face grew
more somber with each passing mile. He was not wearing his armor, but
instead a mail suit and a deep blue surcoat. His head was bare, and the
wind tugged at his curly hair.
On a nearby hilltop a bleak-looking castle brooded down at them as
they passed, its grim walls high and haughty-looking. Mandorallen seemed
to avoid looking at it, and his face became even more melancholy.
Garion found it difficult to make up his mind about Mandorallen. He
was honest enough with himself to admit that much of his thinking was
still clouded by Lelldorin's prejudices. He didn't really want to like
Mandorallen; but aside from the habitual gloominess which seemed
characteristic of all Arends and the studied and involuted archaism of
the man's speech and his towering self confidence, there seemed little
actually to dislike.
A half league along the road from the castle, a ruin sat at the top
of a long rise. It was not much more than a single wall with a high
archway in the center and broken columns on either side. Near the ruin a
woman sat on horseback, her dark red cape flowing in the wind.
Without a word, almost without seeming to think about it, Mandorallen
turned his warhorse from the road and cantered up the rise toward the
woman, who watched his approach without any seeming surprise, but also
with no particular pleasure.
"Where's he going?" Barak asked.
"She's an acquaintance of his," Mister Wolf said dryly.
"Are we supposed to wait for him?"
"He can catch up with us," Wolf replied.
Mandorallen had stopped his horse near the woman and dismounted. He
bowed to her and held out his hands to help her down from her horse.
They walked together toward the ruin, not touching, but walking very
close to each other. They stopped beneath the archway and talked. Behind
the ruin, clouds raced in the windy sky, and their enormous shadows
swept uncaring across the mournful fields of Arendia.
"We should have taken a different route," Wolf said. "I wasn't thinking, I guess."
"Is there some problem?" Durnik asked.
"Nothing unusual - in Arendia," Wolf answered. "I suppose it's my
fault. Sometimes I forget the kind of things that can happen to young
people."
"Don't be cryptic, father," Aunt Pol told him. "It's very irritating. Is this something we should know about?"
Wolf shrugged. "It isn't any secret," he replied. "Half of Arendia
knows about it. A whole generation of Arendish virgins cry themselves to
sleep every night over it."
"Father," Aunt Pol snapped exasperatedly.
"All right," Wolf said. "When Mandorallen was about Garion's age, he
showed a great deal of promise-strong, courageous, not too bright the
qualities that make a good knight. His father asked me for advice, and I
made arrangements for the young man to live for a while with the Baron
of Vo Ebor - that's his castle back there. The baron had an enormous
reputation, and he provided Mandorallen with the kind of instruction he
needed. Mandorallen and the baron became almost like father and son,
since the baron was quite a bit older. Everything was going along fine
until the baron got married. His bride, however, was much younger -
about Mandorallen's age."
"I think I see where this is going," Durnik remarked disapprovingly.
"Not exactly," Wolf disagreed. "After the honeymoon, the baron
returned to his customary knightly pursuits and left a very bored young
lady wandering around his castle. It's a situation with all kinds of
interesting possibilities. Anyway, Mandorallen and the lady exchanged
glances - then words - the usual sort of thing."
"It happens in Sendaria too," Durnik observed, "but I'm sure the name
we have for it is different from the one they use here." His tone was
critical, even offended.
"You're jumping to conclusions, Durnik," Wolf told him. "Things never
went any further. It might have been better if they had. Adultery isn't
really all that serious, and in time they'd have gotten bored with it.
But, since they both loved and respected the baron too much to dishonor
him, Mandorallen left the castle before things could get out of hand.
Now they both suffer in silence. It's all very touching, but it seems
like a waste of time to me. Of course I'm older."