the belgariad pawn of prophecy 28

Durnik had been right when he had spoken of frost. The ground was

white with it the next morning, and the horses' breath steamed in the

chill air as they set out. They moved along lanes and little-used tracks

that were partially weed-choked. The going was slower than it might

have been on the main road, but they all felt much safer.

It took them five more days to reach the village of Winold, some

twelve leagues to the north of Medalia. There, at Aunt Pol's insistence,

they stopped overnight at a somewhat rundown inn. "I refuse to sleep on

the ground again," she announced flatly.

After they had eaten in the dingy common room of the inn, the men

turned to their ale pots, and Aunt Pol went up to her chamber with

instructions that hot water be brought to her for bathing. Garion,

however, made some pretext about checking the horses and went outside.

It was not that he was in the habit of being deliberately deceptive, but

it had occurred to him in the last day or so that he had not had a

single moment alone since they had left Faldor's farm. He was not by

nature a solitary boy, but he had begun to feel quite keenly the

restriction of always being in the presence of his elders.

The village of Winold was not a large one, and he explored it from

one end to the other in less than half an hour, loitering along its

narrow, cobblestoned streets in the crispness of the early evening air.

The windows of the houses glowed with golden candlelight, and Garion

suddenly felt a great surge of homesickness.

Then, at the next corner of the crooked street, in the brief light

from an opening door, he saw a familiar figure. He could not be

positive, but he shrank back against a rough stone wall anyway.

The man at the corner turned in irritation toward the light, and

Garion caught the sudden white gleam from one of his eyes. It was Brill.

The unkempt man moved quickly out of the light, obviously not wishing

to be seen, then he stopped.

Garion hugged the wall, watching Brill's impatient pacing at the

corner. The wisest thing would have been to slip away and hurry back to

the inn, but Garion quickly dismissed that idea. He was safe enough here

in the deep shadow beside the wall, and he was too caught up by

curiosity to leave without seeing exactly what Brill was doing here.

After what seemed hours, but was really only a few more minutes,

another shadowy shape came scurrying down the street. The man was

hooded, so it was impossible to see his face, but the outline of his

form revealed a figure dressed in the tunic, hose and calf length boots

of an ordinary Sendar. There was also, when he turned, the outline of a

sword belted at his waist, and that was far from ordinary. While it was

not precisely illegal for Sendars of the lower classes to bear arms, it

was uncommon enough to attract notice.

Garion tried to edge close enough to hear what Brill said to the man

with the sword, but they spoke only briefly. There was a clink as some

coins changed hands, and then the two separated. Brill moved quietly off

around the corner, and the man with the sword walked up the narrow,

crooked street toward the spot where Garion stood.

There was no place to hide, and as soon as the hooded man came close

enough, he would be able to see Garion. To turn and run would be even

more dangerous. Since there was no alternative, Garion put on a bold

front and marched determinedly toward the oncoming figure.

"Who's there?" the hooded man demanded, his hand going to his sword-hilt.

"Good evening, sir," Garion said, deliberately forcing his voice up

into the squeaky registers of a much younger boy. "Cold night, isn't

it?"

The hooded man grunted and seemed to relax.

Garion's legs quivered with the desire to run. He passed the man with

the sword, and his back prickled as he felt that suspicious gaze follow

him.

"Boy," the man said abruptly.

Garion stopped.

"Yes, sir?" he said, turning.

"Do you live here?"

"Yes, sir," Garion lied, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

"Is there a tavern hereabouts?"

Garion had just explored the town, and he spoke confidently.

"Yes, sir," he said. "You go on up this street to the next corner and

turn to your left. There are torches out front. You can't miss it."

"My thanks," the hooded man said shortly, and walked on up the narrow street.

"Good night, sir," Garion called after him, made bold by the fact that the danger seemed past.

The man did not answer, and Garion marched on down to the corner,

exhilarated by his brief encounter. Once he was around the corner,

however, he dropped the guise of a simple village boy and ran.

He was breathless by the time he reached the inn and burst into the

smoky common room where Mister Wolf and the others sat talking by the

fire.

At the last instant, realizing that to blurt out his news in the

common room where others might overhear would be a mistake, he forced

himself to walk calmly to where his friends sat. He stood before the

fire as if warming himself and spoke in a low tone. "I just saw Brill in

the village," he said.

"Brill?" Silk asked. "Who's Brill?"

Wolf frowned. "A farmhand with too much Angarak gold in his purse to

be entirely honest," he said. Quickly he told Silk and Barak about the

adventure in Faldor's stable.

"You should have killed him," Barak rumbled.

"This isn't Cherek," Wolf said. "Sendars are touchy about casual killings." He turned to Garion. "Did he see you?" he asked.

"No," Garion said. "I saw him first and hid in the dark. He met

another man and gave him some money, I think. The other man had a

sword." Briefly he described the whole incident.

"This changes things," Wolf said. "I think we'll leave earlier in the morning than we'd planned."

"It wouldn't be hard to make Brill lose interest in us," Durnik said.

"I could probably find him and hit him on the head a few times."

"Tempting." Wolf grinned. "But I think it might be better just to

slip out of town early tomorrow and leave him with no notion that we've

ever been here. We don't really have time to start fighting with

everyone we run across."

"I'd like a closer look at this sword-carrying Sendar, however," Silk

said, rising. "If it turns out that he's following us, I'd rather know

what he looks like. I don't like being followed by strangers."

"Discreetly," Wolf cautioned.

Silk laughed. "Have you ever known me to be otherwise?" he asked.

"This won't take long. Where did you say that tavern was, Garion?"

Garion gave him directions.

Silk nodded, his eyes bright and his long nose twitching. He turned,

went quickly across the smoky common room and out into the chill night.