Pawn of Prophecy tb-1 Page 7

  "It's my decision to make," Aunt Pol said crisply. "We all agreed that he was to be in my care until he was grown. I won't go unless he goes with me."

  Garion's heart leaped.

  "Pol," Wolf said sharply, "think where we may have to go. You can't deliver the boy into those hands."

  "He'd be safer in Cthol Murgos or in Mallorea itself than he would be here without me to watch him," Aunt Pol said. "Last spring I caught him in the barn with a girl about his own age. As I said, he needs watching."

  Wolf laughed then, a rich, merry sound.

  "Is that all?" he said. "You worry too much about such things."

  "How would you like it if we returned and found him married and about to become a father?" Aunt Pol demanded acidly. "He'd make an excellent farmer, and what matter if we'd all have to wait a hundred years for the circumstances to be right again?"

  "Surely it hasn't gone that far. They're only children."

  "You're blind, Old Wolf," Aunt Pol said. "This is backcountry Sendaria, and the boy has been raised to do the proper and honorable thing. The girl is a bright-eyed little minx who's maturing much too rapidly for my comfort. Right now charming little Zubrette is a far greater danger than any Murgo could ever be. Either the boy goes along, or I won't go either. You have your responsibilities, and I have mine."

  "There's no time to argue," Wolf said. "If it has to be this way, then so be it."

  Garion almost choked with excitement. He felt only a passing, momentary pang at leaving Zubrette behind. He turned and looked exultantly up at the clouds scudding across the evening sky. And, because his back was turned, he did not see Aunt Pol approach through the kitchen door.

  "The garden, as I recall, lies beyond the south wall," she pointed out.

  Garion started guiltily.

  "How is it that the carrots remain undug?" she demanded.

  "I had to look for the spade," he said unconvincingly.

  "Really? I see that you found it, however." Her eyebrows arched dangerously.

  "Only just now."

  "Splendid. Carrots, Garion-novel"

  Garion grabbed his spade and pail and ran.

  It was just dusk when he returned, and he saw Aunt Pol mounting the steps that led to Faldor's quarters. He might have followed her to listen, but a faint movement in the dark doorway of one of the sheds made him step instead into the shadow of the gate. A furtive figure moved from the shed to the foot of the stairs Aunt Pol had just climbed and silently crept up the stairs as soon as she went in Faldor's door. The light was fading, and Garion could not see exactly who followed his Aunt. He set down his pail and, grasping the spade like a weapon, he hurried quickly around the inner court, keeping to the shadows.

  There came the sound of a movement inside the chambers upstairs, and the figure at the door straightened quickly and scurried down the steps. Garion slipped back out of sight, his spade still held at the ready. As the figure passed him, Garion briefly caught the scent of stale, musty clothing and rank sweat. As certainly as if he had seen the man's face, he knew that the figure that had followed his Aunt had been Brill, the new farmhand.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Garion heard his Aunt's voice. "I'm sorry, Faldor, but it's a family matter, and I must leave immediately."

  "I would pay you more, Pol." Faldor's voice was almost breaking.

  "Money has nothing to do with it," Aunt Pol replied. "You're a good man, Faldor, and your farm has been a haven to me when I needed one. I'm grateful to you—more than you can know—but I must leave."

  "Perhaps when this family business is over, you can come back," Faldor almost pleaded.

  "No, Faldor," she said. "I'm afraid not."

  "We'll miss you, Pol," Faldor said with tears in his voice.

  "And I'll miss you, dear Faldor. I've never met a better-hearted man. I'd take it kindly if you wouldn't mention my leaving until I've gone. I'm not fond of explanations or sentimental good-byes."

  "Whatever you wish, Pol."

  "Don't look so mournful, old friend," Aunt Pol said lightly. "My helpers are well-trained. Their cooking will be the same as mine. Your stomach will never know the difference."

  "My heart will," Faldor said.

  "Don't be silly," she said gently. "Now I must see to supper." Garion moved quickly away from the foot of the stairs. Troubled, he put his spade back in the shed and fetched the pail of carrots he had left sitting by the gate. To reveal to his Aunt that he had seen Brill listening at the door would immediately raise questions about his own activities that he would prefer not to have to answer. In all probability Brill was merely curious, and there was nothing menacing or ominous about that. To observe the unsavory Brill duplicating his own seemingly harmless pastime, however, made Garion quite uncomfortable—even slightly ashamed of himself.

  Although Garion was much too excited to eat, supper that evening seemed as ordinary as any meal on Faldor's farm had ever been. Garion covertly watched sour-faced Brill, but the man showed no outward sign of having in any way been changed by the conversation he had gone to so much trouble to overhear.

  When supper was over, as was always the case when he visited the farm, Mister Wolf was prevailed upon to tell a story. He rose and stood for a moment deep in thought as the wind moaned in the chimney and the torches flickered in their rings on the pillars in the hall.

  "As all men know," he began, "the Marags are no more, and the Spirit of Mara weeps alone in the wilderness and wails among the mossgrown ruins of Maragor. But also, as all men know, the hills and streams of Maragor are heavy with fine yellow gold. That gold, of course, was the cause of the destruction of the Marags. When a certain neighboring kingdom became aware of the gold, the temptation became too great, and the result—as it almost always is when gold is at issue between kingdoms—was war. The pretext for the war was the lamentable fact that the Marags were cannibals. While this habit is distasteful to civilized men, had there not been gold in Maragor it might have been overlooked.

  "The war, however, was inevitable, and the Marags were slain. But the Spirit of Mara and the ghosts of all the slaughtered Marags remained in Maragor, as those who went into that haunted kingdom soon discovered."

  "Now it chanced to happen that about that time there lived in the town of Muros in southern Sendaria three adventuresome men, and, hearing of all that gold, they resolved to journey down to Maragor to claim their share of it. The men, as I said, were adventuresome and bold, and they scoffed at the tales of ghosts.

  "Their journey was long, for it is many hundreds of leagues from Muros to the upper reaches of Maragor, but the smell of the gold drew them on. And so it happened, one dark and stormy night, that they crept across the border into Maragor past the patrols which had been set to turn back just such as they. That nearby kingdom, having gone to all the expense and inconvenience of war, was quite naturally reluctant to share the gold with anyone who chanced to pass by.

  "Through the night they crept, burning with their lust for gold. The Spirit of Mara wailed about them, but they were brave men and not afraid of spirits—and besides, they told each other, the sound was not truly a spirit, but merely the moaning of the wind in the trees.

  "As dim and misty morning seeped amongst the hills, they could hear, not far away, the rushing sound of a river. As all men know, gold is most easily found along the banks of rivers, and so they made quickly toward that sound.

  "Then one of them chanced to look down in the dim light, and behold, the ground at his feet was strewn with gold-lumps and chunks of it. Overcome with greed, he remained silent and loitered behind until his companions were out of sight; then he fell to his knees and began to gather up gold as a child might pick flowers.

  "He heard a sound behind him and he turned. What he saw it is best not to say. Dropping all his gold, he bolted.

  "Now the river they had heard cut through a gorge just about there, and his two companions were amazed to see him run off the edge of that gorge and even continue to run
as he fell, his legs churning insubstantial air. Then they turned, and they saw what had been pursuing him.

  "One went quite mad and leaped with a despairing cry into the same gorge which had just claimed his companion, but the third adventurer, the bravest and boldest of all, told himself that no ghost could actually hurt a living man and stood his ground. That, of course, was the worst mistake of all. The ghosts encircled him as he stood bravely, certain that they could not hurt him."

  Mister Wolf paused and drank briefly from his tankard. "And then," the old storyteller continued, "because even ghosts can become hungry, they divided him up and ate him."

  Garion's hair stood on end at the shocking conclusion of Wolf's tale, and he could sense the others at his table shuddering. It was not at all the kind of story they had expected to hear.

  Durnik the smith, who was sitting nearby, had a perplexed expression on his plain face. Finally he spoke. "I would not question the truth of your story for the world," he said to Wolf, struggling with the words, "but if they ate him—the ghosts, I mean—where did it go? I mean—if ghosts are insubstantial, as all men say they are, they don't have stomachs, do they? And what would they bite with?"

  Wolf's face grew sly and mysterious. He raised one finger as if he were about to make some cryptic reply to Durnik's puzzled question, and then he suddenly began to laugh.

  Durnik looked annoyed at first, and then, rather sheepishly, he too began to laugh. Slowly the laughter spread as they all began to understand the joke.

  "An excellent jest, old friend," Faldor said, laughing as hard as any of the others, "and one from which much instruction may be gained. Greed is bad, but fear is worse, and the world is dangerous enough without cluttering it with imaginary hobgoblins." Trust Faldor to twist a good story into a moralistic sermon of some kind.

  "True enough, good Faldor," Wolf said more seriously, "but there are things in this world which cannot be explained away or dismissed with laughter."

  Brill, seated near the fire, had not joined in the laughter.

  "I have never seen a ghost," he said sourly, "nor ever met anyone who has, and I for one do not believe in any kind of magic or sorcery or such childishness." And he stood up and stamped out of the hall almost as if the story had been a kind of personal insult.

  Later, in the kitchen, when Aunt Pol was seeing to the cleaning up and Wolf lounged against one of the worktables with a tankard of beer, Garion's struggle with his conscience finally came into the open. That dry, interior voice informed him most pointedly that concealing what he had seen was not merely foolish, but possibly dangerous as well. He set down the pot he was scrubbing and crossed to where they were. "It might not be important," he said carefully, "but this afternoon, when I was coming back from the garden, I saw Brill following you, Aunt Pol."

  She turned and looked at him. Wolf set down his tankard.

  "Go on, Garion," Aunt Pol said.

  "It was when you went up to talk with Faldor," Garion explained. "He waited until you'd gone up the stairs and Faldor had let you in. Then he sneaked up and listened at the door. I saw him up there when I went to put the spade away."

  "How long has this man Brill been at the farm?" Wolf asked, frowning.

  "He came just last spring," Garion said, "after Breldo got married and moved away."

  "And the Murgo merchant was here at Erastide some months before?"

  Aunt Pol looked at him sharply.

  "You think-" She did not finish.

  "I think it might not be a bad idea if I were to step around and have a few words with friend Brill," Wolf said grimly, "Do you know where his room is, Garion?"

  Garion nodded, his heart suddenly racing.

  "Show me." Wolf moved away from the table against which he had been lounging, and his step was no longer the step of an old man. It was curiously as if the years had suddenly dropped away from him.

  "Be careful," Aunt Pol warned.

  Wolf chuckled, and the sound was chilling. "I'm always careful. You should know that by now."

  Garion quickly led Wolf out into the yard and around to the far end where the steps mounted to the gallery that led to the rooms of the farmhands. They went up, their soft leather shoes making no sound on the worn steps.

  "Down here," Garion whispered, not knowing exactly why he whispered.

  Wolf nodded, and they went quietly down the dark gallery.

  "Here," Garion whispered, stopping.

  "Step back," Wolf breathed. He touched the door with his fingertips.

  "Is it locked?" Garion asked.

  "That's no problem," Wolf said softly. He put his hand to the latch, there was a click, and the door swung open. Wolf stepped inside with Garion close behind.

  It was totally dark in the room, and the sour stink of Brill's unwashed clothes hung in the air.

  "He's not here," Wolf said in a normal tone. He fumbled with something at his belt, and there was the scrape of flint against steel and a flare of sparks. A wisp of frayed rope caught the sparks and began to glow. Wolf blew on the spark for a second, and it flared into flame. He raised the burning wisp over his head and looked around the empty room.

  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."