our friend over there?" he said. "I think he's about to leave on a very long journey."
But Bril1's right hand had dipped suddenly inside his tunic. With a flickering movement, he whipped out a peculiar-looking triangular steel object about six inches across. Then, in the same movement, he flipped it, spinning and whistling, directly at Tarlek. The flat steel triangle sailed, flashing in the sun as it spun, and disappeared with a sickening sound of shearing bone into the hulking Nadrak's chest. Silk hissed with amazement.
Tarlek stared stupidly at Brill, his mouth agape and his left hand going to the spurting hole in his chest. Then his mace slid out of his right hand, his knees buckled, and he fell heavily forward.
"Let's get out of here!" Mister Wolf barked. "Down the creek! Go!"
They plowed into the rocky streambed at a plunging gallop, and the muddy water sprayed out from under their horses' hooves. After several hundred yards they turned sharply to scramble up a steep gravel bank.
"That way!" Barak shouted, pointing toward more level ground. Garion did not have time to think, only to cling to his horse and try to keep up with the others. Faintly, far behind, he could hear shouts.
They rode behind a low hill and reined in for a moment at Wolf's signal. "Hettar," the old man said, "see if they're coming."
Hettar wheeled his horse and loped up to a stand of trees on the brow of the hill.
Silk was muttering curses, his face livid.
"What's your problem now?" Barak demanded.
Silk kept on swearing.
"What's got him so worked up?" Barak asked Mister Wolf.
"Our friend's just had a nasty shock," the old man answered. "He misjudged somebody - so did I, as a matter of fact. That weapon Brill used on the big Nadrak is called an adder-sting."
Barak shrugged. "It looked like just an odd-shaped throwing knife to me.
"There's a bit more to it than that," Wolf told him. "It's as sharp as a razor on all three sides, and the points are usually dipped in poison. It's the special weapon of the Dagashi. That's what has got Silk so upset."
"I should have known," Silk berated himself. "Brill's been a little too good all along to be just an ordinary Sendarian footpad."
"Do you know what they're talking about, Polgara?" Barak asked.
"The Dagashi are a secret society in Cthol Murgos," she told him. "Trained killers-assassins. They answer only to Ctuchik and their own elders. Ctuchik's been using them for centuries to eliminate people who get in his way. They're very efficient."
"I've never been that curious about the peculiarities of Murgo culture," Barak replied. "If they want to creep around and kill each other, so much the better." He glanced up the hill quickly to find out if Hettar had seen anything behind them. "That thing Brill used might be an interesting toy, but it's no match for armor and a good sword."
"Don't be so provincial, Barak," Silk said, beginning to regain his composure. "A well-thrown adder-sting can cut right through a mail shirt; if you know how, you can even sail it around corners. Not only that, a Dagashi could kill you with his hands and feet, whether you're wearing armor or not." He frowned. "You know, Belgarath," he mused, "we might have been making a mistake all along. We assumed that Asharak was using Brill, but it might have been the other way around. Brill has to be good, or Ctuchik wouldn't have sent him into the West to keep an eye on us." He smiled then, a chillingly bleak little smile. "I wonder just how good he is." He flexed his fingers. "I've met a few Dagashi, but never one of their best. That might be very interesting."
"Let's not get sidetracked," Wolf told him. The old man's face was grim. He looked at Aunt Pol, and something seemed to pass between them.
"You're not serious," she said.
"I don't think we've got much choice, Pol. There are Murgos all around us - too many and too close. I don't have any room to move; they've got us pinned right up against the southern edge of Maragor.
But Bril1's right hand had dipped suddenly inside his tunic. With a flickering movement, he whipped out a peculiar-looking triangular steel object about six inches across. Then, in the same movement, he flipped it, spinning and whistling, directly at Tarlek. The flat steel triangle sailed, flashing in the sun as it spun, and disappeared with a sickening sound of shearing bone into the hulking Nadrak's chest. Silk hissed with amazement.
Tarlek stared stupidly at Brill, his mouth agape and his left hand going to the spurting hole in his chest. Then his mace slid out of his right hand, his knees buckled, and he fell heavily forward.
"Let's get out of here!" Mister Wolf barked. "Down the creek! Go!"
They plowed into the rocky streambed at a plunging gallop, and the muddy water sprayed out from under their horses' hooves. After several hundred yards they turned sharply to scramble up a steep gravel bank.
"That way!" Barak shouted, pointing toward more level ground. Garion did not have time to think, only to cling to his horse and try to keep up with the others. Faintly, far behind, he could hear shouts.
They rode behind a low hill and reined in for a moment at Wolf's signal. "Hettar," the old man said, "see if they're coming."
Hettar wheeled his horse and loped up to a stand of trees on the brow of the hill.
Silk was muttering curses, his face livid.
"What's your problem now?" Barak demanded.
Silk kept on swearing.
"What's got him so worked up?" Barak asked Mister Wolf.
"Our friend's just had a nasty shock," the old man answered. "He misjudged somebody - so did I, as a matter of fact. That weapon Brill used on the big Nadrak is called an adder-sting."
Barak shrugged. "It looked like just an odd-shaped throwing knife to me.
"There's a bit more to it than that," Wolf told him. "It's as sharp as a razor on all three sides, and the points are usually dipped in poison. It's the special weapon of the Dagashi. That's what has got Silk so upset."
"I should have known," Silk berated himself. "Brill's been a little too good all along to be just an ordinary Sendarian footpad."
"Do you know what they're talking about, Polgara?" Barak asked.
"The Dagashi are a secret society in Cthol Murgos," she told him. "Trained killers-assassins. They answer only to Ctuchik and their own elders. Ctuchik's been using them for centuries to eliminate people who get in his way. They're very efficient."
"I've never been that curious about the peculiarities of Murgo culture," Barak replied. "If they want to creep around and kill each other, so much the better." He glanced up the hill quickly to find out if Hettar had seen anything behind them. "That thing Brill used might be an interesting toy, but it's no match for armor and a good sword."
"Don't be so provincial, Barak," Silk said, beginning to regain his composure. "A well-thrown adder-sting can cut right through a mail shirt; if you know how, you can even sail it around corners. Not only that, a Dagashi could kill you with his hands and feet, whether you're wearing armor or not." He frowned. "You know, Belgarath," he mused, "we might have been making a mistake all along. We assumed that Asharak was using Brill, but it might have been the other way around. Brill has to be good, or Ctuchik wouldn't have sent him into the West to keep an eye on us." He smiled then, a chillingly bleak little smile. "I wonder just how good he is." He flexed his fingers. "I've met a few Dagashi, but never one of their best. That might be very interesting."
"Let's not get sidetracked," Wolf told him. The old man's face was grim. He looked at Aunt Pol, and something seemed to pass between them.
"You're not serious," she said.
"I don't think we've got much choice, Pol. There are Murgos all around us - too many and too close. I don't have any room to move; they've got us pinned right up against the southern edge of Maragor.
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