back into the trees."
"All right," Wolf agreed.
The sound of their horses' hooves was muffled by the sodden leaves on the forest floor as they turned in among the trees to follow the narrow track. They rode silently for the better part of a mile until a clearing opened ahead of them.
"How about here?" Durnik asked. He indicated a brook trickling softly over mossy stones on one side of the clearing.
"It will do," Wolf agreed.
"We're going to need shelter," the smith observed.
"I bought tents in Camaar," Silk told him. "They're in the packs."
"That was foresighted of you," Aunt Pol complimented him.
"I've been in Arendia before, my Lady. I'm familiar with the weather."
"Garion and I'll go get wood for a fire then," Durnik said, climbing down from his horse and untying his axe from his saddle.
"I'll help you," Lelldorin offered, his face still troubled.
Durnik nodded and led the way off into the trees. The woods were soaked, but the smith seemed to know almost instinctively where to find dry fuel. They worked quickly in the lowering twilight and soon had three large bundles of limbs and fagots. They returned to the clearing where Silk and the others were erecting several dun-colored tents. Durnik dropped his wood and cleared a space for the fire with his foot. Then he knelt and began striking sparks with his knife from a piece of flint into a wad of dry tinder he always carried. In a short time he had a small fire going, and Aunt Pol set out her pots beside it, humming softly to herself.
Hettar came back from tending the horses, and they all stood back watching Aunt Pol prepare a supper from the stores Count Reldegen had pressed on them before they had left his house that morning.
After they had eaten, they sat around the fire talking quietly.
"How far have we come today?" Durnik asked.
"Twelve leagues," Hettar estimated.
"How much farther do we have to go to get out of the forest?"
"It's eighty leagues from Camaar to the central plain," Lelldorin replied.
Durnik sighed. "A week or more. I'd hoped that it'd be only a few days."
"I know what you mean, Durnik," Barak agreed. "It's gloomy under all these trees."
The horses, picketed near the brook, stirred uneasily. Hettar rose to his feet.
"Something wrong?" Barak asked, also rising.
"They shouldn't be-" Hettar started. Then he stopped. "Back!" he snapped.
"Away from the fire. The horses say there are men out there. Many - with weapons." He jumped back from the fire, drawing his sabre.
Lelldorin took one startled look at him and bolted for one of the tents. Garion's sudden disappointment in his friend was almost like a blow to the stomach.
An arrow buzzed into the light and shattered on Barak's mail shirt.
"Arm yourselves!" the big man roared, drawing his sword.
Garion grasped Aunt Pol's sleeve and tried to pull her from the light.
"Stop that!" she snapped, jerking her sleeve free. Another arrow whizzed out of the foggy woods. Aunt Pol flicked her hand as if brushing away a fly and muttered a single word. The arrow bounced back as if it had struck something solid and fell to the ground.
Then with a hoarse shout, a gang of rough, burly men burst from the edge of the trees and splashed across the brook, brandishing swords. As Barak and Hettar leaped forward to meet them, Lelldorin reemerged from the tent with his bow and began loosing arrows so rapidly that his hands seemed to blur as they moved. Garion was instantly ashamed that he had doubted his friend's courage.
With a choked cry, one of the attackers stumbled back, an arrow through his throat. Another doubled over sharply, clutching at his stomach, and fell to the ground, groaning. A third, quite young and with a pale, downy beard on his cheeks, dropped heavily and sat plucking at the feathers on the shaft protruding from his chest with a bewildered expression on his boyish face. Then he sighed and slumped over on his side with a stream of blood coming from his nose.
The ragged-looking men faltered
"All right," Wolf agreed.
The sound of their horses' hooves was muffled by the sodden leaves on the forest floor as they turned in among the trees to follow the narrow track. They rode silently for the better part of a mile until a clearing opened ahead of them.
"How about here?" Durnik asked. He indicated a brook trickling softly over mossy stones on one side of the clearing.
"It will do," Wolf agreed.
"We're going to need shelter," the smith observed.
"I bought tents in Camaar," Silk told him. "They're in the packs."
"That was foresighted of you," Aunt Pol complimented him.
"I've been in Arendia before, my Lady. I'm familiar with the weather."
"Garion and I'll go get wood for a fire then," Durnik said, climbing down from his horse and untying his axe from his saddle.
"I'll help you," Lelldorin offered, his face still troubled.
Durnik nodded and led the way off into the trees. The woods were soaked, but the smith seemed to know almost instinctively where to find dry fuel. They worked quickly in the lowering twilight and soon had three large bundles of limbs and fagots. They returned to the clearing where Silk and the others were erecting several dun-colored tents. Durnik dropped his wood and cleared a space for the fire with his foot. Then he knelt and began striking sparks with his knife from a piece of flint into a wad of dry tinder he always carried. In a short time he had a small fire going, and Aunt Pol set out her pots beside it, humming softly to herself.
Hettar came back from tending the horses, and they all stood back watching Aunt Pol prepare a supper from the stores Count Reldegen had pressed on them before they had left his house that morning.
After they had eaten, they sat around the fire talking quietly.
"How far have we come today?" Durnik asked.
"Twelve leagues," Hettar estimated.
"How much farther do we have to go to get out of the forest?"
"It's eighty leagues from Camaar to the central plain," Lelldorin replied.
Durnik sighed. "A week or more. I'd hoped that it'd be only a few days."
"I know what you mean, Durnik," Barak agreed. "It's gloomy under all these trees."
The horses, picketed near the brook, stirred uneasily. Hettar rose to his feet.
"Something wrong?" Barak asked, also rising.
"They shouldn't be-" Hettar started. Then he stopped. "Back!" he snapped.
"Away from the fire. The horses say there are men out there. Many - with weapons." He jumped back from the fire, drawing his sabre.
Lelldorin took one startled look at him and bolted for one of the tents. Garion's sudden disappointment in his friend was almost like a blow to the stomach.
An arrow buzzed into the light and shattered on Barak's mail shirt.
"Arm yourselves!" the big man roared, drawing his sword.
Garion grasped Aunt Pol's sleeve and tried to pull her from the light.
"Stop that!" she snapped, jerking her sleeve free. Another arrow whizzed out of the foggy woods. Aunt Pol flicked her hand as if brushing away a fly and muttered a single word. The arrow bounced back as if it had struck something solid and fell to the ground.
Then with a hoarse shout, a gang of rough, burly men burst from the edge of the trees and splashed across the brook, brandishing swords. As Barak and Hettar leaped forward to meet them, Lelldorin reemerged from the tent with his bow and began loosing arrows so rapidly that his hands seemed to blur as they moved. Garion was instantly ashamed that he had doubted his friend's courage.
With a choked cry, one of the attackers stumbled back, an arrow through his throat. Another doubled over sharply, clutching at his stomach, and fell to the ground, groaning. A third, quite young and with a pale, downy beard on his cheeks, dropped heavily and sat plucking at the feathers on the shaft protruding from his chest with a bewildered expression on his boyish face. Then he sighed and slumped over on his side with a stream of blood coming from his nose.
The ragged-looking men faltered
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