'brave' instead of the other one."
"One for his side," Velvet murmured.
Silk flushed slightly. "But how do we know what it is that's going to happen?" he objected.
"We don't,'' Belgarath said. "The circumstances just call for some extra alertness, is all. We've been warned. The rest is up to us."
They took some special precautions when they set up their encampment that evening. Polgara prepared supper quickly, and the fire was extinguished as soon as they had finished eating. Garion and Silk took the first watch. They stood atop a knoll behind the camp, peering into the darkness.
"I hate this," Silk whispered.
"Hate what?"
"Knowing that something is going to happen without knowing what it is. I wish those two old men would keep their speculations to themselves."
"Do you really like surprises?"
"A surprise is better than living with this sense of dread. My nerves aren't what they used to be."
"You're too high-strung sometimes. Look at all the entertainment you're getting out of anticipation."
"I'm terribly disappointed in you, Garion. I thought you were a nice, sensible boy.''
"What did I say?"
"Anticipation. In this situation, that's just another word for 'worry,' and worry isn't good for anybody."
"It's just a way to get us ready in case something happens."
"I'm always ready, Garion. That's how I’ve managed to live so long, but right now I feel almost as tightly wound as a lute string."
"Try not to think about it."
"Of course," Silk retorted sarcastically. "But doesn't that defeat the purpose of the warning? Aren't we supposed to think about it?"
The sun had not come up yet when Sadi came back to their camp, moving very quietly and going from tent to tent with a whispering warning. "There's somebody out there," he warned after he had scratched on the flap of Garion's tent. Garion rolled out from under his blankets, his hand automatically reaching for his sword. He paused then. The old gold hunter had warned them against the shedding of blood. Was this the event for which they had been waiting? But were they supposed to obey the prohibition, or to step over it in response to some higher need? There was not time now to stand locked in indecision, however. Sword in hand, Garion rushed from the tent.
The light had that peculiar steely tint mat comes from a colorless sky before the sun rises. It cast no shadows and what lay beneath the broad-spread oaks was not so much darkness as it was a fainter light. Garion moved quickly, his feet avoiding almost on their own the windrows of years-old dead leaves and the fallen twigs and branches that littered the floor of this ancient forest.
Zakath stood atop the knoll, holding his sword. "Where are they?" Garion's voice was not so much a whisper as a breath.
"They were coming up from the south," Zakath whispered back.
"How many?"
"It's hard to say."
"Are they trying to sneak up on us?"
"It didn't really look that way. The ones we saw could have hidden back there among the trees, but they just came walking through the forest.'' Garion peered out into the growing light. And then he saw them. They were dressed all in white—robes or long smocks— and they made no attempts at concealment. Their movements were deliberate and seemed to have a placid, unhurried calm about them. They came in single file, each following the one in front at a distance of about ten yards. There was something hauntingly familiar about the way they moved through the forest.
"All they need are the torches," Silk said from directly behind Garion. The little man made no attempt to keep his voice down.
"Be still!" Zakath hissed.
"Why? They know we're here." Silk laughed a caustic little laugh. "Remember that time on the Isle of Verkat?" he said to Garion. "You and I spent a half hour or so crawling through me wet grass following Vard and his people, and I'm absolutely sure now that they knew we were there all the time. We could have just walked along behind them and saved ourselves all the
"One for his side," Velvet murmured.
Silk flushed slightly. "But how do we know what it is that's going to happen?" he objected.
"We don't,'' Belgarath said. "The circumstances just call for some extra alertness, is all. We've been warned. The rest is up to us."
They took some special precautions when they set up their encampment that evening. Polgara prepared supper quickly, and the fire was extinguished as soon as they had finished eating. Garion and Silk took the first watch. They stood atop a knoll behind the camp, peering into the darkness.
"I hate this," Silk whispered.
"Hate what?"
"Knowing that something is going to happen without knowing what it is. I wish those two old men would keep their speculations to themselves."
"Do you really like surprises?"
"A surprise is better than living with this sense of dread. My nerves aren't what they used to be."
"You're too high-strung sometimes. Look at all the entertainment you're getting out of anticipation."
"I'm terribly disappointed in you, Garion. I thought you were a nice, sensible boy.''
"What did I say?"
"Anticipation. In this situation, that's just another word for 'worry,' and worry isn't good for anybody."
"It's just a way to get us ready in case something happens."
"I'm always ready, Garion. That's how I’ve managed to live so long, but right now I feel almost as tightly wound as a lute string."
"Try not to think about it."
"Of course," Silk retorted sarcastically. "But doesn't that defeat the purpose of the warning? Aren't we supposed to think about it?"
The sun had not come up yet when Sadi came back to their camp, moving very quietly and going from tent to tent with a whispering warning. "There's somebody out there," he warned after he had scratched on the flap of Garion's tent. Garion rolled out from under his blankets, his hand automatically reaching for his sword. He paused then. The old gold hunter had warned them against the shedding of blood. Was this the event for which they had been waiting? But were they supposed to obey the prohibition, or to step over it in response to some higher need? There was not time now to stand locked in indecision, however. Sword in hand, Garion rushed from the tent.
The light had that peculiar steely tint mat comes from a colorless sky before the sun rises. It cast no shadows and what lay beneath the broad-spread oaks was not so much darkness as it was a fainter light. Garion moved quickly, his feet avoiding almost on their own the windrows of years-old dead leaves and the fallen twigs and branches that littered the floor of this ancient forest.
Zakath stood atop the knoll, holding his sword. "Where are they?" Garion's voice was not so much a whisper as a breath.
"They were coming up from the south," Zakath whispered back.
"How many?"
"It's hard to say."
"Are they trying to sneak up on us?"
"It didn't really look that way. The ones we saw could have hidden back there among the trees, but they just came walking through the forest.'' Garion peered out into the growing light. And then he saw them. They were dressed all in white—robes or long smocks— and they made no attempts at concealment. Their movements were deliberate and seemed to have a placid, unhurried calm about them. They came in single file, each following the one in front at a distance of about ten yards. There was something hauntingly familiar about the way they moved through the forest.
"All they need are the torches," Silk said from directly behind Garion. The little man made no attempt to keep his voice down.
"Be still!" Zakath hissed.
"Why? They know we're here." Silk laughed a caustic little laugh. "Remember that time on the Isle of Verkat?" he said to Garion. "You and I spent a half hour or so crawling through me wet grass following Vard and his people, and I'm absolutely sure now that they knew we were there all the time. We could have just walked along behind them and saved ourselves all the
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