Relg cringed back from her. “Don’t touch me,” he gasped. She stared at him in amazement, her hand still half extended. “You must never put your hands on me,” he told her. “Never.” Taiba’s look was incredulous. Her life had been spent almost entirely in darkness, and she had never learned to keep her emotions from showing on her face. Amazement gave way to humiliation, and her expression settled then into a kind of stiff, sullen pout as she turned quickly away from the man who had just so harshly rejected her. The cloak slipped from her shoulders as she turned, and the few rags she had for clothing scarcely concealed her nakedness. Despite her tangled hair and the dirty smudges on her limbs, there was a lush, inviting ripeness about her. Relg stared at her and he began to tremble. Then he quickly turned, moved as far away from her as possible, and dropped to his knees, praying desperately and pressing his face against the rocky floor of the cave.
“Is he all right?” Taiba asked quickly.
“He’s got some problems,” Barak replied. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Taiba,” Polgara said. “Come over here.” She looked critically at the woman’s scanty clothing. “We’re going to have to get something together for you to wear. It’s very cold outside. There are other reasons too, it appears.”
“I’ll see what I can find in the packs,” Durnik offered. “we’ll need something for the boy too, I think. That smock of his doesn’t look any too warm.” He looked over at the child, who was curiously examining the horses.
“You won’t need to bother about me,” Taiba told them. “There’s nothing out there for me. As soon as you leave, I’m going back to Rak Cthol.”
“What are you talking about?” Polgara asked her sharply.
“I still have something to settle with Ctuchik,” Taiba replied, fingering her rusty knife.
Silk laughed from the cave mouth. “We took care of that for you. Rak Cthol’s falling to pieces up there, and there isn’t enough left of Ctuchik to make a smudge on the floor.”
“Dead?” she gasped. “How?”
“You wouldn’t believe it,” Silk told her.
“Did he suffer?” She said it with a terrible eagerness.
“More than you could ever imagine,” Polgara replied.
Taiba drew in a long, shuddering breath, and then she began to cry. Aunt Pol opened her arms and took the sobbing woman into them, comforting her even as she had comforted Garion so often when he was small.
Garion sank wearily to the floor, resting his back against the rocky wall of the cave. Waves of exhaustion washed over him, and a great lassitude drained him of all consciously directed thought. Once again the Orb sang to him, but lulling now. Its curiosity about him apparently was satisfied, and its song seemed to be there only to maintain the contact between them. Garion was too tired even to be curious about why the stone took such pleasure in his company.
The little boy turned from his curious examination of the horses and went to where Taiba sat with one of Aunt Pol’s arms about her shoulders. He looked puzzled, and reached out with one hand to touch his fingers to her tear-streaked face.
“What does he want?” Taiba asked.
“He’s probably never seen tears before,” Aunt Pol replied.
Taiba stared at the child’s serious little face, then suddenly laughed through her tears and gave him a quick embrace.
The little boy smiled then. “Errand?” he asked, offering her the Orb. “Don’t take it, Taiba,” Polgara told her very quietly. “Don’t even touch it.”
Taiba looked at the smiling child and shook her head.
The little boy sighed, then came across the cave, sat down beside Garion, and nestled against him.
Barak had gone a short distance back up the passageway they had followed; now he returned, his face grim. “I can hear Murgos moving around up there,” the big man reported. “You can’t tell how far away they are with all the echoes in these caves, but it sounds as if they’re exploring every cave and passageway.”
“Let us find some defensible spot then, my Lord, and give them reason to look for us elsewhere,” Mandorallen suggested gaily.
“Interesting notion,” Barak replied, “but I’m afraid it wouldn’t work. Sooner or later they’re going to find us.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Relg said quietly, breaking off his praying and getting to his feet. The ritual formulas had not helped him, and his eyes were haunted.
“I’ll go with you,” Barak offered.
Relg shook his head. “You’d just be in my way,” he said shortly, already moving toward the passage leading back into the mountain. “What’s come over him?” Barak asked, puzzled.
“I think our friend’s having a religious crisis,” Silk observed from the mouth of the cave where he kept watch.
“Another one?”
“It gives him something to occupy his spare moments,” Silk replied lightly.
“Come and eat,” Aunt Pol told them, laying slices of bread and cheese on top of one of the packs. “Then I want to have a look at the cut on your leg, Mandorallen.”
After they had eaten and Polgara had bandaged Mandorallen’s knee, she dressed Taiba in a peculiar assortment of clothes Durnik had taken from the packs. Then she turned her attention to the little boy. He returned her grave look with one just as serious, then reached out and touched the white lock at her brow with curious fingers. With a start of remembrance, Garion recalled how many times he had touched that lock with the selfsame gesture, and the memory of it raised a momentary irrational surge of jealousy, which he quickly suppressed.
The little boy smiled with sudden delight. “Errand,” he said firmly, offering the Orb to Aunt Pol.
She shook her head. “No, child,” she told him. “I’m afraid I’m not the one.” She dressed him in clothing that had to be rolled up and taken in with bits of twine in various places, then sat down with her back against the wall of the cave and held out her arms to him. Obediently he climbed into her lap, put one arm about her neck and kissed her. Then he nestled his face down against her, sighed and immediately fell asleep. She looked down at him with a strange expression on her face—a peculiar mixture of wonder and tenderness—and Garion fought down another wave of jealousy.
There was a grinding rumble in the caves above them.
“What’s that?” Durnik asked, looking around with apprehension.
“Relg, I’d imagine,” Silk told him. “He seems to be taking steps to head off the Murgos.”
“I hope he doesn’t get carried away,” Durnik said nervously, gland ing at the rock ceiling.
“How longs it going to take to get to the Vale?” Barak asked.
“A couple of weeks, probably,” Silk replied. “A lot’s going to depend on the terrain and how quickly the Grolims can organize a search for us. If we can get enough of a headstart to put down a good false trail, we can send them all running off to the west toward the Tolnedran border, and we can move toward the Vale without needing to waste all that time dodging and hiding.” The little man grinned. “The notion of deceiving the whole Murgo nation appeals to me,” he added.
“You don’t have to get too creative,” Barak told him. “Hettar’s going to be waiting for us in the Vale—along with King Cho-Hag and half the clans of Algaria. They’ll be awfully disappointed if we don’t bring them at least a few Murgos.”
“Life’s full of little disappointments,” Silk told him sardonically. “As I remember it, the eastern edge of the Vale is very steep and rough. It will take a couple of days at least to make it down, and I don’t think we’ll want to try it with all of Murgodom snapping at our heels.”