"Who’s there?" the hooded man demanded, his hand going to his sword-hilt.
"Good evening, sir," Garion said, deliberately forcing his voice up into the squeaky registers of a much younger boy. "Cold night, isn’t it?"
The hooded man grunted and seemed to relax.
Garion’s legs quivered with the desire to run. He passed the man with the sword, and his back prickled as he felt that suspicious gaze follow him.
"Boy," the man said abruptly.
Garion stopped.
"Yes, sir?" he said, turning.
"Do you live here?"
"Yes, sir," Garion lied, trying to keep his voice from trembling.
"Is there a tavern hereabouts?"
Garion had just explored the town, and he spoke confidently.
"Yes, sir," he said. "You go on up this street to the next corner and turn to your left. There are torches out front. You can’t miss it."
"My thanks," the hooded man said shortly, and walked on up the narrow street.
"Good night, sir," Garion called after him, made bold by the fact that the danger seemed past.
The man did not answer, and Garion marched on down to the corner, exhilarated by his brief encounter. Once he was around the corner, however, he dropped the guise of a simple village boy and ran.
He was breathless by the time he reached the inn and burst into the smoky common room where Mister Wolf and the others sat talking by the fire.
At the last instant, realizing that to blurt out his news in the common room where others might overhear would be a mistake, he forced himself to walk calmly to where his friends sat. He stood before the fire as if warming himself and spoke in a low tone. "I just saw Brill in the village," he said.
"Brill?" Silk asked. "Who’s Brill?"
Wolf frowned. "A farmhand with too much Angarak gold in his purse to be entirely honest," he said. Quickly he told Silk and Barak about the adventure in Faldor’s stable.
"You should have killed him," Barak rumbled.
"This isn’t Cherek," Wolf said. "Sendars are touchy about casual killings." He turned to Garion. "Did he see you?" he asked.
"No," Garion said. "I saw him first and hid in the dark. He met another man and gave him some money, I think. The other man had a sword." Briefly he described the whole incident.
"This changes things," Wolf said. "I think we’ll leave earlier in the morning than we’d planned."
"It wouldn’t be hard to make Brill lose interest in us," Durnik said. "I could probably find him and hit him on the head a few times."
"Tempting." Wolf grinned. "But I think it might be better just to slip out of town early tomorrow and leave him with no notion that we’ve ever been here. We don’t really have time to start fighting with everyone we run across."
"I’d like a closer look at this sword-carrying Sendar, however," Silk said, rising. "If it turns out that he’s following us, I’d rather know what he looks like. I don’t like being followed by strangers."
"Discreetly," Wolf cautioned.
Silk laughed. "Have you ever known me to be otherwise?" he asked. "This won’t take long. Where did you say that tavern was, Garion?"
Garion gave him directions.
Silk nodded, his eyes bright and his long nose twitching. He turned, went quickly across the smoky common room and out into the chill night.
"I wonder," Barak considered. "If we’re being followed this closely, wouldn’t it be better to discard the wagons and this tiresome disguise, buy good horses and simply make straight for Muros at a gallop?"
Wolf shook his head. "I don’t think the Murgos are all that certain where we are," he said. "Brill could be here for some other dishonesty, and we’d be foolish to start running from shadows. Better just to move on quietly. Even if Brill is still working for the Murgos, I’d rather just slip away and leave them all beating the bushes here in central Sendaria." He stood up. "I’m going to step upstairs and let Pol know what’s happened." He crossed the common room and mounted the stairs.
"I still don’t like it," Barak muttered, his face dark.
They sat quietly then, waiting for Silk’s return. The fire popped, and Garion started slightly. It occurred to him as he waited that he had changed a great deal since they’d left Faldor’s farm. Everything had seemed simple then with the world neatly divided into friends and enemies. In the short time since they’d left, however, he’d begun to perceive complexities that he hadn’t imagined before. He’d grown wary and distrustful and listened more frequently to that interior voice that always advised caution if not outright guile. He’d also learned not to accept anything at face value. Briefly he regretted the loss of his former innocence, but the dry voice told him that such regret was childish.
Then Mister Wolf came back down the stairs and rejoined them. After about a half hour Silk returned. "Thoroughly disreputable-looking fellow," he said, standing in front of the fire. "My guess is that he’s a common footpad."
"Brill’s seeking his natural level," Wolf observed. "If he’s still working for the Murgos, he’s probably hiring ruffians to watch for us. They’ll be looking for four people on foot, however, rather than six in wagons. If we can get out of Winold early enough in the morning, I think we can elude them altogether."
"I think Durnik and I should stand watch tonight," Barak said.
"Not a bad idea," Wolf agreed. "Let’s plan to leave about the fourth hour after midnight. I’d like to have two or three leagues of back roads between us and this place when the sun comes up."
Garion scarcely slept that night; when he did, there were nightmares about a hooded man with a cruel sword chasing him endlessly down dark, narrow streets. When Barak woke them, Garion’s eyes felt sandy, and his head was thick from the exhausting night.
Aunt Pol carefully drew the shutters in their chamber before lighting a single candle. "It’s going to be colder now," she said, opening the large bundle she’d had him carry up from the wagons. She took out a pair of heavy woolen hose and winter boots lined with lambswool. "Put these on," she instructed Garion, "and your heavy cloak."
"I’m not a baby any more, Aunt Pol," Garion said.
"Do you enjoy being cold?"
"Well, no, but " He stopped, unable to think of any words to explain how he felt. He began to dress. He could hear the faint murmur of the others talking softly in the adjoining chamber in that curious, hushed tone that men always assume when they rise before the sun.
"We’re ready, Mistress Pol," Silk’s voice came through the doorway.
"Let’s leave then," she said, drawing up the hood of her cloak.
The moon had risen late that night and shone brightly on the frost-silvered stones outside the inn. Durnik had hitched the horses to the wagons and had led them out of the stable.
"We’ll lead the horses out to the road," Wolf said very quietly. "I see no need of rousing the villagers as we pass."
Silk again took the lead, and they moved slowly out of the innyard. The fields beyond the village were white with frost, and the pale, smoky-looking moonlight seemed to have leeched all color from them.
"As soon as we’re well out of earshot," Wolf said, climbing up into his wagon, "let’s put some significant distance between us and this place. The wagons are empty, and a little run won’t hurt the horses."
"Truly," Silk agreed.
They all mounted their wagons and set off at a walk. The stars glittered overhead in the crisp, cold sky. The fields were very white in the moonlight, and the clumps of trees back from the road very dark.
Just as they went over the first hilltop, Garion looked back at the dark cluster of houses in the valley behind. A single flicker of light came from a window somewhere, a lone, golden pinpoint that appeared and then vanished.
"Someone’s awake back there," he told Silk. "I just saw a light."
"Some early riser perhaps," Silk suggested. "But then again, perhaps not." He shook the reins slightly, and the horses increased their pace. He shook them again, and they began to trot.