Chapter 19: the belgariad pawn of prophecy 19
Wolf stood for a moment, holding his little torch. His face seemed somehow empty, as if his mind were searching for something.
"The stables," he said sharply. "Quickly, boy!"
Garion turned and dashed from the room with Wolf close behind. The
burning wisp of rope drifted down into the yard, illuminating it briefly
after Wolf discarded it over the railing as he ran.
There was a light in the stable. It was dim, partially covered, but
faint beams shone through the weathered cracks in the door. The horses
were stirring uneasily.
"Stay clear, boy," Wolf said as he jerked the stable door open.
Brill was inside, struggling to saddle a horse that shied from his rank smell.
"Leaving, Brill?" Wolf asked, stepping into the doorway with his arms crossed.
Brill turned quickly, crouched and with a snarl on his unshaven face.
His off center eye gleamed whitely in the half muffled light of the
lantern hanging from a peg on one of the stalls, and his broken teeth
shone behind his pulled-back lips.
"A strange time for a journey," Wolf said dryly.
"Don't interfere with me, old man," Brill said, his tone menacing. "You'll regret it."
"I've regretted many things in my life," Wolf said. "I doubt that one more will make all that much difference."
"I warned you." Brill snarled, and his hand dove under his cloak and emerged with a short, rust-splotched sword.
"Don't be stupid," Wolf said in a tone of overwhelming contempt.
Garion, however, at the first flash of the sword, whipped his hand to
his belt, drew his dagger, and stepped in front of the unarmed old man.
"Get back, boy," Wolf barked.
But Garion had already lunged forward, his bright dagger thrust out
ahead of him. Later, when he had time to consider, he could not have
explained why he reacted as he did. Some deep instinct seemed to take
over.
"Garion," Wolf said, "get out of the way!"
"So much the better," Brill said, raising his sword.
And then Durnik was there. He appeared as if from nowhere, snatched
up an ox yoke and struck the sword from Brill's hand. Brill turned on
him, enraged, and Durnik's second blow took the cast-eyed man in the
ribs, a little below the armpit. The breath whooshed from Brill's lungs,
and he collapsed, gasping and writhing to the straw-littered floor.
"For shame, Garion," Durnik said reproachfully. "I didn't make that knife of yours for this kind of thing."
"He was going to kill Mister Wolf," Garion protested.
"Never mind that," Wolf said, bending over the gasping man on the
floor of the stable. He searched Brill roughly and pulled a jingling
purse out from under the stained tunic. He carried the purse to the
lantern and opened it.
"That's mine," Brill gasped, trying to rise. Durnik raised the ox yoke, and Brill sank back again.
"A sizable sum for an ordinary farmhand to have, friend Brill," Wolf
said, pouring the jingling coins from the purse into his hand. "How did
you manage to come by it?"
Brill glared at him.
Garion's eyes grew wide at the sight of the coins. He had never seen gold before.
"You don't really need to answer, friend Brill," Wolf said, examining
one of the coins. "Your gold speaks for you." He dumped the coins back
in the purse and tossed the small leather pouch back to the man on the
floor. Brill grabbed it quickly and pushed it back inside his tunic.
"I'll have to tell Faldor of this," Durnik said.
"No," Wolf said.
"It's a serious matter," Durnik said. "A bit of wrestling or a few
blows exchanged is one thing, but drawing weapons is quite another."
"There's no time for all of that," Wolf said, taking a piece of
harness strap from a peg on the wall. "Bind his hands behind him, and
we'll put him in one of the grain bins. Someone will find him in the
morning."
Durnik stared at him.
"Trust me, good Durnik," Wolf said. "The matter is urgent. Bind him
and hide him someplace; then come to the kitchen. Come with me, Garion."
And he turned and left the stable.
Aunt Pol was pacing her kitchen nervously when they returned.
"Well?" she demanded.
"He was attempting to leave," Wolf said. "We stopped him."
"Did you-?" she left it hanging.
"No. He drew a sword, but Durnik chanced to be nearby and knocked the
belligerence out of him. The intervention was timely. Your cub here was
about to do battle. That little dagger of his is a pretty thing, but
not really much of a match for a sword."
Aunt Pol turned on Garion, her eyes ablaze. Garion prudently stepped back out of reach.
"There's no time for that," Wolf said, retrieving the tankard he had
set down before leaving the kitchen. "Brill had a pouchful of good red
Angarak gold. The Murgos have set eyes to watching this place. I'd
wanted to make our going less noticeable, but since we're already being
watched, there's no point in that now. Gather what you and the boy will
need. I want a few leagues between us and Brill before he manages to
free himself. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for Murgos
every place I go."
Durnik, who had just come into the kitchen, stopped and stood staring at them.
"Things aren't what they seem here," he said. "What manner of folk are you, and how is it that you have such dangerous enemies?"
"That's a long story, good Durnik," Wolf said, "but I'm afraid
there's no time to tell it now. Make our apologies to Faldor, and see if
you can't detain Brill for a day or so. I'd like our trail to be quite
cold before he or his friends try to find it."
"Someone else is going to have to do that," Durnik said slowly. "I'm
not sure what this is all about, but I am sure that there's danger
involved in it. It appears that I'll have to go with you - at least
until I've gotten you safely away from here."
Aunt Pol suddenly laughed.
"You, Durnik? You mean to protect us?"
He drew himself up.
"I'm sorry, Mistress Pol," he said. "I will not permit you to go unescorted."
"Will not permit?" she said incredulously.
"Very well," Wolf said, a sly look on his face.
"Have you totally taken leave of your senses?" Aunt Pol demanded, turning on him.
"Durnik has shown himself to be a useful man," Wolf said. "If nothing
else, he'll give me someone to talk with along the way. Your tongue has
grown sharper with the years, Pol, and I don't relish the idea of a
hundred leagues or more with nothing but abuse for companionship."
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