David Eddings - Pawn of Prophecy

"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."

"I see that you’ve finally slipped into your dotage, Old Wolf," she said acidly.

"That’s exactly the sort of thing I meant," Wolf replied blandly. "Now gather a few necessary things, and let’s be away from here. The night is passing rapidly."

She glared at him a moment and then stormed out of the kitchen.

"I’ll have to fetch some things too," Durnik said. He turned and went out into the gusty night.

Garion’s mind whirled. Things were happening far too fast.

"Afraid, boy?" Wolf asked.

"Well—" Garion said. "It’s just that I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this at all."

"You will in time, Garion," Wolf said. "For now it’s better perhaps that you don’t. There’s danger in what we’re doing, but not all that great a danger. Your Aunt and I—and good Durnik, of course—will see that no harm comes to you. Now help me in the pantry." He took a lantern into the pantry and began loading some loaves of bread, a ham, a round yellow cheese and several bottles of wine into a sack which he took down from a peg.

It was nearly midnight, as closely as Garion could tell, when they quietly left the kitchen and crossed the dark courtyard. The faint creak of the gate as Durnik swung it open seemed enormously loud.

As they passed through the gate, Garion felt a momentary pang. Faldor’s farm had been the only home he had ever known. He was leaving now, perhaps forever, and such things had great significance. He felt an even sharper pang at the memory of Zubrette. The thought of Doroon and Zubrette together in the hay barn almost made him want to give the whole thing up altogether, but it was far too late now.

Beyond the protection of the buildings, the gusty wind was chill and whipped at Garion’s cloak. Heavy clouds covered the moon, and the road seemed only slightly less dark than the surrounding fields. It was cold and lonely and more than a little frightening. He walked a bit closer to Aunt Pol.

At the top of the hill he stopped and glanced back. Faldor’s farm was only a pale, dim blur in the valley behind. Regretfully, he turned his back on it. The valley ahead was very dark, and even the road was lost in the gloom before them.

They had walked for miles, how many Garion could not say. He nodded as he walked, and sometimes stumbled over unseen stones on the dark road. More than anything now he wanted to sleep. His eyes burned, and his legs trembled on the verge of exhaustion.

At the top of another hill—there always seemed to be another hill, for that part of Sendaria was folded like a rumpled cloth—Mister Wolf stopped and looked about, his eyes searching the oppressive gloom.

"We turn aside from the road here," he announced.

"Is that wise?" Durnik asked. "There are woods hereabout, and I’ve heard that there may be robbers hiding there. Even if there aren’t any robbers, aren’t we likely to lose our way in the dark?" He looked up at the murky sky, his plain face, dimly seen, troubled. "I wish there was a moon."

"I don’t think we need to be afraid of robbers," Wolf said confidently, "and I’m just as happy that there isn’t a moon. I don’t think we’re being followed yet, but it’s just as well that no one happens to see us pass. Murgo gold can buy most secrets." And with that he led them into the fields that lay beside the road.