spellsinger universe

"He'd be safer in Cthol Murgos or in Mallorea itself than he would be

here without me to watch him," Aunt Pol said. "Last spring I caught him

in the barn with a girl about his own age. As I said, he needs

watching."

Wolf laughed then, a rich, merry sound.

"Is that all?" he said. "You worry too much about such things."

"How would you like it if we returned and found him married and about

to become a father?" Aunt Pol demanded acidly. "He'd make an excellent

farmer, and what matter if we'd all have to wait a hundred years for the

circumstances to be right again?"

"Surely it hasn't gone that far. They're only children."

"You're blind, Old Wolf," Aunt Pol said. "This is backcountry

Sendaria, and the boy has been raised to do the proper and honorable

thing. The girl is a bright-eyed little minx who's maturing much too

rapidly for my comfort. Right now charming little Zubrette is a far

greater danger than any Murgo could ever be. Either the boy goes along,

or I won't go either. You have your responsibilities, and I have mine."

"There's no time to argue," Wolf said. "If it has to be this way, then so be it."

Garion almost choked with excitement. He felt only a passing,

momentary pang at leaving Zubrette behind. He turned and looked

exultantly up at the clouds scudding across the evening sky. And,

because his back was turned, he did not see Aunt Pol approach through

the kitchen door.

"The garden, as I recall, lies beyond the south wall," she pointed out.

Garion started guiltily.

"How is it that the carrots remain undug?" she demanded.

"I had to look for the spade," he said unconvincingly.

"Really? I see that you found it, however." Her eyebrows arched dangerously.

"Only just now."

"Splendid. Carrots, Garion-novel"

Garion grabbed his spade and pail and ran.

It was just dusk when he returned, and he saw Aunt Pol mounting the

steps that led to Faldor's quarters. He might have followed her to

listen, but a faint movement in the dark doorway of one of the sheds

made him step instead into the shadow of the gate. A furtive figure

moved from the shed to the foot of the stairs Aunt Pol had just climbed

and silently crept up the stairs as soon as she went in Faldor's door.

The light was fading, and Garion could not see exactly who followed his

Aunt. He set down his pail and, grasping the spade like a weapon, he

hurried quickly around the inner court, keeping to the shadows.

There came the sound of a movement inside the chambers upstairs, and

the figure at the door straightened quickly and scurried down the steps.

Garion slipped back out of sight, his spade still held at the ready. As

the figure passed him, Garion briefly caught the scent of stale, musty

clothing and rank sweat. As certainly as if he had seen the man's face,

he knew that the figure that had followed his Aunt had been Brill, the

new farmhand.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Garion heard his Aunt's

voice. "I'm sorry, Faldor, but it's a family matter, and I must leave

immediately."

"I would pay you more, Pol." Faldor's voice was almost breaking.

"Money has nothing to do with it," Aunt Pol replied. "You're a good

man, Faldor, and your farm has been a haven to me when I needed one. I'm

grateful to you - more than you can know - but I must leave."

"Perhaps when this family business is over, you can come back," Faldor almost pleaded.

"No, Faldor," she said. "I'm afraid not."

"We'll miss you, Pol," Faldor said with tears in his voice.

"And I'll miss you, dear Faldor. I've never met a better-hearted man.

I'd take it kindly if you wouldn't mention my leaving until I've gone.

I'm not fond of explanations or sentimental good-byes."

"Whatever you wish, Pol."

"Don't look so mournful, old friend," Aunt Pol said lightly. "My

helpers are well-trained. Their cooking will be the same as mine. Your

stomach will never know the difference."

"My heart will," Faldor said.

"Don't be silly," she said gently. "Now I must see to supper." Garion

moved quickly away from the foot of the stairs. Troubled, he put his

spade back in the shed and fetched the pail of carrots he had left

sitting by the gate. To reveal to his Aunt that he had seen Brill

listening at the door would immediately raise questions about his own

activities that he would prefer not to have to answer. In all

probability Brill was merely curious, and there was nothing menacing or

ominous about that. To observe the unsavory Brill duplicating his own

seemingly harmless pastime, however, made Garion quite uncomfortable -

even slightly ashamed of himself.

Although Garion was much too excited to eat, supper that evening

seemed as ordinary as any meal on Faldor's farm had ever been. Garion

covertly watched sour-faced Brill, but the man showed no outward sign of

having in any way been changed by the conversation he had gone to so

much trouble to overhear.

When supper was over, as was always the case when he visited the

farm, Mister Wolf was prevailed upon to tell a story. He rose and stood

for a moment deep in thought as the wind moaned in the chimney and the

torches flickered in their rings on the pillars in the hall.

"As all men know," he began, "the Marags are no more, and the Spirit

of Mara weeps alone in the wilderness and wails among the mossgrown

ruins of Maragor. But also, as all men know, the hills and streams of

Maragor are heavy with fine yellow gold. That gold, of course, was the

cause of the destruction of the Marags. When a certain neighboring

kingdom became aware of the gold, the temptation became too great, and

the result - as it almost always is when gold is at issue between

kingdoms - was war. The pretext for the war was the lamentable fact that

the Marags were cannibals. While this habit is distasteful to civilized

men, had there not been gold in Maragor it might have been overlooked.

"The war, however, was inevitable, and the Marags were slain. But the

Spirit of Mara and the ghosts of all the slaughtered Marags remained in

Maragor, as those who went into that haunted kingdom soon discovered."

"Now it chanced to happen that about that time there lived in the

town of Muros in southern Sendaria three adventuresome men, and, hearing

of all that gold, they resolved to journey down to Maragor to claim

their share of it. The men, as I said, were adventuresome and bold, and

they scoffed at the tales of ghosts.

"Their journey was long, for it is many hundreds of leagues from

Muros to the upper reaches of Maragor, but the smell of the gold drew

them on. And so it happened, one dark and stormy night, that they crept

across the border into Maragor past the patrols which had been set to

turn back just such as they. That nearby kingdom, having gone to all the

expense and inconvenience of war, was quite naturally reluctant to

share the gold with anyone who chanced to pass by.