"Does that mean that I won't get to kill this one?" The tawny-haired Dryad demanded petulantly, pointing a small finger at Garion.
"I'm afraid not," Xera answered.
The tawny one stamped away, pouting. Garion breathed a sigh of relief.
Then Mister Wolf came out of one of the tents and looked at the cluster of Dryads with a broad smile.
"It's Belgarath!" one of the Dryads squealed and ran to him happily. She threw her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him soundly. "Did you bring us any sweets?" she demanded.
The old man put on a sober expression and began rummaging through his many pockets. Bits of sweetmeats began to appear just as quickly disappeared as the Dryads gathered about him, snatching them as fast as he took them from his pockets.
"Have you got any new stories for us?" one of the Dryads asked.
"Many stories," Wolf told her, touching one finger to the side of his nose slyly. "But we ought to wait so your sisters can hear them too, shouldn't we?"
"We want one just for ourselves," the Dryad said.
"And what would you give me for this special story?"
"Kisses," the Dryad offered promptly. "Five kisses from each of us."
"I've got a very good story," Wolf bargained. "It's worth more than five. Let's say ten."
"Eight," the little Dryad countered.
"All right," Wolf agreed. "Eight sounds about right."
"I see you've been here before, Old Wolf," Aunt Pol remarked dryly.
"I visit from time to time," he admitted with a bland expression.
"Those sweets aren't good for them, you know," she chided.
"A little bit won't hurt them, Pol," he said, "and they like them very much. A Dryad will do almost anything for sweets."
"You're disgusting," she told him.
The Dryads were all clustered around Mister Wolf, looking almost like a garden of spring flowers - all, that is, except for the tawny one who'd captured Garion. She stood a bit apart, sulking and fingering the point of her arrow. She finally came over to Garion. "You're not thinking about running away, are you?" she asked hopefully.
"No," Garion denied emphatically.
She sighed with disappointment. "I don't suppose you'd consider it, would you - as a special favor to me?"
"I'm sorry," he said.
She sighed again, bitterly this time. "I never get to have any fun," she complained and went to join the others.
Silk emerged from a tent, moving slowly and carefully; and after the Dryads had become accustomed to him, Durnik appeared.
"They're just children, aren't they?" Garion commented to Aunt Pol.
"They seem to be," she said, "but they're much older than they look. A Dryad lives as long as her tree does, and oak trees live for a long time."
"Where are the boy Dryads?" he asked. "All I see are girls."
"There aren't any boy Dryads, dear," she explained, returning to her cooking.
"Then how-? I mean-" He faltered and felt his ears growing hot.
"They catch human males for that," she said. "Travelers and the like."
"Oh." He delicately let the subject drop.
After they had eaten breakfast and carefully quenched their fire with water from the stream, they saddled their horses and started off through the Wood. Mister Wolf walked ahead with the tiny Dryads still gathered around him, laughing and chattering like happy children. The murmuring of the trees about them was no longer unfriendly, and they moved through a kind of welcoming rustle from a million leaves.
It was late afternoon by the time they reached a large clearing in the center of the Wood. Standing alone in the middle of the clearing was an oak so large that Garion could hardly accept the idea that anything so enormous could be alive. Here and there in its mossy trunk were openings almost like caverns, and its lower limbs were as broad as highways and they spread out to shade nearly the entire clearing. There was about the tree a sense of vast age and a patient wisdom. Tentatively Garion felt a faint touch on his mind, almost like the soft brush of a leaf against his face. The touch was unlike anything he had ever felt before, but it also seemed to welcome him.
The tree was literally alive with Dryads, clustering randomly on the limbs like blossoms. Their laughter and girlish chatter filled the air like birdsongs.
"I'll tell my mother you've arrived," the one called Xera said and went toward the tree.
Garion and the others dismounted and stood uncertainly near their horses. From overhead Dryads peered curiously down at them, whispering among themselves and giggling often.
For some reason the frank, mirthful stares of the Dryads made Garion feel very self conscious. He moved closer to Aunt Pol and noticed that the others were also clustering around her as if unconsciously seeking her protection.
"Where's the princess?" she asked.
"She's just over there, Mistress Pol," Durnik answered, "visiting with that group of Dryads."
"Keep your eye on her," Aunt Pol said. "And where's my vagrant father?"
"Near the tree," Garion replied. "The Dryads seem very fond of him."
"The old fool," Aunt Pol said darkly.
Then, from a hollow in the tree some distance above the first broad limbs, another Dryad appeared. Instead of the short tunic the others wore, this one was garbed in a flowing green gown, and her golden hair was caught in with a circlet of what appeared to be mistletoe. Gracefully she descended to the ground.
Aunt Pol went forward to meet her, and the others trailed behind at a respectful distance.
"Dear Polgara," the Dryad said warmly, "it's been so long."
"We all have our duties, Xantha," Aunt Pol explained.
The two embraced fondly.
"Have you brought us these as gifts?" Queen Xantha asked, looking admiringly at the men standing behind Aunt Pol.
Aunt Pol laughed. "I'm afraid not, Xantha. I'd be happy to give them to you, but I think I may need them later."
"Ah well," the queen said with a mock sigh. "Welcome all," she greeted them. "You'll sup with us, of course."
"We'd be delighted," Aunt Pol said. Then she took the queen's arm. "Can we talk for a moment first, Xantha?" The two moved apart from the others and spoke quietly together as the Dryads carried bundles and sacks down from the hollows in the tree and began to lay a feast on the grass beneath the broad limbs.
The meal which was spread out looked peculiar. The common food of the Dryads seemed to consist entirely of fruits, nuts and mushrooms, all prepared without any cooking.
Barak sat down and looked sourly at what was offered. "No meat," he grumbled.
"It heats up your blood anyway," Silk told him.
Barak sipped suspiciously at his cup. "Water," he said with distaste.
"You might find it a novelty to go to bed sober for a change," Aunt Pol observed as she rejoined them.
"I'm sure it's unhealthy," Barak said.
Ce'Nedra seated herself near Queen Xantha. She obviously wanted to talk to her, but since there was no opportunity for privacy, she finally spoke out in front of them all. "I have a favor to ask, your Highness."
"You may ask, child," the queen said, smiling.
"It's only a small thing," Ce'Nedra explained. "I'll need sanctuary for a few years. My father's growing unreasonable in his old age. I'll have to stay away from him until he comes to his senses."
"In what way is Ran Borune growing unreasonable?" Xantha asked.
"He won't let me go out of the palace, and he insists that I go to Riva on my sixteenth birthday," Ce'Nedra said in an outraged tone. "Have you ever heard of such a thing?"
"And why does he want you to go to Riva?"
"Some foolish treaty. No one even remembers the reason for it."
"If it's a treaty, it must be honored, dear," the queen said gently.
"I won't go to Riva," Ce'Nedra announced. "I'll stay here until after my sixteenth birthday's passed, and that'll be the end of it."
"No, dear," the queen
said firmly, "you won't."
"What?" Ce'Nedra was stunned.
"We have a treaty too," Xantha explained. "Our agreement with the House of Borune is most explicit. Our Wood remains inviolate only for so long as the female descendants of the Princess Xoria stay with the Borunes. It's your duty to remain with your father and to obey him."
"But I'm a Dryad," Ce'Nedra wailed. "I belong here."
"You're also human," the queen said, "and you belong with your father."
"I don't want to go to Riva," Ce'Nedra protested. "It's degrading."
Xantha looked at her sternly. "Don't be a foolish child," she said. "Your duties are clear. You have a duty as a Dryad, as a Borune, and as an Imperial Princess. Your silly little whims are quite beside the point. If you have an obligation to go to Riva, then you must go."
Ce'Nedra appeared shaken by the finality of the queen's tone, and she sulked in silence after that.
Then the queen turned to Mister Wolf. "There are many rumors abroad," she said, "and some of them have even reached us here. I think something momentous is happening out there in the world of the humans, and it may even touch our lives in this Wood. I think I should know what this thing is."
Wolf nodded gravely. "I expect you should," he agreed. "The Orb of Aldur has been stolen from the throne in the Hall of the Rivan King by Zedar the Apostate."
Xantha caught her breath. "How?" she demanded.
Wolf spread his hands. "We don't know. Zedar's trying to reach the kingdoms of the Angaraks with the Orb. Once he's there, he'll try to use its power to awaken Torak."
"That must never happen," the Queen said. "What's being done?"
"The Alorns and the Sendars are getting ready for war," Wolf replied. "The Arends have promised aid, and Ran Borune has been advised, though he didn't make any promises. The Borunes can be difficult at times." He glanced at the pouting Ce'Nedra.
"Then it means war?" the queen asked sadly.
"I'm afraid so, Xantha," he said. "I'm pursuing Zedar with these others, and I hope we can catch him and get the Orb back before he can reach Torak with it. If we're successful, I think the Angaraks will attack the West anyway out of desperation. Certain ancient prophecies are getting close to their fulfillment. There are signs everywhere, and even the twisted perceptions of the Grolims can read them."
The Queen sighed. "I've seen some of the signs myself, Belgarath," she said. "I'd hoped I was wrong. What does this Zedar look like?"
"A great deal like me," Wolf told her. "We served the same Master for a very long time, and that puts a certain mark on people."
"Someone like that passed through the upper reaches of our Wood last week and crossed over into Nyissa," Xantha said. "If we'd known, we might have been able to detain him."
"We're closer than I thought, then. Was he alone?"
"No," Xantha reported. "He had two of the servants of Torak with him and a small boy."
Wolf looked startled. "A boy?"
"Yes-about six years old or so."
The old man frowned, and then his eyes opened very wide. "So that's how he did it," he exclaimed. "I never thought of that."
"We can show you where he crossed the river into Nyissa," the queen offered. "I should warn you though that it's going to be dangerous for so large a party to go there. Salmissra has eyes everywhere in those swamps."
"I've already made plans for that," Mister Wolf assured her. He turned to Barak. "Are you sure that ship's going to be waiting at the mouth of the River of the Woods?" he asked.
"She'll be there," Barak rumbled. "Her captain's a dependable man."
"Good," Wolf said. "Silk and I'll pick up Zedar's trail then, and the rest of you can follow the river to the sea. Take the ship down the coast and then up the River of the Serpent to Sthiss Tor. We'll meet you there."
"Dost thou think it wise to separate our party in so perilous a place as Nyissa?" Mandorallen asked.
"It's necessary," Wolf said. "The snake people are at home in their jungles, and they don't like outsiders. Silk and I can move swiftly and with greater stealth if we're alone."
"Where do you want us to meet you?" Barak asked.
"There's a Drasnian trade enclave near the wharves in Sthiss Tor," Silk said. "Several of the merchants there are my friends. Just ask for Radek of Boktor. If we can't meet you there, we'll leave word of our whereabouts with the merchants."
"What about me?" Ce'Nedra asked.
"I think you'll have to stay with us," Aunt Pol answered.
"There's no reason for me to go to Nyissa," Ce'Nedra said.
"You'll go because I tell you to go," Aunt Pol told the tiny girl. "I'm not your father, Ce'Nedra. Your pouting doesn't wring my heart, and your fluttering eyelashes don't really impress me."
"I'll run away," Ce'Nedra threatened.
"That would be very foolish," Aunt Pol said coldly. "I'd just have to bring you back again, and you'd find that unpleasant. Affairs in the world just now are much too serious to allow the whims of one spoiled little girl to have very much importance. You'll stay with me, and you will stand in the Hall of the Rivan King on your sixteenth birthday even if I have to take you there in chains. We're all much too busy to pamper you any further."
Ce'Nedra stared at her, and then she suddenly burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning before the sun rose and while filmy mist still hovered beneath the limbs of the great oaks, Silk and Mister Wolf made preparations to leave for Nyissa. Garion sat on a log, somberly watching the old man bundle up some food.
"Why so glum?" Wolf asked him.
"I wish we didn't have to separate this way," Garion said.
"It's only for a couple of weeks."
"I know, but I still wish-" Garion shrugged.
"Keep an eye on your Aunt for me while I'm gone," Wolf said, tying up his bundle.
"All right."
"And keep your amulet on. Nyissa's a dangerous place."
"I'll remember," Garion promised. "You'll be careful, won't you, grandfather?"
The old man looked at him gravely, his white beard glistening in the misty light. "I'm always careful, Garion," he said.
"It's getting late, Belgarath," Silk called, leading two horses up to where the two of them were talking.
Wolf nodded. "We'll see you in two weeks in Sthiss Tor," he said to Garion.
Garion embraced the old man quickly and then turned away so that he wouldn't have to watch the two of them leave. He crossed the clearing to where Mandorallen stood pensively looking out into the mist.
"Parting is a melancholy business," the knight said moodily. He sighed.
"It's more than that though, isn't it, Mandorallen?" Garion asked.
"Thou art a perceptive lad."
"What's been troubling you? You've been acting strangely for the last two days."
"I have discovered a strange feeling within myself, Garion, and I like it not."
"Oh? What is it?"
"Fear," Mandorallen said shortly.
"Fear? Of what?"
"The clay men. I know not why, but their very existence struck a chill into my soul."
"They frightened us all, Mandorallen," Garion told him.
"I have never been afraid before," Mandorallen said quietly.
"Never?"
"Not even as a child. The clay men made my very flesh creep, and I wanted most desperately to run away."
"But you didn't," Garion pointed out. "You stayed and fought."
"That time yes," Mandorallen admitted. "But what of next time? Now that fear has found its way into my spirit, who can say when it might return? In some desperate hour when the outcome of our quest hangs in the balance, might not vile fear lay its cold hand upon my heart and unman me? It is that possibility which doth gnaw upon my soul. I am sorely ashamed of my weakness and my fault."
"Ashamed? For being human? You're too hard on yourself, Mandorallen."
"Thou art kind thus to excuse me, lad, but my failing is too
grievous for such simple forgiveness. I have striven for perfection and struck, I think, not too far off the mark; but now that perfection, which was the marvel of the world, is flawed. It is a bitter thing to accept." He turned, and Garion was startled to see tears standing in his eyes. "Wilt thou assist me into mine armor?" he asked.
"Of course."
"I feel profoundly the need to be encased in steel. It will perchance strengthen my cowardly heart."
"You're not a coward," Garion insisted.
Mandorallen sighed sadly. "Only time can reveal that."
When it was time to leave, Queen Xantha spoke briefly to them. "I wish you all well," she said. "I'd help you in your search if possible, but a Dryad's bound to her tree by ties which can't be broken. My tree here is very old, and I must care for him." She looked fondly up at the vast oak rising into the morning mist. "We're in bondage to each other, but it's a bondage of love."
Once again Garion felt that same faint touch on his mind that he had experienced the day before when he had first seen the huge tree. There was a sense of farewell in that touch, and what seemed to be a warning.
Queen Xantha exchanged a startled glance with Aunt Pol and then looked at Garion rather closely. "Some of my younger daughters will guide you to the river that marks the southern border of our Wood," she continued. "From there your way to the sea is clear." Her voice showed no sign of any change, but her eyes seemed thoughtful.
"Thank you, Xantha," Aunt Pol said warmly, embracing the Dryad queen. "If you can send word to the Borunes that Ce'Nedra's safe and with me, it might relieve the Emperor's mind somewhat."
"I will, Polgara," Xantha promised.
They mounted then and followed the half dozen or so Dryads who flitted ahead of them like butterflies, guiding them southward into the forest. For some reason Garion felt profoundly depressed, and he paid little attention to his surroundings as he rode beside Durnik along the winding forest trail.
About midmorning it began to grow darker under the trees, and they rode in silence through the now-somber wood. The warning Garion had seemed to hear in Queen Xantha's clearing echoed somehow in the creak of limbs and the rustling of leaves.