Mingan returned to the room then. "I have some hams on a farm near Medalia," he announced. "When do you expect to arrive in Muros?"
"Fifteen or twenty days," Silk told him.
Mingan nodded. "I'll give you a contract to move my hams to Muros," he offered. "Seven silver nobles per wagonload."
"Tolnedran nobles or Sendarian?" Silk asked quickly.
"This is Sendaria, worthy Ambar."
"We're citizens of the world, noble merchant," Silk pointed out. "Transactions between us have always been in Tolnedran coin."
Mingan sighed. "You were ever quick, worthy Ambar," he said."Very well, Tolnedran nobles - because we are old friends, and I grieve for your misfortunes."
"Perhaps we'll meet again, Ambar," Asharak said.
"Perhaps," Silk said, and he and Garion left the counting room. "Skinflint," Silk muttered when they reached the street. "The rate should have been ten, not seven."
"What about the Murgo?" Garion asked. Once again there was the familiar reluctance to reveal too much about the strange, unspoken link that had existed between him and the figure that now at least had a name.
Silk shrugged.
"He knows I'm up to something, but he doesn't know exactly what just as I know that he's up to something. I've had dozens of meetings like that. Unless our purposes happen to collide, we won't interfere with each other. Asharak and I are both professionals."
"You're a very strange person, Silk," Garion said.
Silk winked at him.
"Why were you and Mingan arguing about the coins?" Garion asked.
"Tolnedran coins are a bit purer," Silk told him. "They're worth more."
"I see," Garion said.
The next morning they all mounted the wagons again and delivered their turnips to the warehouse of the Drasnian merchant. Then, their wagons rumbling emptily, they rolled out of Darine, bound toward the south.
The rain had ceased, but the morning was overcast and blustery.
On the hill outside town Silk turned to Garion, who rode beside him.
"Very well," he said,"let's begin." He moved his fingers in front of Garion's face. "This means `Good morning.' "
Chapter Eight
AFTER THE FIRST DAY the wind blew itself out, and the pale autumn sun reappeared. Their route southward led them along the Darine River, a turbulent stream that rushed down from the mountains on its way to the Gulf of Cherek. The country was hilly and timbered but, since the wagons were empty, their horses made good time.Garion paid scant attention to the scenery as they trundled up the valley of the Darine. His attention was riveted almost totally on Silk's flickering fingers.
"Don't shout," Silk instructed as Garion practiced.
"Shout?" Garion asked, puzzled.
"Keep your gestures small. Don't exaggerate them. The idea is to make the whole business inconspicuous."
"I'm only practicing," Garion said.
"Better to break bad habits before they become too strong," Silk said. "And be careful not to mumble."
"Mumble?"
"Form each phrase precisely. Finish one before you go on to the next. Don't worry about speed. That comes with time."
By the third day their conversations were half in words and half in gestures, and Garion was beginning to feel quite proud of himself. They pulled off the road into a grove of tall cedars that evening and formed up their usual half circle with the wagons.
"How goes the instruction?" Mister Wolf asked as he climbed down.
"It progresses," Silk said. "I expect it will go more rapidly when the boy outgrows his tendency to use baby talk."
Garion was crushed.
Barak, who was also dismounting, laughed.
"I've often thought that the secret language might be useful to know," he said, "but fingers built to grip a sword are not nimble enough for it." He held out his huge hand and shook his head.
Durnik lifted his face and sniffed at the air. "It's going to be cold tonight," he said. "We'll have frost before morning."
Barak also sniffed, and then he nodded. "You're right, Durnik," he rumbled. "We'll need a good fire tonight." He reached into the wagon and lifted out his axe.
"There are riders coming," Aunt Pol announced, still seated on the wagon.
They all stopped talking and listened to the faint drumming sound on the road they had just left.
"Three at least," Barak said grimly. He handed the axe to Durnik and reached back into the wagon for his sword.
"Four," Silk said. He stepped to his own wagon and took his own sword out from under the seat.
"We're far enough from the road," Wolf said. "If we stay still, they'll pass without seeing us."
"That won't hide us from Grolims," Aunt Pol said. "They won't be searching with their eyes." She made two quick gestures to Wolf which Garion did not recognize.
No, Wolf gestured back. Let us instead - He also made an unrecognizable gesture.
Aunt Pol looked at him for a moment and then nodded.
"All of you stay quite still," Wolf instructed them. Then he turned toward the road, his face intent.
Garion held his breath. The sound of the galloping horses grew nearer.
Then a strange thing happened. Though Garion knew he should be fearful of the approaching riders and the threat they seemed to pose, a kind of dreamy lassitude fell over him. It was as if his mind had quite suddenly gone to sleep, leaving his body still standing there watching incuriously the passage of those dark-mantled horsemen along the road.
How long he stood so he was not able to say; but when he roused from his half dream, the riders were gone and the sun had set. The sky to the east had grown purple with approaching evening, and there were tatters of sun-stained clouds along the western horizon.
"Murgos," Aunt Pol said quite calmly, "and one Grolim." She started to climb down from the wagon.
"There are many Murgos in Sendaria, great lady," Silk said, helping her down, "and on many different missions."
"Murgos are one thing," Wolf said grimly, "but Grolims are quite something else. I think it might be better if we moved off the welltraveled roads. Do you know a back way to Medalia?"
"Old friend," Silk replied modestly, "I know a back way to every place."
"Good," Wolf said. "Let's move deeper into these woods. I'd prefer it if no chance gleam from our fire reached the road."
Garion had seen the cloaked Murgos only briefly. There was no way to be sure if one of them had been that same Asharak he had finally met after all the years of knowing him only as a dark figure on a black horse, but somehow he was almost certain that Asharak had been among them. Asharak would follow him, would be there wherever he went. It was the kind of thing one could count on.