Castle of Wizardry

saw that his wrist stuck an inch or two out of his sleeve. "Most of my clothes still fit - pretty much," he replied.
    "That's not the way I meant." Durnik hesitated. "What's it like, Garion? Being able to do things the way you do?"
    "It scares me, Durnik," Garion admitted quietly. "I didn't really want any of this, but it didn't give me any choice."
    "You mustn't let it frighten you, you know," Durnik said, carefully lowering the horse's hoof. "If it's part of you, it's part of you just like being tall or having blond hair."
    "It's not really like that, Durnik. Being tall or having blond hair doesn't hurt anybody. This can."
    Durnik looked out at the long shadows of the ridge stretching away from the newly risen sun. "You just have to learn to be careful with it, that's all. When I was about your age, I found out that I was much stronger than the other young men in our village - probably because I worked in the smithy. I didn't want to hurt anybody, so I wouldn't wrestle with my friends. One of them thought I was a coward because of that and he pushed me around for about six months until I finally lost my temper."
    "Did you fight him?"
    Durnik nodded. "It wasn't really much of a contest. After it was over, he realized that I wasn't a coward after all. We even got to be good friends again - after his bones all healed up and he got used to the missing teeth."
    Garion grinned at him, and Durnik smiled back a bit ruefully. "I was ashamed of myself afterward, of course."
    Garion felt very close to this plain, solid man. Durnik was his oldest friend - somebody he could always count on.
    "What I'm trying to say, Garion," Durnik continued seriously, "is that you can't go through life being afraid of what you are. If you do that, sooner or later somebody will come along who'll misunderstand, and you'll have to do something to show him that it's not him that you're afraid of. When it goes that far, it's usually much worse for you - and for him, too."
    "As it was with Asharak?"
    Durnik nodded. "It's always best in the long run to be what you are. It isn't proper to behave as if you were more, but it isn't good to behave as if you were less, either. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
    "The whole problem seems to be finding out just exactly what you really are," Garion observed.
    Durnik smiled again. "That's the part that gets most of us in trouble at times," he agreed. Suddenly the smile fell away from his face and he gasped. Then he fell writhing to the ground, clutching at his stomach.
    "Durnik!" Garion cried, "What's wrong?"
    But Durnik could not answer. His face was ashen and contorted with agony as he twisted in the dirt.
    Garion felt a strange, alien pressure and he understood instantly. Thwarted in their attempts to kill Errand, the Hierarchs were directing their attacks at the others in the hope of forcing Aunt Pol to drop her shield. A terrible rage boiled up in him. His blood seemed to burn, and a fierce cry came to his lips.
    "Calmly." It was the voice within his mind again.
    "What do I do?"
    "Get out into the sunlight."
    Garion did not understand that, but he ran out past the horses into the pale morning light.
    "Put yourself into your shadow. "
    He looked down at the shadow stretching out on the ground in front of him and obeyed the voice. He wasn't sure exactly how he did it, but he poured his will and his awareness into the shadow.
    "Now, follow the trail of their thought back to them. Quickly." Garion felt himself suddenly flying. Enclosed in his shadow, he touched the still-writhing Durnik once like a sniffing hound, picked up the direction of the concerted thought that had felled his friend, and then flashed through the air back over the miles of wasteland toward the wreckage of Rak Cthol. He had, it seemed, no weight, and there was an odd purplish cast to everything he saw.
    He felt his immensity as he entered the room with the cracked wall where the nine black-robed old men sat, trying with the concerted power of their minds to kill Durnik. Their eyes were all focused on a huge ruby, nearly the size of a man's head, which lay flickering in the center of the table around which they sat. The slanting rays of the morning sun had distorted and enlarged Garion's shadow, and he filled one corner of the room, bending slightly so that he could fit under the ceiling. "Stop!" he roared at the evil old men. "Leave Durnik alone!"
    They flinched back from his sudden apparition, and he could feel the thought they