Castle of Wizardry

of wool was no more than two fingers wide and seemed to have been torn from the corner of a gray Rivan cloak. In his haste to escape, the assassin had, Garion surmised, inadvertently slammed the door on his own cape, and then had ripped off this fragment in his flight. Garion's eyes narrowed and he turned and hurried back up the corridor, stooping once to retrieve his crown and again to pick up his assailant's dagger. He looked around once. The hallway was empty and somehow threatening. If the unknown knife thrower were to return with three or four companions, things could turn unpleasant. All things considered, it might be best to get back to his own apartments as quickly as possible - and to lock his door. Since there was no one around to witness any lack of dignity, Garion lifted the skirts of his royal robe and bolted like a rabbit for safety.
    He reached his own door, jerked it open and jumped inside, closing and locking it behind him. He stood with his ear against the door, listening for any sounds of pursuit.
    "Is something wrong, your Majesty?"
    Garion almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled to confront his valet, whose eyes widened as he saw the daggers in the king's hands. "Uh-nothing" he replied quickly, trying to cover his confusion. "Help me out of this thing." He struggled with the fastenings of his robe. His hands seemed to be full of daggers and crowns. With a negligent flip he tossed his crown into a nearby chair, sheathed his own dagger and then carefully laid the other knife and the scrap of wool cloth on the polished table.
    The valet helped him to remove the robe and then carefully folded it over his arm. "Would your Majesty like to have me get rid of these for you?" he asked, looking a bit distastefully at the dagger and the bit of wool on the table.
    "No," Garion told him firmly. Then a thought occurred to him. "Do you know where my sword is?" he asked.
    "Your Majesty's sword hangs in the throne room," the valet replied.
    "Not that one," Garion said. "The other one. The one I was wearing when I first came here."
    "I suppose I could find it," the valet answered a bit dubiously.
    "Do that," Garion said. "I think I'd like to have it where I can get my hands on it. And please see if you can find Lelldorin of Wildantor for me. I need to talk to him."
    "At once, your Majesty." The valet bowed and quietly left the room. Garion took up the dagger and the scrap of cloth and examined both rather closely. The dagger was just a commonplace knife, heavy, sturdily made and with a wirebound hilt. It bore no ornaments or identifying marks of any kind. Its tip was slightly bent, the result of its contact with the stone wall. Whoever had thrown it had thrown very hard. Garion developed a definitely uncomfortable sensation between his shoulder blades. The dagger would probably not be very useful. There were undoubtedly a hundred like it in the Citadel. The wool scrap, on the other hand, might prove to be very valuable. Somewhere in this fortress, there was a man with the corner of his cloak torn off. The torn cloak and this little piece of cloth would very likely match rather closely.
    About a half an hour later Lelldorin arrived. "You sent for me, Garion?" he asked.
    "Sit down, Lelldorin," Garion told his friend, then pointedly waited until the valet left the room. "I think I've got a little bit of a problem," he said then, sprawling deeper in the chair by the table. "I wondered if I might ask your help."
    "You know you don't have to ask, Garion," the earnest young Asturian told him.
    "This has to be just between the two of us," Garion cautioned. "I don't want anyone else to know."
    "My word of honor on it," Lelldorin replied instantly.
    Garion slid the dagger across the table to his friend. "A little while ago when I was on my way back here, somebody threw this at me."
    Lelldorin gasped and his eyes went wide. "Treason?" he gasped. "Either that or something personal," Garion replied. "I don't know what it's all about."
    "You must alert your guards," Lelldorin declared, jumping to his feet.
    "No," Garion answered firmly. "If I do that, they'll lock me up entirely. I don't have very much freedom left at all, and I don't want to lose it."
    "Did you see him at all?" Lelldorin asked, sitting down again and examining the dagger.
    "Just his back. He was wearing one of those gray cloaks."
    "All Rivan wear gray cloaks, Garion."
    "We do have something to work with, though." Garion took the scrap of wool out from under