Guardians of the West

while Polgara, dressed in a plain blue traveling gown, continued to mend one of Errand's tunics, her needle flashing in the sunlight streaming through the window." How can you be so calm?" he demanded of her.
    "I'm not, dear," she replied. "That's why I'm sewing."
    "What's taking them so long?" he fretted.
    "Hiring a ship takes time, Garion. It's not exactly like buying a loaf of bread."
    "Who could possibly have wanted to hurt Brand?" he burst out. He had asked that same question over and over in the week or more since they had left the Vale. The big, sad-faced Warder had been so totally devoted to Garion and the Rivan Throne that he had possessed virtually no separate identity. So far as Garion knew, Brand had not had an enemy in the world.
    "That's one of the first things we'll want to find out when we get to Riva," she said. "Now please try to calm yourself. Pacing about doesn't accomplish anything and it's very distracting."
    It was almost evening when Belgarath, Durnik, and Errand returned, bringing with them a tall, gray-haired Rivan whose clothing carried those distinctive smells of salt-water and tar that identified him as a sailor.
    "This is Captain Jandra," Belgarath introduced him. "He's agreed to ferry us across to the Isle."
    "Thank you, Captain," Garion said simply.
    "My pleasure, your Majesty." Jandra replied with a stiff bow.
    "Have you just come in from Riva?" Polgara asked him.
    "Yesterday afternoon, my Lady."
    "Have you any idea at all about what happened there?"
    "We didn't get too many details down at the harbor, my Lady. Sometimes the people up at the Citadel are sort of secretive -no offense, your Majesty. There are all kinds of rumors going about the city, though -most of them pretty farfetched. About all I can say for certain is that the Warder was attacked and killed by a group of Chereks.
    "Chereks!" Garion exclaimed.
    "Everyone agrees on that point, your Majesty. Some people say that all the assassins were killed. Others say that there were some survivors. I couldn't really say for sure, but I know that they did bury six of them."
    "Good," Belgarath grunted.
    "Not if there were only six to begin with, father," Polgara told him. "We need answers, not bodies."
    "Uh -pardon me, your Majesty." Jandra said a little uncomfortably. "It might not be my place to say this, but some of the rumors in the city say that the Chereks were officials of some kind from Val Alorn and that they were sent by King Anheg."
    "Anheg? That's absurd."
    "That's what some people are saying, your Majesty. I don't put much stock in it myself, but it might just be the kind of talk you wouldn't want going much further. The Warder was well-liked in Riva, and a lot of people have taken to polishing their swords -if you take my meaning."
    "I think I'd better get home as soon as possible," Garion said. "How long will it take us to get to Riva?"
    The captain thought it over. "My ship isn't as fast as a Cherek warship," he apologized. "Let's say three days -if the weather holds. We can leave on the morning tide, if you can be ready."
    "We'll do that, then," Garion said.
    It was late summer on the Sea of the Winds, and the weather held clear and sunny. Jandra's ship plowed steadily through the sparkling, sun-touched waves, heeling to one side under a quartering wind. Garion spent most of the voyage pacing moodily up and down the deck. When, on the third day out from Camaar, the jagged shape of the Isle of the Winds appeared low on the horizon ahead, a kind of desperate impatience came over him. There were so many questions that had to be answered and so many things that had to be done that even the hour or so that it would take to reach the harbor seemed an intolerable delay.
    It was midafternoon when Jandra's ship rounded the headland at the harbor mouth and made for the stone quays at the foot of the city. "I'm going on ahead," Garion told the others. "Follow me as soon as you can." And even as the sailors were making fast the hawsers, he leaped across to the salt-crusted stones of the quay and started up toward the Citadel, taking the steps two at a time.
    Ce'Nedra was waiting for him at the massive main doors of the Citadel, garbed in a black mourning dress. Her face was pale, and her eyes full of tears. "Oh, Garion," she cried as he reached her. She threw her arms about his neck and began to sob against his chest.
    "How long ago did it happen, Ce'Nedra?" he asked, holding her in his arms. "Hettar didn't have too many