Guardians of the West

arms about his neck and sighed. "Oh, my Garion," she said, "I've missed you in the past few years, do you know that?"
    "I've missed you, too, Aunt Pol. Sometimes I wish-" He left it hanging.
    "That we could have just stayed at Faldor's farm?"
    "It really wasn't such a bad place, was it?"
    "No. It was a very good place -for a child. But you're grown now. Would you really have been content there? Life was quite placid at Faldor's."
    "If we hadn't left, I'd never have known what it was like to live any other way."
    "But if we hadn't left, you never would have met Ce'Nedra, would you?"
    "I suppose I hadn't thought about that."
    "Let's go below, shall we?" she suggested. "That breeze is really rather brisk."
    They encountered King Anheg and Barak in a narrow companionway just outside the main cabin belowdecks.
    "Barak," Anheg was saying acidly, "you're getting to be worse than an old woman."
    "I don't care what you say, Anheg," the red-bearded Barak growled. "You're not going to take the Seabird up that inlet until all those catapults have been cleared. I didn't spend that much money on her to have somebody drop boulders on her decks from those cliffs. My boat, my rules."
    The lean-faced Javelin approached from down the companionway. "Is there some problem, my Lords?" he asked.
    "I was just laying down a few rules for Anheg here," Barak replied. "He's going to be in charge of my ship while I'm gone."
    "Were you going somewhere, my Lord of Trellheim?"
    "I'll be going with Garion when he mounts his attack on the city.
    "As you think best, my Lord. How long do you think it's going to take to reach the mouth of the inlet?"
    Barak tugged at his luxuriant red beard. "Those Rivan ships carrying Garion's troops aren't quite as fast as our warships," he mused. "I make it about a day and a half. Wouldn't you agree, Anheg?"
    "About that, yes."
    "That should put us there tomorrow evening, then?" Javelin asked.
    "Right," Barak said, "and that's when the fun starts."
    Aunt Pol sighed. "Alorns!"
    After a few shouted conferences from ship to ship, the combined fleet heeled over sharply in the quickening breeze and beat northward along the rugged west coast of the Cherek peninsula toward Jarviksholm.
    The following morning, Garion went up on deck with Barak and Hettar to watch the sun come up above the forested and snow-capped peaks of Cherek. The shadows back in the wooded valleys were a kind of misty blue, and the sun sparkled on the waves.
    A mail-shirted Cherek sailor, who had been ostensibly coiling a rope, turned from his task, then suddenly plunged a dagger directly at Garion's unprotected back as the King stood at the rail.
    The attack might well have proved fatal had Durnik not shouted a quick warning. Garion half-turned in time to see the dagger go skittering across the deck. At the same time, he heard a startled exclamation and a splash. He wheeled about to see a desperately clutching hand sink beneath the waves about thirty yards to port. He looked questioningly at Polgara, but she shook her head.
    "I forgot about the mailshirt," Durnik said apologetically, "It's sort of hard to swim with one of those on, isn't it?"
    "More than sort of," Barak assured him.
    "You'll want to question him, I suppose," Durnik said, "I can fish him out, if you like."
    "What do you think, Hettar?" Barak asked.
    Hettar considered the notion for several moments, looking out at the bubbles coming up from somewhere far beneath the surface. "These are Cherek waters, aren't they?"
    Barak nodded.
    "Then I think we should consult King Anheg and get his opinion."
    "Anheg's sleeping late this morning," Barak told him, also looking out at the bubbles.
    "I'd hate to wake him," Hettar said. "He's had a lot on his mind lately, and I'm sure he needs his rest." The tall Algar turned to Durnik with an absolutely straight face. "I'll tell you what, Durnik. The very moment King Anheg wakes up, we'll bring the matter immediately to his attention."
    "Have you ever translocated anything before, Durnik?" Polgara asked her husband.
    "No, not really. I knew how it was done, of course, but I've never had the occasion to try it myself. I threw him just a little farther than I'd intended, I'm afraid."
    "You'll get better with practice, dear," she assured him.
    Then she turned to Garion. "Are you all right?" she asked,
    "I'm fine, Aunt Pol. He didn't even get close to me -thanks to Durnik."
    "He's always been very useful to have around," she replied, giving Durnik a warm