Guardians of the West

curiously, absently polishing one of his rings on the front of his gray doublet.
    Garion nodded.
    "He doesn't look all that impressive, does he?"
    "The large stone house over there is his," Javelin said, pointing at a square building with red tiles on its roof.
    "Not any more," Garion replied. "It's mine now."
    Javelin smiled briefly. "We'll want to search it rather thoroughly," he said. "People sometimes forget to destroy important things."
    "We might as well take Ulfgar in there, too," Garion said. "We need to question him, and that house is as good as any."
    "I'll go get the others," Durnik offered, pulling off his pot-shaped helmet. "Do you think it's safe enough to bring Pol and the other ladies into the city yet?"
    "It should be," Javelin replied. "What little resistance there is left is in the southeast quarter of the city."
    Durnik nodded and went on across the square, his mail shirt jingling.
    Garion, Silk, and Javelin picked up the limp form of the black-bearded man and carried him toward the stately house with the banner of a bear flying from a staff in front of it.
    As they started up the stairs, Garion glanced at a Rivan soldier standing guard over some demoralized prisoners huddled miserably in the slush. "Would you do me a favor?" he asked the gray-cloaked man.
    "Of course, your Majesty," the soldier said, saluting.
    " Chop that thing down." Garion indicated the flagstaff with a thrust of his jaw.
    "At once, your Majesty." The soldier grinned. "I should have thought of it myself."
    They carried Ulfgar into the house and through a polished door. The room beyond the door was luxuriously furnished, but the chairs were mostly overturned, and there were sheets of parchment everywhere. A crumpled heap of them had been stuffed into a large stone fireplace built into the back wall, but the fireplace was cold.
    "Good," Javelin muttered. "He was interrupted before he could burn anything."
    Silk looked around at the room. Rich, dark-colored tapestries hung on the walls, and the green carpeting was thick and soft. The chairs were all upholstered in scarlet velvet, and unlighted candles stood in silver sconces along the wall.
    "He managed to live fairly well, didn't he?" the little man murmured as they unceremoniously dumped the prisoner in the rust-colored doublet in one corner.
    "Let's gather up these documents," Javelin said. "I want to go over them."
    Garion unstrapped his sword, dropped his helmet on the floor and shrugged himself out of his heavy mailshirt. Then he sank wearily onto a soft couch. "I'm absolutely exhausted," he said. "I feel as if I haven't slept for a week."
    Silk shrugged. "One of the privileges of command."
    The door opened, and Belgarath came into the room. "Durnik said I could find you here," he said, pushing back the hood of his shabby old cloak. He crossed the room and nudged the limp form in the corner. "He isn't dead, is he?"
    "No," Garion replied. "Durnik put him to sleep with a club is all."
    "Why the blindfold?" the old man asked, indicating the strip of blue cloth tied across the captive's face.
    "He was using sorcery before we captured him. I thought it might not be a bad idea to cover his eyes."
    "That depends on how good he is. Durnik sent soldiers out to round up the others and then he went over to the encampment to get Pol and the other ladies."
    "Can you wake him up?" Silk asked.
    "Let's have Pol do it. Her touch is a little lighter than mine, and I don't want to break anything accidentally."
    It was perhaps three-quarters of an hour later when they all finally gathered in the green-carpeted room. Belgarath looked around, then straddled a straight-backed chair in front of the captive. "All right, Pol," he said bleakly. "Wake him up."
    Polgara unfastened her blue cloak, knelt beside the prisoner and put one hand on each side of his head. Garion heard a whispered rushing sound and felt a gentle surge. Ulfgar groaned.
    "Give him a few minutes," she said, rising to her feet. "Then you can start questioning him."
    "He's probably going to be stubborn about it," Brin predicted with a broad grin.
    "I'll be terribly disappointed in him if he isn't," Silk said as he rifled through a drawer in a large, polished cabinet.
    "Have you barbarians blinded me?" Ulfgar said in a weak voice as he struggled into a sitting position.
    "No," Polgara told him. "Your eyes are covered to keep you out of mischief."
    "Are my captors women, then?" There was contempt in the black-bearded man's