King of The Murgos

them.
    "There is?" Silk seemed astonished. "How did he manage that?"
    "I really don't know," Durnik replied. "He didn't say."
    "Durnik," Silk said, "exactly how do you know what he's saying? Those gestures of his don't make much sense to me at all."
    Durnik frowned. "I really don't know," he admitted. "I hadn't even thought about it. I just seem to know what he wants to say."
    "Are you using sorcery?"
    "No. Maybe it's because we've worked with each other a few times. That always seems to bring men closer together."
    "I'll take your word for it."
    They crested a moundlike hill to look down at a gravel beach where long rollers came in off the foggy sea to crash against the rounded pebbles and then slide back with a mournful hissing sound as the foam-flecked water slithered down the strand, only to pause and then crash back up again.
    "I don't see your ship, Toth," Silk said almost accusingly. "Where is it?"
    Toth pointed out into the fog.
    "Really?" Silk's voice was skeptical.
    The mute nodded.
    The Raveners trailing behind grew more agitated as the company started down toward the beach. Their moans became more urgent, and they began to run back and forth along the crest of the hill, reaching out their clawed hands with a kind of desperate longing. They did not, however, pursue any farther.
    "Is it my imagination, or does it seem that they're afraid of something?" Velvet suggested.
    "They aren't coming down the hill," Durnik agreed. He turned to Toth. "Are they afraid?" he asked.
    Toth nodded.
    "I wonder what it is," Velvet said.
    The giant made a motion with both hands.
    "He says that it has to do with something being even more hungry than they are," Durnik said. "They're afraid of it."
    "Sharks, maybe?" Silk suggested.
    "No. It's the sea itself."
    When they reached the gravel strand, they dismounted and stood in a weary little group at the water's edge. "Are you all right, father?" Polgara asked the old man, who was leaning against his saddle, staring out into the fog that lay thick and pale on the dark water.
    "What? Oh, yes. I'm fine, Pol—just a little puzzled, that's all. If there is a ship out there, I'd sort of like to know who arranged for it and how they knew that we were going to arrive at this particular spot."
    "More important than that," Silk added, "I'd like to know how we're going to tell them that we've arrived. That fog's like a blanket out there."
    "Toth says they already know we're here," Durnik told him. "They'll probably show up in the next half hour or so."
    "Oh?" Belgarath said curiously. "And who sent this ship in the first place?"
    "He said it was Cyradis."
    "I'm going to have to have a long talk with that young lady one of these days," Belgarath said. "She's starting to make me just a little uneasy about certain things."
    "They went back," Eriond told them as he stood stroking the bowed neck of his stallion.
    "Who did?" Garion asked.
    "The Raveners," the boy replied, pointing back up the hill. "They gave up and started back toward the woods."
    "And without even saying good-bye," Silk added with a tight grin. "I don't know what's happened to people's manners these days."
    The ship that came ghosting out of the fog was curiously built with a high prow and stern and broad sails on her twin masts.
    "What's making it go?" Ce'Nedra asked, staring curiously at the shadowy shape.
    "I don't quite follow you," Garion said.
    "They aren't rowing," she pointed out, "and there isn't even a hint of a breeze."
    He looked sharply back at the ship and saw immediately that she was right. There were no oars protruding from the ghostly ship's sides; but in spite of the dead-calm, foggy air, the sails were bellied outward, and the vessel moved smoothly through the oily-looking water.
    "Is it sorcery?" she asked him.
    He pushed his mind out, searching for some hint. "It doesn't seem to be," he replied. "At least not any kind that I know about."
    Belgarath stood not far away, his expression profoundly disapproving.
    "How are they moving the ship, Grandfather?" Garion asked him. •
    "It's a form of witchcraft," the old man told him, still scowling, "unpredictable and usually not very reliable." He turned to Toth. "You want us to go on board that?" he asked.
    Toth nodded.
    "Will it take us to Verkat?"
    Toth nodded again.
    "You mean that it will, if the sprite that's pushing it doesn't get bored with the idea—or decide that it might be funny to take us in the opposite direction."
    Toth held out both hands.
    "He