King of The Murgos

says to trust him," Durnik supplied.
    "I wish people would quit saying that to me."
    The ship slowed, and her keel ground gently on the gravel bottom. A broad ramp came sliding out over the side, and its weighted end sank in about three feet of water. Toth, leading his reluctant horse, waded out to the ramp. Then he turned and looked inquiringly back at the rest of them. He motioned with his arm.
    "He says we're supposed to board now," Durnik said.
    "I heard him," Belgarath growled. "All right, I suppose we might as well." Sourly, he took his horse's reins and waded out into the water.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
    The crew of the strange ship all wore rough, cowled tunics made of heavy cloth. The bones of their faces were prominent, giving their features a peculiarly hewn-out look and, like Toth, they were all mutes. They went about their work in absolute silence. Garion, accustomed to the bawling and cursing which accompanied the labors of Cherek sailors, found this stillness peculiar, even slightly unnerving. The ship itself made none of the usual sounds. There was no rasp of oars in their locks, no creak of rigging, no groaning of timbers—only the faint wash and run of water along the sides as they were propelled out across the fog-muffled sea by some force or spirit Garion could not even comprehend.
    Once the shore behind had sunk into the fog, there was no reference point, no hint of direction. The silent ship moved on.
    Garion stood with his arm about Ce'Nedra's shoulders. The peculiar combination of his near-exhaustion from the ordeal in the wood of the Raveners and the pervading gloom of dark, unbroken water and thick-hanging fog made his mood melancholy and his thoughts abstracted. It was enough merely to stand at the side of his weary wife, holding her in the protecting curve of his arm and to look blankly, uncomprehendingly into the fog.
    "What in the world is that?" Velvet exclaimed from somewhere behind him. He turned and looked toward the stern. From out of the pearly fog, there came a ghostly white bird with impossible wings—pinions that appeared longer than a tall man might stretch his arms. The wings did not move, and yet the silent bird came on, gliding through the misty air like a disembodied spirit.
    "Albatross," Polgara identified the magnificent creature.
    "Aren't they supposed to be bad luck?" Silk asked.
    "Are you superstitious, Prince Kheldar?"
    "Not exactly, but—" He left it hanging.
    "It's a sea bird, nothing more," she told him.
    "Why does it have such enormous wings?" Velvet asked curiously.
    "It flies great distances over open water," Polgara said. "The wings hold it aloft without any effort. It's very practical."
    The great-winged bird tilted in the air, giving forth a strange, lonely cry, a sound that carried in it all the emptiness of a vast, rolling sea.
    Polgara inclined her head in response to that strange greeting.
    "What did he say, Pol?" Durnik asked her in an oddly subdued voice.
    "It was quite formal," she replied. "Sea birds have a great deal of dignity—perhaps because they spend so much time alone. It gives them leisure to formulate their thoughts, I suppose. Land birds babble a great deal, but sea birds try to be profound."
    "They're strange creatures, aren't they—birds I mean?"
    "Not once you get used to them." She looked out at the alabaster bird coasting in the silent air beside the ship with an indecipherable expression on her face.
    The albatross moved his great wings and pulled ahead of the ship to station himself just in front of the prow, hanging apparently motionless in the mist.
    Belgarath had been staring up at the sails, which bellied out improbably in the dead-calm air. Finally he grunted and turned to Toth. "How long does the trip to Verkat take?" he asked.
    Toth measured out a short space with his hands.
    "That's not very specific, my friend."
    Toth pointed upward and spread his fingers wide.
    "He says about five hours, Belgarath," Durnik translated.
    "We're moving faster than it appears then," the old man observed. "I wonder how they managed to persuade the sprite to concentrate on one thing for that long, though. I've never run into one before that could keep hold of an idea for more than a minute."
    "Do you want me to ask him?" Durnik offered.
    Belgarath squinted back up at the sails. "No," he said. "I guess not. I might not like the answer."
    The northwest coast of the Isle of Verkat rose dark and indistinct out of the fog as evening approached. They