Magician's Gambit

men come in here until we know what their business is."
    "You're blocking the trail, friend," Barak advised him. "You might find that unhealthy."
    "One shout from me will bring fifty armed men," the Tolnedran warned.
    "Don't be an idiot, Reldo," the big Arend told him. "That one with all the steel on him is a Mimbrate knight. There aren't enough men on the whole mountain to stop him, if he decides to go through here." He looked warily at Mandorallen. "What're your intentions, Sir Knight?" he asked respectfully.
    "We are but following the trail," Mandorallen replied. "We have no interest in thy community."
    The Arend grunted. "That's good enough for me. Let them pass, Reldo." He slid his sword back under his rope belt.
    "What if he's lying?" Reldo retorted. "What if they're here to steal our gold?"
    "What gold, you jackass?" the Arend demanded with contempt. "There isn't enough gold in the whole camp to fill a thimble - and Mimbrate knights don't lie. If you want to fight with him, go ahead. After it's over, we'll scoop up what's left of you and dump you in a hole someplace."
    "You've got a bad mouth, Berig," Reldo observed darkly.
    "And what do you plan to do about it?"
    The Tolnedran glared at the larger man and then turned and walked away, muttering curses.
    Berig laughed harshly, then turned back to Mandorallen. "Come ahead, Sir Knight," he invited. "Reldo's all mouth. You don't have to worry about him."
    Mandorallen moved forward at a walk. "Thou art a long way from home, my friend."
    Berig shrugged. "There wasn't anything in Arendia to keep me, and I had a misunderstanding with my lord over a pig. When he started talking about hanging, I thought I'd like to try my luck in a different country."
    "Seems like a sensible decision." Barak laughed.
    Berig winked at him. "The trail goes right on down to the creek," he told them, "then up the other side behind those shacks. The men over there are Nadraks, but the only one who might give you any trouble is Tarlek. He got drunk last night, though, so he's probably still sleeping it off."
    A vacant-eyed man in Sendarian clothing shambled out of one of the tents. Suddenly he lifted his face and howled like a dog. Berig picked up a rock and shied it at him. The Sendar dodged the rock and ran yelping behind one of the shacks. "One of these days I'm going to do him a favor and stick a knife in him," Berig remarked sourly. "He bays at the moon all night long."
    "What's his problem?" Barak asked.
    Berig shrugged. "Crazy. He thought he could make a dash into Maragor and pick up some gold before the ghosts caught him. He was wrong."
    "What did they do to him?" Durnik asked, his eyes wide.
    "Nobody knows," Berig replied. "Every so often somebody gets drunk or greedy and thinks he can get away with it. It wouldn't do any good, even if the ghosts didn't catch you. Anybody coming out is stripped immediately by his friends. Nobody gets to keep any gold he brings out, so why bother?"
    "You've got a charming society here," Silk observed wryly.
    Berig laughed. "It suits me. It's better than decorating a tree in my lord's apple orchard back in Arendia." He scratched absently at one armpit. "I guess I'd better go do some digging," he sighed. "Good luck." He turned and started toward one of the tents.
    "Let's move along," Wolf said quietly. "These places tend to get rowdy as the day wears on."
    "You seem to know quite a bit about them, father," Aunt Pol noticed.
    "They're good places to hide," he replied. "Nobody asks any questions. I've needed to hide a time or two in my life."
    "I wonder why?"
    They started along the dusty street between the slapped-together shacks and patched tents, moving down toward the roiling creek. "Wait!" someone called from behind. A scruffy-looking Drasnian was running after them, waving a small leather pouch. He caught up with them, puffing. "Why didn't you wait?" he demanded.
    "What do you want?" Silk asked him.
    "I'll give you fifty pennyweight of fine gold for the girl," the Drasnian panted, waving his leather sack again.
    Mandorallen's face went bleak, and his hand moved toward his sword hilt.
    "Why don't you let me deal with this, Mandorallen?" Silk suggested mildly, swinging down from his saddle.
    Ce'Nedra's expression had first registered shock, then outrage. She appeared almost on the verge of explosion before Garion reached her and put his hand on her arm. "Watch," he told her softly.
    "How dare-"
    "Hush. Just watch. Silk's going to take care of