Magician's Gambit

it."
    "That's a pretty paltry offer," Silk said, his fingers flicking idly.
    "She's still young," the other Drasnian pointed out. "She obviously hasn't had much training yet. Which one of you owns her?"
    "We'll get to that in a moment," Silk replied. "Surely you can make a better offer than that."
    "It's all I've got," the scruffy man answered plaintively, waving his fingers, "and I don't want to go into partnership with any of the brigands in this place. I'd never get to see any of the profits."
    Silk shook his head. "I'm sorry," he refused. "It's out of the question. I'm sure you can see our position."
    Ce'Nedra was making strangled noises.
    "Be quiet," Garion snapped. "This isn't what it seems to be."
    "What about the older one?" the scruffy man suggested, sounding desperate. "Surely fifty pennyweight's a good price for her."
    Without warning Silk's fist lashed out, and the scruffy Drasnian reeled back from the apparent blow. His hand flew to his mouth, and he began to spew curses.
    "Run him off, Mandorallen," Silk said quite casually.
    The grim-faced knight drew his broadsword and moved his warhorse deliberately at the swearing Drasnian. After one startled yelp, the man turned and fled.
    "What did he say?" Wolf asked Silk. "You were standing in front of him, so I couldn't see."
    "The whole region's alive with Murgos," Silk replied, climbing back on his horse. "Kheran says that a dozen parties of them have been through here in the last week."
    "You knew that animal?" Ce'Nedra demanded.
    "Kheran? Of course. We went to school together."
    "Drasnians like to keep an eye on things, Princess," Wolf told her. "King Rhodar has agents everywhere."
    "That awful man is an agent of King Rhodar?" Ce'Nedra asked incredulously.
    Silk nodded. "Actually Kheran's a margrave," he said. "He has exquisite manners under normal circumstances. He asked me to convey his compliments."
    Ce'Nedra looked baffled.
    "Drasnians talk to each other with their fingers," Garion explained. "I thought everybody knew that."
    Ce'Nedra's eyes narrowed at him.
    "What Kheran actually said was, 'Tell the red-haired wench that I apologize for the insult,' " Garion informed her smugly. "He needed to talk to Silk, and he had to have an excuse."
    "Wench?"
    "His word, not mine," Garion replied quickly.
    "You know this sign language?"
    "Naturally."
    "That'll do, Garion," Aunt Pol said firmly.
    "Kheran recommends that we get out of here immediately," Silk told Mister Wolf. "He says that the Murgos are looking for somebody - us, probably."
    From the far side of the camp there were sudden angry voices. Several dozen Nadraks boiled out of their shanties to confront a group of Murgo horsemen who had just ridden up out of a deep gully. At the forefront of the Nadraks hulked a huge, fat man who looked more animal than human. In his right hand he carried a brutal-looking steel mace. "Kordoch!" he bellowed. "I told you I'd kill you next time you came here."
    The man who stepped out from among the Murgo horses to face the hulking Nadrak was Brill. "You've told me a lot of things, Tarlek," he shouted back.
    "This time you get what's coming to you, Kordoch," Tarlek roared, striding forward and swinging his mace.
    "Stay back," Brill warned, stepping away from the horses. "I don't have time for this right now."
    "You don't have any time left at all, Kordoch - for anything." Tarlek was grinning broadly. "Would anyone like to take this opportunity to say good - bye to our friend over there?" he said. "I think he's about to leave on a very long journey."
    But Bril1's right hand had dipped suddenly inside his tunic. With a flickering movement, he whipped out a peculiar-looking triangular steel object about six inches across. Then, in the same movement, he flipped it, spinning and whistling, directly at Tarlek. The flat steel triangle sailed, flashing in the sun as it spun, and disappeared with a sickening sound of shearing bone into the hulking Nadrak's chest. Silk hissed with amazement.
    Tarlek stared stupidly at Brill, his mouth agape and his left hand going to the spurting hole in his chest. Then his mace slid out of his right hand, his knees buckled, and he fell heavily forward.
    "Let's get out of here!" Mister Wolf barked. "Down the creek! Go!"
    They plowed into the rocky streambed at a plunging gallop, and the muddy water sprayed out from under their horses' hooves. After several hundred yards they turned sharply to scramble up a steep gravel bank.
    "That way!" Barak