Pawn of Prophecy

to hand him a small coin. "I must admit that I haven't heard of the Duchess of Erat before."
    "You're a fortunate man," Wolf said.
    "She's a great beauty," the man said admiringly.
    "And has a temper to match," Wolf told him.
    "I noticed that," the guard said.
    "We noticed you noticing," Silk told him slyly.
    They nudged their horses and caught up with Aunt Pol.
    "The Duchess of Erat?" Silk asked mildly.
    "The fellow's manner irritated me," Aunt Pol said loftily, "and I'm tired of putting on a poor face in front of strangers."
    At Customs Square Silk accosted a busy-looking merchant trudging across the snow-covered paving. "You-fellow," he said in the most insulting way possible, pulling his horse directly in front of the startled merchant. "My mistress, the Duchess of Erat, requires directions to an inn called the Lion. Be so good as to provide them."
    The merchant blinked, his face flushing at the rat-faced man's tone.
    "Up that street," he said shortly, pointing. "Some goodly way. It will be on your left. There's a sign of a Lion at the front."
    Silk sniffed ungraciously, tossed a few coins into the snow at the man's feet and whirled his horse in a grand manner. The merchant, Garion noted, looked outraged, but he did grope in the snow for the coins Silk had thrown.
    "I doubt that any of these people will quickly forget our passage," Wolf said sourly when they were some ways up the street.
    "They'll remember the passage of an arrogant noblewoman," Silk said. "This is as good a disguise as any we've tried."
    When they arnved at the inn, Aunt Pol commanded not just the usual sleeping chambers but an entire apartment. "My chamberlain there will pay you," she said to the innkeeper, indicating Mister Wolf. "Our baggage horses are some days behind with the rest of my servants, so I'll require the services of a dressmaker and a maid. See to it." And she turned and swept imperially up the long staircase that led to her apartment, following the servant who scurried ahead to show her the way.
    "The duchess has a commanding presence, doesn't she?" the innkeeper ventured as Wolf began counting out coins.
    "She has indeed," Wolf agreed. "I've discovered the wisdom of not countering her wishes."
    "I'll be guided by you then," the innkeeper assured him. "My youngest daughter is a serviceable girl. I'll dispatch her to serve as her Grace's maid."
    "Many thanks, friend," Silk told him. "Our Lady becomes most irntable when those things she desires are delayed, and we're the ones who suffer most from her displeasure."
    They trooped up the stairs to the apartments Aunt Pol had taken and stepped into the main sitting room, a splendid chamber far richer than any Garion had seen before. The walls were covered by tapestries with intricate pictures woven into the fabric. A wealth of candles - real wax instead of smoky tallow - gleamed in sconces on the walls and in a massive candelabra on the polished table. A good warm fire danced merrily on the hearth, and a large carpet of curious design lay on the floor.
    Aunt Pol was standing before the fire, warming her hands. "Isn't this better than some shabby, wharfside inn reeking of fish and unwashed sailors?" she asked.
    "If the Duchess of Erat will forgive my saying so," Wolf said somewhat tartly, "this is hardly the way to escape notice, and the cost of these lodgings would feed a legion for a week."
    "Don't grow parsimonious in your dotage, Old Wolf," she replied. "No one takes a sPolled noblewoman seriously, and your wagons weren't able to keep that disgusting Brill from finding us. This guise is at least comfortable, and it permits us to move more rapidly."
    Wolf grunted. "I only hope we won't regret all this," he said.
    "Stop grumbling, old man," she told him.
    "Have it your way, Pol." He sighed.
    "I intend to," she said.
    "How are we to behave, Mistress Pol?" Durnik asked hesitantly. Her sudden regal manner had obviously confused him. "I'm not familiar with the ways of the gentry."
    "It's quite simple, Durnik," she said. She eyed him up and down, noting his plain, dependable face and his solid competence. "How would you like to be chief groom to the Duchess of Erat? And master of her stables?"
    Durnik laughed uncomfortably. "Noble titles for work I've done all my life," he said. "I could manage the work easily enough, but the titles might grow a bit heavy."
    "You'll do splendidly, friend Durnik," Silk assured him. "That honest face of yours makes people believe anything you choose to