Pawn of Prophecy

Silk returned. Their clothes were wet from the snow through which they had trudged all day, but Wolf's eyes were bright, and his face had a curiously exultant expression as he led them all back up the stairs to the sitting room.
    "Ask your Aunt to join us," he told Garion as he removed his sodden mantle and stepped to the fire to warm himself.
    Garion sensed quickly that this was not the time for questions. He hurried to the polished door where Aunt Pol had been closeted with her dressmaker all day and rapped.
    "What is it?" her voice came from inside.
    "Mister-uh-that is, your chamberlain has returned, my Lady," Garion said, remembering at the last moment that she was not alone. "He requests a word with you."
    "Oh, very well," she said. After a minute she came out, firmly closing the door behind her.
    Garion gasped. The rich, blue velvet gown she wore made her so magnificent that she quite took his breath away. He stared at her in helpless admiration.
    "Where is he?" she asked. "Don't stand and gape, Garion. It's not polite."
    "You're beautiful, Aunt Pol," he blurted.
    "Yes, dear," she said, patting his cheek, "I know. Now where's the Old Wolf?"
    "In the room with the tapestries," Garion said, still unable to take his eyes from her.
    "Come along, then," she said and swept down the short hall to the sitting room. They entered to find the others all standing by the fireplace.
    "Well?" she asked.
    Wolf looked up at her, his eyes still bright. "An excellent choice, Pol," he said admiringly. "Blue has always been your best color."
    "Do you like it?" she asked, holding out her arms and turning almost girlishly so that they all might see how fine she looked. "I hope it pleases you, old man, because it's costing you a great deal of money."
    Wolf laughed. "I was almost certain it would," he said.
    The effect of Aunt Pol's gown on Durnik was painfully obvious. The poor man's eyes literally bulged, and his face turned alternately very pale and then very red, then finally settled into an expression of such hopelessness that Garion was touched to the quick by it.
    Silk and Barak in curious unison both bowed deeply and wordlessly to Aunt Pol, and her eyes sparkled at their silent tribute.
    "It's been here," Wolf announced seriously.
    "You're certain?" Aunt Pol demanded.
    He nodded. "I could feel the memory of its passage in the very stones."
    "Did it come by sea?" she asked.
    "No. He probably came ashore with it in some secluded cove up the coast and then traveled here by land."
    "And took ship again?"
    "I doubt that," Wolf said. "I know him well. He's not comfortable on the sea."
    "Besides which," Barak said, "one word to King Anheg of Cherek would have put a hundred warships on his trail. No one can hide on the sea from the ships of Cherek, and he knows that."
    "You're right," Wolf agreed. "I think he'll avoid the domains of the Alorns. That's probably why he chose not to pass along the North Road through Algaria and Drasnia. The Spirit of Belar is strong in the kingdoms of the Alorns, and not even this thief is bold enough to risk a confrontation with the Bear-God."
    "Which leaves Arendia," Silk said, "or the land of the Ulgos."
    "Arendia, I think," Wolf said. "The wrath of UL is even more fearsome than that of Belar."
    "Forgive me," Durnik said, his eyes still on Aunt Pol. "This is all most confusing. I've never heard just exactly who this thief is."
    "I'm sorry, gentle Durnik," Wolf said. "It's not a good idea to speak his name. He has certain powers which might make it possible for him to know our every move if we alert him to our location, and he can hear his name spoken a thousand leagues away."
    "A sorcerer?" Durnik asked unbelievingly.
    "The word isn't one I'd choose," Wolf said. "It's a term used by men who don't understand that particular art. Instead let's call him `thief,' though there are a few other names I might call him which are far less kindly."
    "Can we be certain that he'll make for the kingdoms of the Angaraks?" Silk asked, frowning. "If that's the case, wouldn't it be quicker to take a ship directly to Tol Honeth and pick up his trail on the South Caravan Route into Cthol Murgos?"
    Wolf shook his head. "Better to stay with this trail now that we've found it. We don't know what he intends. Maybe he wants to keep the thing he's stolen for himself rather than deliver it over to the Grolims. He might even seek sanctuary in Nyissa."
    "He couldn't do that without the connivance of Salmissra," Aunt Pol said.
    "It