Queen of Sorcery

then turned away so that he wouldn't have to watch the two of them leave. He crossed the clearing to where Mandorallen stood pensively looking out into the mist.
    "Parting is a melancholy business," the knight said moodily. He sighed.
    "It's more than that though, isn't it, Mandorallen?" Garion asked.
    "Thou art a perceptive lad."
    "What's been troubling you? You've been acting strangely for the last two days."
    "I have discovered a strange feeling within myself, Garion, and I like it not."
    "Oh? What is it?"
    "Fear," Mandorallen said shortly.
    "Fear? Of what?"
    "The clay men. I know not why, but their very existence struck a chill into my soul."
    "They frightened us all, Mandorallen," Garion told him.
    "I have never been afraid before," Mandorallen said quietly.
    "Never?"
    "Not even as a child. The clay men made my very flesh creep, and I wanted most desperately to run away."
    "But you didn't," Garion pointed out. "You stayed and fought."
    "That time yes," Mandorallen admitted. "But what of next time? Now that fear has found its way into my spirit, who can say when it might return? In some desperate hour when the outcome of our quest hangs in the balance, might not vile fear lay its cold hand upon my heart and unman me? It is that possibility which doth gnaw upon my soul. I am sorely ashamed of my weakness and my fault."
    "Ashamed? For being human? You're too hard on yourself, Mandorallen."
    "Thou art kind thus to excuse me, lad, but my failing is too grievous for such simple forgiveness. I have striven for perfection and struck, I think, not too far off the mark; but now that perfection, which was the marvel of the world, is flawed. It is a bitter thing to accept." He turned, and Garion was startled to see tears standing in his eyes. "Wilt thou assist me into mine armor?" he asked.
    "Of course."
    "I feel profoundly the need to be encased in steel. It will perchance strengthen my cowardly heart."
    "You're not a coward," Garion insisted.
    Mandorallen sighed sadly. "Only time can reveal that."
    When it was time to leave, Queen Xantha spoke briefly to them. "I wish you all well," she said. "I'd help you in your search if possible, but a Dryad's bound to her tree by ties which can't be broken. My tree here is very old, and I must care for him." She looked fondly up at the vast oak rising into the morning mist. "We're in bondage to each other, but it's a bondage of love."
    Once again Garion felt that same faint touch on his mind that he had experienced the day before when he had first seen the huge tree. There was a sense of farewell in that touch, and what seemed to be a warning.
    Queen Xantha exchanged a startled glance with Aunt Pol and then looked at Garion rather closely. "Some of my younger daughters will guide you to the river that marks the southern border of our Wood," she continued. "From there your way to the sea is clear." Her voice showed no sign of any change, but her eyes seemed thoughtful.
    "Thank you, Xantha," Aunt Pol said warmly, embracing the Dryad queen. "If you can send word to the Borunes that Ce'Nedra's safe and with me, it might relieve the Emperor's mind somewhat."
    "I will, Polgara," Xantha promised.
    They mounted then and followed the half dozen or so Dryads who flitted ahead of them like butterflies, guiding them southward into the forest. For some reason Garion felt profoundly depressed, and he paid little attention to his surroundings as he rode beside Durnik along the winding forest trail.
    About midmorning it began to grow darker under the trees, and they rode in silence through the now-somber wood. The warning Garion had seemed to hear in Queen Xantha's clearing echoed somehow in the creak of limbs and the rustling of leaves.
    "The weather must be changing," Durnik said, looking up. "I wish I could see the sky."
    Garion nodded and tried to shake off the sense of impending danger. Mandorallen in his armor and Barak in his mail shirt rode at the head of the party, and Hettar in his horsehide jacket with steel plates riveted to it rode at the rear. The ominous sense of foreboding seemed to have reached them all, and they rode warily with their hands near their weapons and their eyes searching for trouble.
    Then quite suddenly Tolnedran legionnaires were all around them, rising from the bushes or stepping out from behind trees. They made no attempt to attack, but stood in their brightly polished breastplates with their short spears at the ready.
    Barak swore, and Mandorallen reined in his