Queen of Sorcery

alongside, and we'll discuss it?" Barak suggested pleasantly.
    "You're denying me my rights to my own property," the Murgo complained.
    "Not at all," Barak told him. "Of course there might be a fine point of law involved here. This wharf is Drasnian territory, and slavery isn't legal in Drasnia. Since that's the case, the man's not a slave anymore."
    "I'll get my men," the Murgo said. "We'll take the slave by force if we have to."
    "I think we'd have to look on that as an invasion of Alorn territory," Barak warned with a great show of regret. "In the absence of our Drasnian cousins, we'd almost be compelled to take steps to defend their wharf for them. What do you think, Mandorallen?"
    "Thy perceptions are most acute, my Lord," Mandorallen replied. "By common usage, honorable men are morally obliged to defend the territory of kinsmen in their absence."
    "There," Barak said to the Murgo. "You see how it is. My friend here is an Arend, so he's totally neutral in this matter. I think we'd have to accept his interpretation of the affair."
    Greldik's sailors had begun to climb the rigging by now, and they clung to the ropes like great, evil-looking apes, fingering their weapons and grinning at the Murgo.
    "There is yet another way," the Murgo said ominously.
    Garion could feel a force beginning to build, and a faint sound seemed to echo inside his head. He drew himself up, putting his hands on the wooden rail in front of him. He felt a terrible weakness, but he steeled himself and tried to gather his strength.
    "That's enough of that," Aunt Pol said crisply, coming up on deck with Durnik and Ce'Nedra behind her.
    "We were merely having a little legal discussion," Barak said innocently.
    "I know what you were doing," she snapped. Her eyes were angry. She looked coldly across the intervening stretch of river at the Murgo.
    "You'd better leave," she told him.
    "I have something to retrieve first," the man in the boat called back.
    "I'd forget about it!"
    "We'll see," he said. He straightened and began muttering as if to himself, his hands moving rapidly in a series of intricate gestures. Garion felt something pushing at him almost like a wind, though the air was completely still.
    "Be sure you get it right," Aunt Pol advised quietly. "If you forget even the tiniest part of it, it'll explode in your face."
    The man in the boat froze, and a faintly worried frown crossed his face. The secret wind that had been pushing at Garion stopped. The man began again, his fingers weaving in the air and his face fixed with concentration.
    "You do it like this, Grolim," Aunt Pol said. She moved her hand slightly, and Garion felt a sudden rush as if the wind pushing at him had turned and begun to blow the other way. The Grolim threw his hands up and reeled back, stumbling and falling into the bottom of his boat. As if it had been given a heavy push, the boat surged backward several yards.
    The Grolim half raised, his eyes wide and his face deathly pale.
    "Return to your master, dog," Aunt Pol said scathingly. "Tell him to beat you for not learning your lessons properly."
    The Grolim spoke quickly to the Nyissans at the oars, and they immediately turned the boat and rowed back toward the slave ship.
    "We had a nice little fight brewing there, Polgara," Barak complained. "Why did you have to spoil it?"
    "Grow up," she ordered bluntly. Then she turned on Garion, her eyes blazing and the white lock at her brow like a streak of fire. "You idiot! You refuse any kind of instruction, and then you burst out like a raging bull. Have you the slightest conception of what an uproar translocation causes? You've alerted every Grolim in Sthiss Tor to the fact that we're here."
    "He was dying," Garion protested, gesturing helplessly at the slave lying on the wharf. "I had to do something."
    "He was dead as soon as he hit the water," she said flatly. "Look at him."
    The slave had stiffened into an arched posture of mortal agony, his head twisted back and his mouth agape. He was obviously dead.
    "What happened to him?" Garion asked, feeling suddenly sick.
    "The leeches are poisonous. Their bites paralyze their victims so that they can feed on them undisturbed. The bites stopped his heart. You exposed us to the Grolims for the sake of a dead man."
    "He wasn't dead when I did it!" Garion shouted at her. "He was screaming for help." He was angrier than he had ever been in his life.
    "He was beyond help." Her voice was cold, even brutal.
    "What kind of monster are