Queen of Sorcery

home and bar my doors." He turned and scurried away.
    The first man stared after him and then he too turned and fled.
    "They play for keeps, don't they?" Barak observed.
    "Why do the legions allow it?" Mandorallen asked.
    "The legions stay neutral in these affairs," Wolf said. "It's part of their oath."
    The inn to which Silk had directed them was a neat, square building surrounded by a low wall. They tied their horses in the courtyard and went inside. "We might as well eat, father," Aunt Pol said, seating herself at a table of well-scrubbed oak in the sunny common room.
    "I was just- " Wolf looked toward the door which led into the taproom.
    "I know," she said, "but I think we should eat first."
    Wolf sighed. "All right, Pol."
    The serving-man brought them a platter of smoking cutlets and heavy slabs of brown bread soaked in butter. Garion's stomach was still a bit shaky after what he had witnessed in the square, but the smell of the cutlets soon overcame that. They had nearly finished eating when a shabby-looking little man in a linen shirt, leather apron and a ragged hat came in and plunked himself unceremoniously at the end of their table. His face looked vaguely familiar somehow. "Wine!" he bawled at the serving-man, "and food." He squinted around in the golden light streaming through the yellow glass windows of the common room.
    "There are other tables, friend," Mandorallen said coldly.
    "I like this one," the stranger said. He peered at each of them in turn, and then he suddenly laughed. Garion stared in amazement as the man's face relaxed, the muscles seeming to shift under his skin back into their normal positions. It was Silk.
    "How did you do that?" Barak asked, startled.
    Silk grinned at him and then reached up to massage his cheeks with his fingertips. "Concentration, Barak. Concentration and lots of practice. It makes my jaws ache a bit, though."
    "Useful skill, I'd imagine - under the right circumstances," Hettar said blandly.
    "Particularly for a spy," Barak said.
    Silk bowed mockingly.
    "Where did you get the clothes?" Durnik asked,
    "Stole them." Silk shrugged, peeling off the apron.
    "What's Brill doing here?" Wolf asked.
    "Stirring up trouble, the same as always," Silk replied. "He's telling people that a Murgo named Asharak is offering a reward for any information about us. He describes you quite well, old friend - not very flatteringly, but quite well."
    "I expect we'll have to deal with this Asharak before long," Aunt Pol said. "He's beginning to irritate me."
    "There's another thing." Silk started on one of the cutlets. "Brill's telling everyone that Garion is Asharak's son - that we've stolen him and that Asharak's offering a huge reward for his return."
    "Garion?" Aunt Pol asked sharply.
    Silk nodded. "The kind of money he's talking about is bound to make everyone in Tolnedra keep his eyes open." He reached for a piece of bread.
    Garion felt a sharp pang of anxiety.
    "Why me?" he asked.
    "It would delay us," Wolf said. "Asharak-whoever he is - knows that Polgara would stop to look for you. So would the rest of us, most likely. That would give Zedar time to get away."
    "Just who is Asharak?" Hettar asked, his eyes narrowing.
    "A Grolim, I expect," Wolf said. "His operations are a little too widespread for him to be an ordinary Murgo."
    "How can one tell the difference?" Durnik asked.
    "You can't," Wolf answered. "They look very much the same. They're two separate tribes, but they're much more closely related to each other than they are to other Angaraks. Anyone can tell the difference between a Nadrak and a Thull or a Thull and a Mallorean, but Murgos and Grolims are so much alike that you can't tell them apart."
    "I've never had any problem," Aunt Pol said. "Their minds are quite different."
    "That will make it much easier," Barak commented dryly. "We'll just chop open the head of the next Murgo we meet, and you can point out the differences to us."
    "You've been spending too much time with Silk lately," Aunt Pol said acidly. "You're starting to talk like him."
    Barak looked over at Silk and winked.
    "Let's finish up here and see if we can't get out of town quietly," Wolf said. "Is there a back alley out of this place?" he asked Silk.
    "Naturally," Silk said, still eating.
    "Are you familiar with it?"
    "Please!" Silk looked a little offended. "Of course I'm familiar with it.
    "Let it pass," Wolf said.
    The alleyway Silk led them through was narrow, deserted, and smelled quite bad, but it