Queen of Sorcery

brought them to the town's south gate, and they were soon on the highway again.
    "A little distance wouldn't hurt at this point," Wolf said. He thumped his heels to his horse's flanks and started off at a gallop. They rode until well after dark. The moon, looking swollen and unhealthy, rose slowly above the horizon and filled the night with a pale light that seemed to leech away all trace of color. Wolf finally pulled to a stop. "There's really no point in riding all night," he said. "Let's move off the road and get a few hours' sleep. We'll start out again early. I'd like to stay ahead of Brill this time if we can."
    "Over there?" Durnik suggested, pointing at a small copse of trees looming black in the moonlight not far from the road.
    "It will do," Wolf decided. "I don't think we'll need a fire." They led the horses in among the trees and pulled their blankets out of the packs. The moonlight filtered in among the trees and dappled the leaf strewn ground. Garion found a fairly level place with his feet, rolled up in his blankets and, after squirming around a bit, he fell asleep.
    He awoke suddenly, his eyes dazzled by the light of a half dozen torches. A heavy foot was pushed down on his chest, and the point of a sword was set firmly, uncomfortably against his throat.
    "Nobody move!" a harsh voice ordered. "We'll kill anybody who moves."
    Garion stiffened in panic, and the sword point at his throat dug in sharply. He rolled his head from side to side and saw that all of his friends were being held down in the same way he was. Durnik, who had been standing guard, was held by two rough-looking soldiers, and a piece of rag was stuffed in his mouth.
    "What does this mean?" Silk demanded of the soldiers.
    "You'll find out," the one in charge rasped. "Get their weapons." As he gestured, Garion saw that a finger was missing from his right hand.
    "There's a mistake here," Silk said. "I'm Radek of Boktor, a merchant, and my friends and I haven't done anything wrong."
    "Get on your feet," the three-fingered soldier ordered, ignoring the little man's objections. "If any one of you tries to get away, we'll kill all the rest."
    Silk rose and crammed on his cap. "You're going to regret this, Captain," he said. "I've got powerful friends here in Tolnedra."
    The soldier shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything to me," he said. "I take my orders from Count Dravor. He told me to bring you in."
    "All right," Silk said. "Let's go see this Count Dravor, then. We'll get this cleared up right now, and there's no need for waving your swords around. We'll come along quietly. None of us is going to do anything to get you excited."
    The three-fingered soldier's face darkened in the torchlight. "I don't like your tone, merchant."
    "You're not being paid to like my tone, friend," Silk said. "You're being paid to escort us to Count Dravor. Now suppose we get moving. The quicker we get there, the quicker I can give him a full report about your behavior."
    "Get their horses," the soldier growled.
    Garion had edged over to Aunt Pol.
    "Can't you do anything?" he asked her quietly.
    "No talking!" the soldier who had captured him barked.
    Garion stood helplessly, staring at the sword leveled at his chest.

Chapter Fourteen
    THE HOUSE OF Count Dravor was a large white building set in the center of a broad lawn with clipped hedges and formal gardens on either side. The moon, fully overhead now, illuminated every detail as they rode slowly up a white-graveled, curving road that led to the house.
    The soldiers ordered them to dismount in the courtyard between the house and the garden on the west side of the house, and they were hustled inside and down a long hallway to a heavy, polished door.
    Count Dravor was a thin, vague-looking man with deep pouches under his eyes, and he sprawled in a chair in the center of a richly furnished room. He looked up with a pleasant, almost dreamy smile on his face as they entered. His mantle was a pale rose color with silver trim at the hem and around the sleeves to indicate his rank. It was badly wrinkled and none too clean. "And who are these guests?" he asked, his voice slurred and barely audible.
    "The prisoners, my Lord," the three-fingered soldier explained. "The ones you ordered arrested."
    "Did I order someone arrested?" the count asked, his voice still slurred. "What a remarkable thing for me to do. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you, my friends."
    "We were a bit surprised, that's all," Silk said carefully.
    "I