Queen of Sorcery

my mistress."
    Silk's face blanched as the dripping snake spoke, and he tightened his grip.
    "I see," Aunt Pol said.
    "Abandon this search," the snake hissed. "My mistress will allow you to go no further."
    Aunt Pol laughed scornfully. "Allow?" she said. "Your mistress hasn't the power to allow me anything."
    "My mistress is the queen of Nyissa," the snake said in its whispering hiss. "Her power there is absolute. The ways of the serpent are not the ways of men, and my mistress is queen of the serpents. You will enter Nyissa at your own peril. We are patient and not afraid. We will await you where you least expect us. Our sting is a small injury, scarce noted, but it is death."
    "What's Salmissra's interest in this matter?" Aunt Pol asked.
    The serpent's flickering tongue darted at her. "She has not chosen to reveal that to me, and it is not in my nature to be curious. I have delivered my message and already received my reward. Now do with me as you wish."
    "Very well," Aunt Pol said. She looked coldly at the snake, her face streaming in the heavy rain.
    "Shall I kill it?" Silk asked, his face set and his fingers white-knuckled from the strain of holding the thick-coiling reptile.
    "No," she said quietly. "There's no point in destroying so excellent a messenger." She fixed the snake with a flinty look. "Return with these others to Salmissra," she said. "Tell her that if she interferes again, I'll come after her, and the deepest slime-pit in all Nyissa won't hide her from my fury."
    "And my reward?" the snake asked.
    "You have your life as a reward," she said.
    "That's true," the serpent hissed. "I will deliver your message, Polgara."
    "Put it down," Aunt Pol told Silk.
    The small man bent and lowered his arm to the ground. The snake uncoiled from about his arm, and Silk released it and jumped back. The snake glanced once at him, then slithered away.
    "I think that's enough rain, Pol," Wolf said, mopping at his face. Aunt Pol waved her hand almost negligently, and the rain stopped as if a bucket had emptied itself.
    "We have to find Durnik," Barak reminded them.
    "He was behind us." Garion pointed back up the now-overflowing stream. His chest felt constricted with a cold fear at what they might find, but he steeled himself and led the way back into the trees.
    "The smith is a good companion," Mandorallen said. "I should not care to lose him." There was a strange, subdued quality in the knight's voice, and his face seemed abnormally pale in the dim light. The hand holding his great broadsword, however, was rock-steady. Only his eyes betrayed a kind of doubt Garion had never seen there before.
    Water dripped around them as they walked through the sodden woods. "It was about here," Garion said, looking around. "I don't see any sign of him."
    "I'm up here." Durnik's voice came from above them. He was a goodly distance up a large oak tree and was peering down. "Are they gone?" He carefully began climbing down the slippery tree trunk. "The rain came just in time," he said, jumping down the last few feet. "I was starting to have a little trouble keeping them out of the tree."
    Quickly, without a word, Aunt Pol embraced the good man, and then, as if embarrassed by that sudden gesture, she began to scold him. Durnik endured her words patiently, and there was a strange expression on his face.

Chapter Twenty-one
    GARION'S SLEEP THAT NIGHT WAS TROUBLED. He awoke frequently, shuddering at the remembered touch of the mud-men. But in time the night, as all nights must, came to an end, and the morning dawned clear and bright. He drowsed for a while, rolled in his blankets, until Ce'Nedra came to get him up.
    "Garion," she said softly, touching his shoulder, "are you awake?" He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "Good morning."
    "Lady Polgara says that you're supposed to get up," she told him.
    Garion yawned, stretched and sat up. He glanced out the tent flap and saw that the sun was shining.
    "She's teaching me how to cook," Ce'Nedra said rather proudly.
    "That's nice," Garion told her, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
    She looked at him for a long moment, her small face serious and her green eyes intent. "Garion."
    "Yes?"
    "You were very brave yesterday."
    He shrugged slightly. "I'll probably get a scolding for it today."
    "What for?"
    "Aunt Pol and my grandfather don't like it when I try to be brave," he explained. "They think I'm still a child, and they don't want me to get hurt."
    "Garion!" Aunt Pol called from the small