The Seeress of Kell

contemplation while their dogs did all the work.
    The she-wolf trotted sedately beside Chretienne. Her ears twitched occasionally, however, and she watched the sheep, her tawny eyes intent.
    "One advises against it, little sister," Garion said to her in the language of wolves.
    "One was not really considering it," she replied. "One has encountered these beasts before—and the man-things and dog-things that guard them. It is not difficult to take one of them, but the dog-things grow excited when one does, and their barking disturbs one's meal.'' Her tongue lolled out in a wolfish sort of grin. "One could make the beasts run, however. All things should know to whom the forest belongs."
    "The pack-leader would disapprove, one is afraid."
    "Ah," she agreed. "Perhaps the pack-leader takes himself too seriously. One has observed that quality in him."
    "What did she say?" Zakath asked curiously.
    "She was thinking about chasing the sheep," Garion replied, "not necessarily to kill any of them but just to make them run. I think it amuses her."
    "Amuses? That's an odd thing to say about a wolf."
    "Not really. Wolves play a great deal, and they have a very refined sense of humor."
    Zakath's face grew thoughtful. "You know something, Garion?" he said. "Man thinks he owns the world, but we share it with all sorts of creatures who are indifferent to our overlordship. They have their own societies, and I suppose even their own cultures. They don't even pay any attention to us, do they?"
    "Only when we inconvenience them."
    "That's a crushing blow to the ego of an emperor." Zakath smiled wryly. "We're the two most powerful men on earth, and wolves look upon us as no more than a minor inconvenience."
    "It teaches us humility," Garion agreed. "Humility is good for the soul."
    "Perhaps."
    It was evening when they reached the shepherds' encampment. Since a sheep camp is a more or less permanent thing, h is usually more well organized than the hasty encampments of travelers. The tents were larger, for one thing, and they were stretched over pole frames. The tents lined either side of a street made of logs laid tightly side by side. The corrals for the shepherds' horses were at the lower end of the street, and a log dam had backed up a mountain brook to form a sparkling little pond that provided water for the sheep and horses. The shadows of evening were settling over the little valley where the camp lay, and blue columns of smoke rose straight up from the cookfires into the calm and windless air.
    A tall, lean fellow with a deeply tanned face, snowy white hair, and the simple white smock that seemed to be the common garb of these shepherds came out of one of the tents as Garion and Zakath reined in just outside the camp. "We have been advised of your coming," he said. His voice was very deep and quiet. "Will you share our evening meal with us?" Garion looked at him closely, noting his resemblance to Vard, the man whom they had met on the Isle of Verkat, half a world away. There could be no question now that the Dals and the slave race in Cthol Murgos were related.
    "We would be honored,'' Zakath responded to the invitation. "We do not wish to impose, however."
    "It is no imposition. I am Burk. I will have some of my men care for your mounts."
    The others rode up and stopped.
    "Welcome all," Burk greeted them. "Will you step down? The evening meal is almost ready, and we have set aside a tent for your use." He looked gravely at the she-wolf and inclined his head to her. It was evident that her presence did not alarm him.
    "Your courtesy is most becoming," Polgara said, dismounting, "and your hospitality is quite unexpected this far from civilization."
    "Man carries his civilization with him, Lady," Burk replied.
    "We have an injured man with us," Sadi told him, "a poor traveler we came across on our way over the mountain. We gave him what aid we could, but our business is pressing, and I'm afraid our pace is aggravating his injuries."
    "You may leave him with us, and we will care for him." Burk looked critically at the drugged priest slumped in his saddle. "A Grolim," denoted. "Is your destination perhaps Kell?"
    "We have to stop there," Belgarath said cautiously.
    "This Grolim would not be able to go with you then."
    "We've heard about that," Silk said, swinging down from his horse. "Do they really go blind when they try to go to Kell? "
    "In a manner of speaking, yes. We have such a one here in our camp with us now. We found him