The Seeress of Kell

Garion had noticed, was never surprised.
    "You've grown since we last met," she noted.
    "I suppose I have," he agreed.
    "Are you ready?"
    The question sent a chill through Garion as he suddenly remembered the strange dream he had had the night before his true identity had been revealed.
    There was a polite knock on the door. Durnik answered it and found an armored knight standing outside. "His Majesty hath dispatched me to advise thee and thy companions that thy ship awaiteth thee in the harbor, my Lord," the knight said.
    "I'm not a " Durnik started.
    "Let it He, Durnik," Silk told him. "Sir Knight," he said to the armored man at the door, "where might we find his Majesty? We would take our leave of him and thank him for his many kindnesses,"
    "His Majesty doth await thee and thy companions at the harbor, my Lord. He would bid ye all farewell there and see ye off on the great adventure which doth tie in store for ye."
    “We will make haste then, Sir Knight,” the little man promised. "It were discourteous of us in the extreme to keep one of the paramount monarchs of the world awaiting our arrival. Thou hast performed thine appointed task in manner which does thee credit, Sir Knight, and we are all in thy debt."
    The knight bowed, beaming. Then he went back down the hallway.
    "Where did you ever learn to speak like that, Kheldar?" Velvet asked in some surprise.
    "Ah, dear Lady," Silk replied with outrageous extravagance, "knowest thou not that the poet doth lurk beneath the most common exterior? An it please thee, I will deliver unto thee fulsome compliments upon thine every ravishing and unsurpassed part." He eyed her up and down suggestively.
    "Kheldar!" she exclaimed, blushing bright red.
    "That's sort of fun, you know," Silk said, referring to the archaic speech at least Garion hoped that was what he was referring to. "Once you learn how to wrap your tongue around the 'haths,' and 'doths,' and 'forasmuches,' it has a certain ring and cadence to it, doesn't it?"
    "We're surrounded by charlatans, mother." Polgara sighed.
    "Belgarath," Durnik said seriously, "there's not much point in taking the horses, is there? What I mean is that we're going to be clambering over rocks and wading in surf when we get to the reef. Wouldn't the horses just be in the way?"
    "You're probably right, Durnik," the old man agreed.
    "I'll go down to the stables and talk with the grooms," the smith said. "The rest of you go on ahead. I'll catch up." He turned and left the room.
    "An eminently practical man," Poledra observed.
    "The poet, however, doth lurk beneath that most practical of exteriors, Mother " Polgara smiled " -and thou wouldst not believe how much pleasure I take in that aspect of him."
    "I think it's time for us to get off this island, Old Wolf," Poledra said wryly. "Two more days and they'll all be sitting around composing bad poetry."
    Servants arrived then to carry their packs to the harbor, and Garion and his companions trooped through the halls of the palace and out into the streets of Dal Perivor. Although the morning had dawned bright and sunny, a bank of heavy clouds had begun to build up off to the west, heavy, purple clouds that spoke eloquently of the likelihood of bad weather over Korim.
    "I suppose we should have known." Silk sighed. "Once-just once I'd like to see one of these stupendous events happen in good weather."
    Garion fully understood what lay behind the apparently tight-hearted banter. None of them approached tomorrow without a certain apprehension. The pronouncement Cyradis had made at Rheon that one of them would not survive the meeting lay heavily on each of their minds, and in the fashion as old as man himself, each tried to make light of his fears. That reminded him of something, and he dropped back to have a word with the Seeress of Kell. "Cyradis," he said to the blindfolded girl, "should Zakath and I wear our armor when we get to the reef?" He plucked at the front of the doublet he had put on with some relief that morning in the hope that he might never again be obliged to encase himself in steel. "What I'm getting at is that if the meeting is going to be entirely spiritual, there's no real need for it, is there? But if there's a possibility of some fighting, we should probably be prepared, shouldn't we?"
    "Thou art as transparent as glass, Belgarion of Riva," she said, chiding him gently, "Thou thinkest to trick answers from me to questions which I am forbidden to discuss with thee. Do as it