spellsinger universe queen of sorcery 10

Lelldorin shrugged. "There are so many."

"And they all dress in rags and live on the edge of starvation."

"Mimbrate taxes," Lelldorin replied as if that explained everything.

"You seem to have always had enough to eat."

"I'm not a serf, Garion," Lelldorin answered patiently. "The poorest people always suffer the most. It's the way the world is."

"It doesn't have to be," Garion retorted.

"You just don't understand."

"No. And I never will."

"Naturally not," Lelldorin said with infuriating complacency. "You're not Arendish."

Garion clenched his teeth to hold back the obvious reply.

By late afternoon they had covered ten leagues, and the snow had

largely disappeared from the roadside. "Shouldn't we start to give some

thought to where we're going to spend the night, father?" Aunt Pol

suggested.

Mister Wolf scratched thoughtfully at his beard as he squinted at the shadows hovering in the trees around them.

"I have an uncle who lives not far from here," Lelldorin offered, "Count Reldegen. I'm sure he'll be glad to give us shelter."

"Thin?" Mister Wolf asked. "Dark hair?"

"It's gray now," Lelldorin replied. "Do you know him?"

"I haven't seen him for twenty years," Wolf told him. "As I recall, he used to be quite a hothead."

"Uncle Reldegen? You must have him confused with somebody else, Belgarath."

"Maybe," Wolf said. "How far is it to his house?"

"No more than a league and a half away."

"Let's go see him," Wolf decided.

Lelldorin shook his reins and moved into the lead to show them the way.

"How are you and your friend getting along?" Silk asked, falling in beside Garion.

"Fine, I suppose," Garion replied, not quite sure how the rat-faced

little man intended the question. "It seems to be a little hard to

explain things to him though."

"That's only natural," Silk observed. "He's an Arend, after all."

Garion quickly came to Lelldorin's defense. "He's honest and very brave."

"They all are. That's part of the problem."

"I like him," Garion asserted.

"So do I, Garion, but that doesn't keep me from realizing the truth about him."

"If you're trying to say something, why don't you just go ahead and say it?"

"All right, I will. Don't let friendship get the better of your good

sense. Arendia's a very dangerous place, and Arends tend to blunder into

disasters quite regularly. Don't let your exuberant young companion

drag you into something that's none of your business." Silk's look was

direct, and Garion realized that the little man was quite serious.

"I'll be careful," he promised.

"I knew I could count on you," Silk said gravely.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Would I do that, Garion?" Silk asked mockingly. Then he laughed and they rode on together through the gloomy afternoon.

The gray stone house of Count Reldegen was about a mile back in the

forest from the highway, and it stood in the center of a clearing that

extended beyond bowshot in every direction. Although it had no wall, it

had somehow the look of a fort. The windows facing out were narrow and

covered with iron gratings. Strong turrets surmounted by battlements

stood at each corner, and the gate which opened into the central

courtyard of the house was made of whole tree trunks, squared off and

strapped together with iron bands. Garion stared at the brooding pile as

they approached in the rapidly fading light. There was a kind of

haughty ugliness about the house, a grim solidity that seemed to defy

the world.

"It's not a very pleasant-looking sort of place, is it?" he said to Silk.

"Asturian architecture's a reflection of their society," Silk

replied. "A strong house isn't a bad idea in a country where

neighborhood disputes sometimes get out of hand."

"Are they all so afraid of each other?"

"Just cautious, Garion. Just cautious."

Lelldorin dismounted before the heavy gate and spoke to someone on

the other side through a small grill. There was finally a rattling of

chains and the grinding sound of heavy, iron-shod bars sliding back.

"I wouldn't make any quick moves once we're inside," Silk advised quietly. "There'll probably be archers watching us."

Garion looked at him sharply.

"A quaint custom of the region," Silk informed him.

They rode into a cobblestoned courtyard and dismounted.

Count Reldegen, when he appeared, was a tall, thin man with irongray

hair and beard who walked with the aid of a stout cane. He wore a rich

green doublet and black hose; despite the fact that he was in his own

house, he carried a sword at his side. He limped heavily down a broad

flight of stairs from the house to greet them.

"Uncle," Lelldorin said, bowing respectfully.

"Nephew," the count replied in polite acknowledgment.

"My friends and I found ourselves in the vicinity," Lelldorin stated, "and we thought we might impose on you for the night."

"You're always welcome, nephew," Reldegen answered with a kind of grave formality. "Have you dined yet?"

"No, uncle."

"Then you must all take supper with me. May I know your friends?"

Mister Wolf pushed back his hood and stepped forward. "You and I are already acquainted, Reldegen," he said.

The count's eyes widened. "Belgarath? Is it realy you?"

Wolf grinned. "Oh, yes. I'm still wandering about the world, stirring up mischief."

Reldegen laughed then and grasped Wolf's upper arm warmly. "Come

inside, all of you. Let's not stand about in the cold." He turned and

limped up the steps to the house.

"What happened to your leg?" Wolf asked him.

"An arrow in the knee." The count shrugged. "The result of an old disagreement - long since forgotten."

"As I recall, you used to get involved in quite a few of those. I

thought for a while that you intended to go through life with your sword

half drawn."

"I was an excitable youth," the count admitted, opening the broad

door at the top of the steps. He led them down a long hallway to a room

of imposing size with a large blazing fireplace at each end. Great

curving stone arches supported the ceiling. The floor was of polished

black stone, scattered with fur rugs, and the walls, arches, and ceiling

were whitewashed in gleaming contrast. Heavy, carved chairs of dark

brown wood sat here and there, and a great table with an iron candelabra

in its center stood near the fireplace at one end. A dozen or so

leather-bound books were scattered on its polished surface.