Zubrette, of course, flirted outrageously with all three of them, and positively glowed when they glared at each other in her presence. Rundorig's duties in the fields kept him away most of the time, but Doroon was a serious worry to Garion. He became quite nervous and frequently found excuses to go about the compound to make certain that Doroon and Zubrette were not alone together.

His own campaign was charmingly simple—he resorted to bribery. Zubrette, like all little girls, was fond of sweets, and Garion had access to the entire kitchen. In a short period of time they had worked out an arrangement. Garion would steal sweets from the kitchen for his sunnyhaired playmate, and in return she would let him kiss her. Things might perhaps have gone further if Aunt Pol had not caught them in the midst of such an exchange one bright summer afternoon in the seclusion of the hay barn.

"That's quite enough of that," she announced firmly from the doorway.

Garion jumped guiltily away from Zubrette.

"I've got something in my eye," Zubrette lied quickly. "Garion was trying to get it out for me."

Garion stood blushing furiously.

"Really?" Aunt Pol said. "How interesting. Come with me, Garion."

"I-" he started.

"Now, Garion."

And that was the end of that. Garion's time thereafter was totally occupied in the kitchen, and Aunt Pol's eyes seemed to be on him every moment. He mooned about a great deal and worried desperately about Doroon, who now appeared hatefully smug, but Aunt Pol remained watchful, and Garion remained in the kitchen.

Chapter Five

IN MIDAUTUMN that year, when the leaves had turned and the wind had showered them down from the trees like red and gold snow, when evenings were chill and the smoke from the chimneys at Faldor's farm rose straight and blue toward the first cold stars in a purpling sky, Wolf returned. He came up the road one gusty afternoon under a lowering autumn sky with the new-fallen leaves tumbling about him and his great, dark cloak whipping in the wind.

Garion, who had been dumping kitchen slops to the pigs, saw his approach and ran to meet him. The old man seemed travel-stained and tired, and his face under his gray hood was grim. His usual demeanor of happy-go-lucky cheerfulness had been replaced by a somber mood Garion had never seen in him before.

"Garion," Wolf said by way of greeting. "You've grown, I see."

"It's been five years," Garion said.

"Has it been so long?"

Garion nodded, falling into step beside his friend.

"Is everyone well?" Wolf asked.

"Oh yes," Garion said. "Everything's the same here-except that Breldo got married and moved away, and the old brown cow died last summer."

"I remember the cow," Wolf said. Then he said, "I must speak with your Aunt Pol."

"She's not in a very good mood today," Garion warned. "It might be better if you rested in one of the barns. I can sneak some food and drink to you in a bit."

"We'll have to chance her mood," Wolf said. "What I have to say to her can't wait."

They entered the gate and crossed the courtyard to the kitchen door. Aunt Pol was waiting. "You again?" she said tartly, her hands on her hips. "My kitchen still hasn't recovered from your last visit."

"Mistress Pol," Wolf said, bowing. Then he did a strange thing. His fingers traced an intricate little design in the air in front of his chest. Garion was quite sure that he was not intended to see those gestures.

Aunt Pol's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, and her face became grim.

"How do you-" she started, then caught herself. "Garion," she said sharply, "I need some carrots. There are still some in the ground at the far end of the kitchen garden. Take a spade and a pail and fetch me some."

"But " he protested, and then, warned by her expression, he left quickly. He got a spade and pail from a nearby shed and then loitered near the kitchen door. Eavesdropping, of course, was not a nice habit and was considered the worst sort of bad manners in Sendaria, but Garion had long ago concluded that whenever he was sent away, the conversation was bound to be very interesting and would probably concern him rather intimately. He had wrestled briefly with his conscience about it; but, since he really saw no harm in the practice—as long as he didn't repeat anything he heard—conscience had lost to curiosity.

Garion's ears were very sharp, but it took him a moment or two to separate the two familiar voices from the other sounds in the kitchen.

"He will not leave you a trail," Aunt Pol was saying.

"He doesn't have to," Wolf replied. "The thing itself will make its trail known to me. I can follow it as easily as a fox can scent out the track of a rabbit."

"Where will he take it?" he asked.

"Who can say? His mind is closed to me. My guess is that he'll go north to Boktor. That's the shortest route to Gar og Nadrak. He'll know that I'll be after him, and he'll want to cross into the lands of the Angaraks as soon as possible. His theft won't be complete so long as he stays in the west."

"When did it happen?"

"Four weeks ago."

"He could already be in the Angarak kingdoms."

"That's not likely. The distances are great; but if he is, I'll have to follow him. I'll need your help."

"But how can I leave here?" Aunt Pol asked. "I have to watch over the boy."

Garion's curiosity was becoming almost unbearable. He edged closer to the kitchen door.

"The boy'll be safe enough here," Wolf said. "This is an urgent matter."

"No," Aunt Pol contradicted. "Even this place isn't safe. Last Erastide a Murgo and five Thulls came here. He posed as a merchant, but he asked a few too many questions—about an old man and a boy named Rundorig who had been seen in Upper Gralt some years ago. He may also have recognized me."

"It's more serious than I thought, then," Wolf said thoughtfully. "We'll have to move the boy. We can leave him with friends elsewhere."

"No," Aunt Pol disagreed again. "If I go with you, he'll have to go along. He's reaching an age where he has to be watched most carefully."

"Don't be foolish," Wolf said sharply.

Garion was stunned. Nobody talked to Aunt Pol that way.

"It's my decision to make," Aunt Pol said crisply. "We all agreed that he was to be in my care until he was grown. I won't go unless he goes with me."

Garion's heart leaped.

"Pol," Wolf said sharply, "think where we may have to go. You can't deliver the boy into those hands."

"He'd be safer in Cthol Murgos or in Mallorea itself than he would be here without me to watch him," Aunt Pol said. "Last spring I caught him in the barn with a girl about his own age. As I said, he needs watching."

Wolf laughed then, a rich, merry sound.

"Is that all?" he said. "You worry too much about such things."

"How would you like it if we returned and found him married and about to become a father?" Aunt Pol demanded acidly. "He'd make an excellent farmer, and what matter if we'd all have to wait a hundred years for the circumstances to be right again?"

"Surely it hasn't gone that far. They're only children."

"You're blind, Old Wolf," Aunt Pol said. "This is backcountry Sendaria, and the boy has been raised to do the proper and honorable thing. The girl is a bright-eyed little minx who's maturing much too rapidly for my comfort. Right now charming little Zubrette is a far greater danger than any Murgo could ever be. Either the boy goes along, or I won't go either. You have your responsibilities, and I have mine."

"There's no time to argue," Wolf said. "If it has to be this way, then so be it."

Garion almost choked with excitement. He felt only a passing, momentary pang at leaving Zubrette behind. He turned and looked exultantly up at the clouds scudding across the evening sky. And, because his back was turned, he did not see Aunt Pol approach through the kitchen door.