One blond girl particularly attracted his eye. In some ways she reminded him of Zubrette, but there were some differences. Where Zubrette had been petite, this girl was as big as a boy - though she was noticeably not a boy. Her laughter rang out merrily, and her cheeks were pink in the cold afternoon air as she slid down the hill with her long braids flying behind her.
"That looks like fun," Garion said as her improvised sled came to rest nearby.
"Would you like to try?" she asked, getting up and brushing the snow from her woolen dress.
"I don't have a sled," he told her.
"I might let you use mine," she said, looking at him archly, "if you give me something."
"What would you want me to give you?" he asked.
"We'll think of something," she said, eyeing him boldly. "What's your name?"
"Garion," he said.
"What an odd name. Do you come from here?"
"No. I'm from Sendaria."
"A Sendar? Truly?" Her blue eyes twinkled. "I've never met a Sendar before. My name is Maidee."
Garion inclined his head slightly.
"Do you want to use my sled?" Maidee asked.
"I might like to try it," Garion said.
"I might let you," she said, "for a kiss."
Garion blushed furiously, and Maidee laughed.
A large red-haired boy in a long tunic slid to a stop nearby and rose with a menacing look on his face.
"Maidee, come away from there," he ordered.
"What if I don't want to?" she asked.
The red-haired boy swaggered toward Garion.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"I was talking with Maidee," Garion said.
"Who gave you permission?" the red-haired boy asked. He was a bit taller than Garion and somewhat heavier.
"I didn't bother to ask permission," Garion said.
The red-haired boy glowered, flexing his muscles threateningly.
"I can thrash you if I like," he announced.
Garion realized that the redhead was feeling belligerent and that a fight was inevitable. The preliminaries-threats, insults and the likewould probably go on for several more minutes, but the fight would take place as soon as the boy in the long tunic had worked himself up to it. Garion decided not to wait. He doubled his fist and punched the larger boy in the nose.
The blow was a good one, and the redhead stumbled back and sat down heavily in the snow. He raised one hand to his nose and brought it away bright red.
"It's bleeding!" he wailed accusingly. "You made my nose bleed."
"It'll stop in a few minutes," Garion said.
"What if it doesn't?"
"Nose bleeds don't last forever," Garion told him.
"Why did you hit me?" the redhead demanded tearfully, wiping his nose. "I didn't do anything to you."
"You were going to," Garion said. "Put snow on it, and don't be such a baby."
"It's still bleeding," the boy said.
"Put snow on it," Garion said again.
"What if it doesn't stop bleeding?"
"Then you'll probably bleed to death," Garion said in a heartless tone. It was a trick he had learned from Aunt Pol. It worked as well on the Cherek boy as it had on Doroon and Rundorig. The redhead blinked at him and then took a large handful of snow and held it to his nose.
"Are all Sendars so cruel?" Maidee asked.
"I don't know all the people in Sendaria," Garion said. The affair hadn't turned out well at all, and regretfully he turned and started back toward the shipyard.
"Garion, wait," Maidee said. She ran after him and caught him by the arm. "You forgot my kiss," she said, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips.
"There," she said, and she turned and ran laughing back up the hill, her blond braids flying behind her.
Barak, Silk and Durnik were all laughing when he returned to where they stood.
"You were supposed to chase her," Barak said.
"What for?" Garion asked, flushing at their laughter.
"She wanted you to catch her."
"I don't understand."
"Barak," Silk said, "I think that one of us is going to have to inform the Lady Polgara that our Garion needs some further education."
"You're skilled with words, Silk," Barak said. "I'm sure you ought to be the one to tell her."
"Why don't we throw dice for the privilege?" Silk suggested.
"I've seen you throw dice before, Silk." Barak laughed.
"Of course we could simply stay here a while longer," Silk said slyly. "I rather imagine that Garion's new playmate would be quite happy to complete his education, and that way we wouldn't have to bother Lady Polgara about it."
Garion's ears were flaming. "I'm not as stupid as all that," he said hotly. "I know what you're talking about, and you don't have to say anything to Aunt Pol about it." He stamped away angrily, kicking at the snow.
After Barak had talked for a while longer with his shipbuilder and the harbor had begun to darken with the approach of evening, they started back toward the palace. Garion sulked along behind, still offended by their laughter. The clouds which had hung overhead since their arrival in Val Alorn had begun to tatter, and patches of clear sky began to appear. Here and there single stars twinkled as evening slowly settled in the snowy streets. The soft light of candles began to glow in the windows of the houses, and the few people left in the streets hurried to get home before dark.
Garion, still loitering behind, saw two men entering a wide door beneath a crude sign depicting a cluster of grapes. One of them was the sandy-bearded man in the green cloak that he had seen in the palace the night before. The other man wore a dark hood, and Garion felt a familiar tingle of recognition. Even though he couldn't see the hooded man's face, there was no need of that. They had looked at each other too often for there to be any doubt. As always before, Garion felt that peculiar restraint, almost like a ghostly finger touching his lips. The hooded man was Asharak, and, though the Murgo's presence here was very important, it was for some reason impossible for Garion to speak of it. He watched the two men only for a moment and then hurried to catch up with his friends. He struggled with the compulsion that froze his tongue, and then tried another approach.
"Barak," he asked, "are there many Murgos in Val Alorn?"
"There aren't any Murgos in Cherek," Barak said. "Angaraks aren't allowed in the kingdom on pain of death. It's our oldest law. It was laid down by old Cherek Bear-shoulders himself. Why do you ask?"