"They're coming, father," Polgara told him.
"How far are they?"
"A mile or so."
"Let's work our way out to the edge of the thicket," Silk suggested to Garion. "I'd sort of like to keep an eye on things." He dropped to the ground and began to worm his way among the roots of the prickly brambles.
After a few yards, Garion began to mutter a few choice curses. No matter which way he twisted, the sharp thorns managed to find any number of sensitive spots.
"I don't want to interrupt your devotions," Silk whispered, "but it might be a good time for a fair amount of silence."
"Can you see anything?" Garion whispered back.
"Not yet, but you can hear them crashing around at the mouth of the ravine. Stealth is not a Mallorean's strong point."
Faintly from far down the ravine, Garion could hear several men talking. The sound, distorted by echoes bouncing off the twisting rock walls, came in odd bursts. Then there was a clatter of hooves on the rocks beside the tumbling brook as the Malloreans began their search of the narrow course.
There were a dozen or so soldiers in the party. They wore the usual red tunics and they rode their horses stiffly, like men who were not at all comfortable in the saddle.
"Did anybody ever say why we're looking for these people?" one of them asked, sounding a bit surly about it.
"You've been in the army long enough to know better than that, Brek," one of his companions replied. "They never tell you why. When an officer tells you to jump, you don't ask why. You just say, 'How far?'"
"Officers." Brek spat. "They get all the best of everything and they never do any work. Someday the ordinary soldiers like you and me are going to get sick of it, and then all those fine generals and captains had better look out."
"You're talking mutiny, Brek," his companion said, looking around nervously. "If the captain hears you, he'll have you crucified on the spot."
Brek scowled darkly. "Well, they'd better look out, that's all," he muttered. "A man can take being pushed around for just so long."
The red-clad soldiers rode directly through the campsite Garion and his friends had carefully obliterated and rode along the edge of the pond.
"Sergeant," Brek said in his complaining voice to the heavy man in the lead, "isn't it about time to stop and rest?"
"Brek," the sergeant replied, "sometime not too far off, I'd like to get through a day without hearing you whine about everything that happens."
"You don't have any reason to talk to me like that," Brek objected. "I follow my orders, don't I?"
"But you complain, Brek. I'm so sick of hearing you snivel about everything that happens that, about the next time you open your mouth, I'm going to bash in your teeth."
"I'm going to tell the captain what you just said," Brek threatened. "You heard what he told you about hitting us."
"How do you plan to make him understand you, Brek?" the sergeant asked ominously. "A man mumbles when he doesn't have any teeth, you know. Now, water your horse and keep your mouth shut."
Then a stern-faced man with iron-gray hair astride a raw-boned horse came cantering up the ravine and into the basin. "Any signs?" he demanded curtly.
The sergeant saluted. "Nothing at all, Captain," he reported.
The officer glanced around. "Did you look into that thicket?" he asked, pointing toward the place where Garion and the others were concealed.
"We were just about to, sir," the sergeant replied. "There aren't any tracks, though."
"Tracks can be brushed out. Have your men go look."
"Right away, Captain."
As the soldiers rode up to the thicket, the officer dismounted and led his horse to the pond to drink.
"Did the general say anything about why he wants these people captured, sir?" the sergeant asked, also dismounting.
"Nothing that concerns you, Sergeant."
The soldiers were riding around the thicket, making some show of peering through the brambles.
"Tell them to get off their horses, Sergeant," the captain said disgustedly. "I want that thicket thoroughly searched. That white-haired man back at the village said that the ones we're looking for would be in this part of the forest."
Garion muffled a sudden gasp. "Vard!" he whispered to Silk. "He told them exactly where to find us."
"So it would seem," Silk breathed back grimly. "Let's get back a little farther into the thicket. Those soldiers are likely to get a bit more serious about this now."
"The thicket's all thorn bushes, Captain," Brek shouted back his report. "We can't get in there at all."
"Use your spears," the captain ordered. "Poke around and see if you can flush anybody out."
The Mallorean troopers untied their spears from their saddles and began to stab them into the thicket.
"Keep down," Silk whispered.
Garion pressed himself closer to the ground, wincing as he found a fair number of thorns with his thighs.
"It's solid brambles, Captain," Brek shouted after several moments of probing. "Nobody could possibly be in there— not with horses."
"All right," the officer told him. "Mount up and come on back down here. We'll try the next ravine."
Garion carefully let out the breath he had been holding. "That was close," he breathed to Silk.
"Too close," Silk replied. "I think I'll have a talk with Vard about this."
"Why would he betray us like that?"
"That's one of the things we're going to talk about when I see him."
As the soldiers reached the pond, the captain swung back up into his saddle. "All right, Sergeant," he said, "form up your men, and let's move on."
Then, directly in front of him, there was a peculiar shimmering in the air, and Cyradis, robed and cowled, appeared.
The officer's startled horse reared, and the man kept his saddle only with difficulty. "Torak's teeth!" he swore. "Where did you come from?"
"That is of no moment," she replied. "I have come to aid thee in thy search."
"Look out, Captain!" Brek called warningly. "That's one of those Dalasian witches. She'll put a curse on you if you're not careful."
"Shut up, Brek," the sergeant snapped.
"Explain yourself, woman," the captain said imperiously. "Just what did you mean by that last remark?"