"Yes."
"Have you had it off at any time since I gave it to you?"
"Just once," Garion admitted. "When I took a bath in the Tolnedran hostel."
Wolf sighed. "You can't take it off," he said, "not ever - not for any reason. Take it out from under your tunic."
Garion drew out the silver pendant with the strange design on it. The old man took a medallion out from under his own tunic. It was very bright and there was upon it the figure of a standing wolf so lifelike that it looked almost ready to lope away.
Aunt Pol, her one arm still about Garion's shoulders, drew a similar amulet out of her bodice. Upon the disc of her medallion was the figure of an owl. "Hold it in your right hand, dear," she instructed, firmly closing Garion's fingers over the pendant. Then, holding her amulet in her own right hand, she placed her left hand over his closed fist. Wolf, also holding his talisman, put his hand on theirs.
Garion's palm began to tingle as if the pendant were suddenly alive. Mister Wolf and Aunt Pol looked at each other for a long moment, and the tingling in Garion's hand suddenly became very strong. His mind seemed to open, and strange things flickered before his eyes. He saw a round room very high up somewhere. A fire burned, but there was no wood in it. At a table there was seated an old man who looked somewhat like Mister Wolf but obviously was someone else. He seemed to be looking directly at Garion, and his eyes were kindly, even affectionate. Garion was suddenly overwhelmed with a consuming love for the old man.
"That should be enough," Wolf judged, releasing Garion's hand.
"Who was the old man?" Garion asked.
"My Master," Wolf replied.
"What happened?" Durnik asked, his face concerned.
"It's probably better not to talk about it," Aunt Pol said. "Do you think you could build a fire? It's time for breakfast."
"There are some trees over there where we can get out of the wind," Durnik suggested.
They all remounted and rode toward the trees.
After they had eaten, they sat by the small fire for a while. They were tired, and none of them felt quite up to facing the blustery morning again. Garion felt particularly exhausted, and he wished that he were young enough to sit close beside Aunt Pol and perhaps to put his head in her lap and sleep as he had done when he was very young. The strange thing that had happened made him feel very much alone and more than a little frightened. "Durnik," he said, more to drive the mood away than out of any real curiosity. "What sort of bird is that?" He pointed.
"A raven, I think," Durnik answered, looking at the bird circling above them.
"I thought so too," Garion said, "but they don't usually circle, do they?"
Durnik frowned. "Maybe it's watching something on the ground."
"How long has it been up there?" Wolf asked, squinting up at the large bird.
"I think I first saw it when we were crossing the field." Garion told him.
Mister Wolf glanced over at Aunt Pol. "What do you think?"
She looked up from one of Garion's stockings she had been mending. "I'll see." Her face took on a strange, probing expression.
Garion felt a peculiar tingling again. On an impulse he tried to push his own mind out toward the bird.
"Garion," Aunt Pol said without looking at him, "stop that."
"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly and pulled his mind back where it belonged.
Mister Wolf looked at him with a strange expression, then winked at him.
"It's Chamdar," Aunt Pol announced calmly. She carefully pushed her needle into the stocking and set it aside. Then she stood up and shook off her blue cloak.
"What have you got in mind?" Wolf asked.
"I think I'll go have a little chat with him," she replied, flexing her fingers like talons.
"You'd never catch him," Wolf told her. "Your feathers are too soft for this kind of wind. There's an easier way." The old man swept the windy sky with a searching gaze. "Over there." He pointed at a barely visible speck above the hills to the west. "You'd better do it, Pol. I don't get along with birds."
"Of course, father," she agreed. She looked intently at the speck, and Garion felt the tingle as she sent her mind out again. The speck began to circle, rising higher and higher until it disappeared.
The raven did not see the plummeting eagle until the last instant, just before the larger bird's talons struck. There was a sudden puff of black feathers, and the raven, screeching with fright, flapped wildly away with the eagle in pursuit.
"Nicely done, Pol," Wolf approved.
"It will give him something to think about." She smiled. "Don't stare, Durnik."
Durnik was gaping at her, his mouth open. "How did you do that?"
"Do you really want to know?" she asked.
Durnik shuddered and looked away quickly.
"I think that just about settles it," Wolf said. "Disguises are probably useless now. I'm not sure what Chamdar's up to, but he's going to be watching us every step of the way. We might as well arm ourselves and ride straight on to Vo Mimbre."
"Aren't we going to follow the trail anymore?" Barak asked.
"The trail goes south," Wolf replied. "I can pick it up again once we cross over into Tolnedra. But first I want to stop by and have a word with King Korodullin. There are some things he needs to know."
"Korodullin?" Durnik looked puzzled. "Wasn't that the name of the first Arendish king? It seems to me somebody told me that once."
"All Arendish kings are named Korodullin," Silk told him. "And the queens are all named Mayaserana. It's part of the fiction the royal family here maintains to keep the kingdom from flying apart. They have to marry as closely within the bloodline as possible to maintain the illusion of the unification of the houses of Mimbre and Asturia. It makes them all a bit sickly, but there's no help for it - considering the peculiar nature of Arendish politics."
"All right, Silk," Aunt Pol said reprovingly.
Mandorallen looked thoughtful. "Could it be that this Chamdar who so dogs our steps is one of great substance in the dark society of the Grolims?" he asked.
"He'd like to be," Wolf answered. "Zedar and Ctuchik are Torak's disciples, and Chamdar wants to be one as well. He's always been Ctuchik's agent, but he may believe that this is his chance to move up in the Grolim hierarchy. Ctuchik's very old, and he spends all his time in the temple of Torak at Rak Cthol. Maybe Chamdar thinks it's time that someone else became High Priest."