"At once, your Majesty." The valet bowed and quietly left the room. Garion took up the dagger and the scrap of cloth and examined both rather closely. The dagger was just a commonplace knife, heavy, sturdily made and with a wirebound hilt. It bore no ornaments or identifying marks of any kind. Its tip was slightly bent, the result of its contact with the stone wall. Whoever had thrown it had thrown very hard. Garion developed a definitely uncomfortable sensation between his shoulder blades. The dagger would probably not be very useful. There were undoubtedly a hundred like it in the Citadel. The wool scrap, on the other hand, might prove to be very valuable. Somewhere in this fortress, there was a man with the corner of his cloak torn off. The torn cloak and this little piece of cloth would very likely match rather closely.

About a half an hour later Lelldorin arrived. "You sent for me, Garion?" he asked.

"Sit down, Lelldorin," Garion told his friend, then pointedly waited until the valet left the room. "I think I've got a little bit of a problem," he said then, sprawling deeper in the chair by the table. "I wondered if I might ask your help."

"You know you don't have to ask, Garion," the earnest young Asturian told him.

"This has to be just between the two of us," Garion cautioned. "I don't want anyone else to know."

"My word of honor on it," Lelldorin replied instantly.

Garion slid the dagger across the table to his friend. "A little while ago when I was on my way back here, somebody threw this at me."

Lelldorin gasped and his eyes went wide. "Treason?" he gasped. "Either that or something personal," Garion replied. "I don't know what it's all about."

"You must alert your guards," Lelldorin declared, jumping to his feet.

"No," Garion answered firmly. "If I do that, they'll lock me up entirely. I don't have very much freedom left at all, and I don't want to lose it."

"Did you see him at all?" Lelldorin asked, sitting down again and examining the dagger.

"Just his back. He was wearing one of those gray cloaks."

"All Rivan wear gray cloaks, Garion."

"We do have something to work with, though." Garion took the scrap of wool out from under his tunic. "After he threw the knife, he ran through a door and slammed it shut behind him. He caught his cloak in the door and this got ripped off."

Lelldorin examined the bit of cloth. "It looks like a corner," he noted.

"That's what I think, too," Garion agreed. "If we both keep our eyes open, we might just happen to see somebody with the corner of his cloak missing. Then, if we can get our hands on his cloak, we might be able to see if this piece matches."

Lelldorin nodded his agreement, his face hardening. "When we find him, though, I want to deal with him. A king isn't supposed to become personally involved in that sort of thing."