"What do we do?" Garion whispered.

"We go inside," Belgarath replied, stepping out of the boat onto the island.

Garion was not sure what to expect as he and Silk followed the old man up the path toward the dripping willows, but he was totally unprepared for the neat, thatch-roofed cottage with its small adjoining garden. The house was built of weathered logs, tightly chinked with moss, and a wispy tendril of smoke drifted from its chimney.

At the doorway, the woman in brown carefully wiped her feet on a rush mat and shook the rain out of her cloak. Then she opened the door and went inside without looking back.

Silk's expression was dubious as he stopped outside the cottage. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Belgarath?" he asked quietly. "I've heard stories about Vordai."

"It's the only way to find out what she wants," Belgarath told him, "and I'm fairly sure we aren't going any farther until we talk with her. Let's go in. Be sure to wipe your feet."

The interior of Vordai's cottage was scrupulously neat. The ceilings were low and heavily beamed. The wooden floor was scrubbed to whiteness, and a table and chairs sat before an arched fireplace where a pot hung in the flames from an iron arm. There were wildflowers in a vase on the table and curtains at the window overlooking the garden.

"Why don't you introduce your friends to me, Belgarath?" the woman suggested, hanging her cloak on a peg. She smoothed the front of her plain brown dress.

"As you wish, Vordai," the old man replied politely. "This is Prince Kheldar, your countryman. And this is King Belgarion of Riva."

"Noble guests," the woman observed in that strangely neutral voice. "Welcome to the house of Vordai."

"Forgive me, madame," Silk said in his most courtly manner, "but your reputation seems to be grossly inaccurate."

"Vordai, the witch of the fens?" she asked, looking amused. "Do they still call me that?"

He smiled in return. "Their descriptions are misleading, to say the least."

"The hag of the swamps." She mimicked the speech of a credulous peasant. "Drowner of travellers and queen of the fenlings." There was a bitter twist to her lips.

"That's more or less what they say," he told her. "I always believed you were a myth conjured up to frighten unruly children."

"Vordai will get you and gobble you up!" She laughed, but there was no humor in her laughter. "I've been hearing that for generations. Take off your cloaks, gentlemen. Sit down and make yourselves comfortable. You'll be staying for a while."

One of the fenlings - the one who had led them to the island, Garion thought - chattered at her in a piping little voice, glancing nervously at the pot hanging in the fire.