"Grow up," she ordered bluntly. Then she turned on Garion, her eyes blazing and the white lock at her brow like a streak of fire. "You idiot! You refuse any kind of instruction, and then you burst out like a raging bull. Have you the slightest conception of what an uproar translocation causes? You've alerted every Grolim in Sthiss Tor to the fact that we're here."

"He was dying," Garion protested, gesturing helplessly at the slave lying on the wharf. "I had to do something."

"He was dead as soon as he hit the water," she said flatly. "Look at him."

The slave had stiffened into an arched posture of mortal agony, his head twisted back and his mouth agape. He was obviously dead.

"What happened to him?" Garion asked, feeling suddenly sick.

"The leeches are poisonous. Their bites paralyze their victims so that they can feed on them undisturbed. The bites stopped his heart. You exposed us to the Grolims for the sake of a dead man."

"He wasn't dead when I did it!" Garion shouted at her. "He was screaming for help." He was angrier than he had ever been in his life.

"He was beyond help." Her voice was cold, even brutal.

"What kind of monster are you?" he asked from between clenched teeth. "Don't you have any feelings? You'd have just let him die, wouldn't you?"

"I don't think this is the time or place to discuss it."

"No! This is the time-right now, Aunt Pol. You're not even human, did you know that? You left being human behind so long ago that you can't even remember where you lost it. You're four thousand years old. Our whole lives go by while you blink your eyes. We're just an entertainment for you - an hour's diversion. You manipulate us like puppets for your own amusement. Well, I'm tired of being manipulated. You and I are finished!"

It probably went further than he'd intended, but his anger had finally run away with him, and the words seemed to rush out before he could stop them.