"He and Belgarath are coming downriver," Droblek reported. "As closely as I can make out, they should be here in a few days - a week at the most. The messenger isn't very coherent."

Aunt Pol looked at him inquiringly.

"Fever," Droblek explained. "The man's a Drasnian, so he's reliable - one of my agents at an upcountry trading post - but he's picked up one of the diseases that infest this stinking swamp. He's a little delirious just now. We hope we can break the fever in a day or so and get some sense out of him. I came as soon as I got the general idea of his message. I thought you'd want to know immediately."

"We appreciate your concern," Aunt Pol said.

"I'd have sent a servant," Droblek explained, "but messages sometimes go astray in Sthiss Tor, and servants sometimes get things twisted around." He grinned suddenly. "That's not the real reason, of course."

Aunt Pol smiled, "Of course not."

"A fat man tends to stay in one place and let others do his walking around for him. From the tone of King Rhodar's message, I gather that this business might be the most important thing happening in the world just now. I wanted to take part in it." He made a wry face. "We all lapse into childishness from time to time, I suppose."

"How serious is the condition of the messenger?" Aunt Pol asked.

Droblek shrugged. "Who can say? Half of these pestilential fevers in Nyissa don't even have names, and we can't really tell one from another. Sometimes people die very quickly from them; sometimes they linger for weeks. Now and then someone even recovers. About all we can do is make them comfortable and wait to see what happens."

"I'll come at once," Aunt Pol said, rising. "Durnik, would you get me the green bag from our packs? I'll need the herbs I have in it."

"It's not always a good idea to expose oneself to some of these fevers, my Lady," Droblek cautioned.

"I won't be in any danger," she said. "I want to question your messenger closely, and the only way I'll be able to get any answers from him is to rid him of his fever."

"Durnik and I'll come along," Barak offered.

She looked at him.

"It doesn't hurt to be on the safe side," the big man said, belting on his sword.

"If you wish." She put on her cloak and turned up the hood. "This may take most of the night," she told Greldik. "There are Grolims about, so have your sailors stay alert. Put a few of the more sober ones on watch."

"Sober, my Lady?" Greldik asked innocently.

"I've heard the singing coming from the crew's quarters, Captain," she said a bit primly, "Chereks don't sing unless they're drunk. Keep the lid on your ale-barrel tonight. Shall we go, Droblek?"

"At once, my Lady," the fat man assented with a sly look at Greldik.