"Please," Silk objected in an injured tone. "The name's very important. You hang the whole disguise on the name."

"I don't see any difference," Barak asserted bluntly.

"There's all the difference in the world. Surely you can see that Ambar's a vagabond with very little regard for ethics, while Radek's a man of substance whose word is good in all the commercial centers of the West. Besides, Radek's always accompanied by servants."

"Servants?" One of Aunt Pol's eyebrows shot up.

"Just for the sake of the disguise," Silk assured her quickly. "You, of course, could never be a servant, Lady Polgara."

"Thank you."

"No one would ever believe it. You'll be my sister instead, traveling with me to see the splendors of To1 Honeth."

"Your sister?"

"You could be my mother instead, if you prefer," Silk suggested blandly, "making a religious pilgrimage to Mar Terrin to atone for a colorful past."

Aunt Pol gazed steadily at the small man for a moment while he grinned impudently at her. "Someday your sense of humor's going to get you into a great deal of trouble, Prince Kheldar."

"I'm always in trouble, Lady Polgara. I wouldn't know how to act if I weren't."

"Do you two suppose we could get started?" Mister Wolf asked.

"Just a moment more," Silk replied. "If we meet anyone and have to explain things, you, Lelldorin, and Garion are Polgara's servants. Hettar, Barak, and Durnik are mine."

"Anything you say," Wolf agreed wearily.

"There are reasons."

"All right."

"Don't you want to hear them?"

"Not particularly."

Silk looked a bit hurt.

"Are we ready?" Wolf asked.

"Everything's out of the tower," Durnik told him. "Oh just a moment. I forgot to put out the fire." He went back inside.

Wolf glanced after the smith in exasperation. "What difference does it make?" he muttered. "This place is a ruin anyway."

"Leave him alone, father," Aunt Pol said placidly. "It's the way he is."

As they prepared to mount, Barak's horse, a large, sturdy gray, sighed and threw a reproachful look at Hettar, and the Algar chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Barak demanded suspiciously.

"The horse said something," Hettar replied. "Never mind."

Then they swung into their saddles and threaded their way out of the foggy ruins and along the narrow, muddy track that wound into the forest. Sodden snow lay under wet trees, and water dripped continually from the branches overhead. They all drew their cloaks about them to ward off the chill and dampness. Once they were under the trees, Lelldorin pulled his horse in beside Garion's, and they rode together.

"Is Prince Kheldar always so - well - extremely complicated?" he asked.

"Silk? Oh yes. He's very devious. You see, he's a spy, and disguises and clever lies are second nature to him."

"A spy? Really?" Lelldorin's eyes brightened as his imagination caught hold of the idea.