Mister Wolf scratched thoughtfully at his beard as he squinted at the shadows hovering in the trees around them.

"I have an uncle who lives not far from here," Lelldorin offered, "Count Reldegen. I'm sure he'll be glad to give us shelter."

"Thin?" Mister Wolf asked. "Dark hair?"

"It's gray now," Lelldorin replied. "Do you know him?"

"I haven't seen him for twenty years," Wolf told him. "As I recall, he used to be quite a hothead."

"Uncle Reldegen? You must have him confused with somebody else, Belgarath."

"Maybe," Wolf said. "How far is it to his house?"

"No more than a league and a half away."

"Let's go see him," Wolf decided.

Lelldorin shook his reins and moved into the lead to show them the way.

"How are you and your friend getting along?" Silk asked, falling in beside Garion.

"Fine, I suppose," Garion replied, not quite sure how the rat-faced little man intended the question. "It seems to be a little hard to explain things to him though."

"That's only natural," Silk observed. "He's an Arend, after all."

Garion quickly came to Lelldorin's defense. "He's honest and very brave."

"They all are. That's part of the problem."

"I like him," Garion asserted.

"So do I, Garion, but that doesn't keep me from realizing the truth about him."

"If you're trying to say something, why don't you just go ahead and say it?"

"All right, I will. Don't let friendship get the better of your good sense. Arendia's a very dangerous place, and Arends tend to blunder into disasters quite regularly. Don't let your exuberant young companion drag you into something that's none of your business." Silk's look was direct, and Garion realized that the little man was quite serious.

"I'll be careful," he promised.

"I knew I could count on you," Silk said gravely.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Would I do that, Garion?" Silk asked mockingly. Then he laughed and they rode on together through the gloomy afternoon.

The gray stone house of Count Reldegen was about a mile back in the forest from the highway, and it stood in the center of a clearing that extended beyond bowshot in every direction. Although it had no wall, it had somehow the look of a fort. The windows facing out were narrow and covered with iron gratings. Strong turrets surmounted by battlements stood at each corner, and the gate which opened into the central courtyard of the house was made of whole tree trunks, squared off and strapped together with iron bands. Garion stared at the brooding pile as they approached in the rapidly fading light. There was a kind of haughty ugliness about the house, a grim solidity that seemed to defy the world.

"It's not a very pleasant-looking sort of place, is it?" he said to Silk.

"Asturian architecture's a reflection of their society," Silk replied. "A strong house isn't a bad idea in a country where neighborhood disputes sometimes get out of hand."