"You're an Asturian," Garion told him. "You'd give somebody your life out of friendship. Nachak's a Murgo, though, and I've never heard that they were all that generous. What it comes down to, then, is that a stranger tells you that the king's planning to take your land. Then he gives you a plan to kill the king and start a war with Tolnedra; and to make sure you succeed with his plan, he gives you money. Is that about it.

Lelldorin nodded mutely, his eyes stricken.

"Weren't any of you just the least bit suspicious?"

Lelldorin seemed almost about to cry.

"It's such a good plan," he burst out finally. "It couldn't help but succeed."

"That's what makes it so dangerous," Garion replied.

"Garion, what am I going to do?" Lelldorin's voice was anguished.

"I don't think there's anything you can do right now," Garion told him. "Maybe later, after we've had time to think about it, we'll come up with something. If we can't, we can always tell my grandfather about it. He'll think of a way to stop it."

"We can't tell anybody," Lelldorin reminded him. "We're pledged to silence."

"We might have to break that pledge," Garion said somewhat reluctantly. "I don't see that either of us owes that Murgo anything, but it's going to have to be up to you. I won't say anything to anybody without your permission."

"You decide," Lelldorin pleaded then. "I can't do it, Garion."

"You're going to have to," Garion told him. "I'm sure that if you think about it, you'll see why."

They reached the Great West Road then, and Barak led them south at a brisk trot, cutting off the possibility of further discussion.

A league or so down the road they passed a muddy village, a dozen or so turf roofed huts with walls made of wattles plastered over with mud. The fields around the village were dotted with tree stumps, and a few scrawny cows grazed near the edge of the forest. Garion could not control his indignation as he looked at the misery implicit in the crude collection of hovels.

"Lelldorin," he said sharply, "look!"

"What? Where?" The blond young man came out of his troubled preoccupation quickly as if expecting some danger.

"The village," Garion told him. "Look at it."

"It's only a serfs' village," Lelldorin said indifferently. "I've seen hundreds like it." He seemed ready to return to his own inner turmoil.

"In Sendaria we wouldn't keep pigs in places like that." Garion's voice rang with fervor. If he could only make his friend see!

Two ragged serfs were dispiritedly hacking chunks of firewood from one of the stumps near the road. As the party approached, they dropped their axes and bolted in terror for the forest.

"Does it make you proud, Lelldorin?" Garion demanded. "Does it make you feel good to know that your own countrymen are so afraid of you that they run from the very sight of you?"