Lelldorin half raised himself in the litter as if to respond hotly, but the sudden movement seemed to aggravate his injury, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

"His wounds are grave," Mandorallen stated. "Thy poultice, Lady Polgara, may not suffice to save his life."

"He needs rest," she told him. "Try not to agitate him so much."

"I will place myself beyond the reach of his eye," Mandorallen replied. "Through no fault of mine own, my visage is hateful to him and doth stir him to unhealthful choler." He moved his warhorse ahead at a canter until he was some distance in front of the rest of them.

"Do they all talk like that?" Garion asked with a certain rancor. "Thee's and thou's and cloth's?"

"Mimbrates tend to be very formal," Aunt Pol explained. "You'll get used to it."

"I think it sounds stupid," Garion muttered darkly, glaring after the knight.

"An example of good manners won't hurt you all that much, Garion."

They rode on through the dripping forest as evening settled among the trees.

"Aunt Pol?" Garion asked finally.

"Yes, dear?"

"What was that Grolim talking about when he said that about you and Torak?"

"It's something Torak said once when he was raving. The Grolims took it seriously, that's all." She pulled her blue cloak tighter about her.

"Doesn't it worry you?"

"Not particularly."

"What was that Prophecy the Grolim was talking about? I didn't understand any of that." The word "Prophecy" for some reason stirred something very deep in him.

"The Mrin Codex," she answered. "It's a very old version, and the writing's almost illegible. It mentions companions - the bear, the rat, and the man who will live twice. It's the only version that says anything about them. Nobody knows for certain that it really means anything."

"Grandfather thinks it does, doesn't he?"

"Your grandfather has a number of curious notions. Old things impress him - probably because he's so old himself."

Garion was going to ask her about this Prophecy that seemed to exist in more than one version, but Lelldorin moaned then and they both immediately turned to him.

They arrived shortly thereafter at a Tolnedran hostel with thick, whitewashed walls and a red tile roof. Aunt Pol saw to it that Lelldorin was placed in a warm room, and she spent the night sitting by his bed caring for him. Garion padded worriedly down the dark hallway in his stocking feet a half-dozen times before morning to check on his friend, but there seemed to be no change.

By daybreak the rain had let up. They started out in the grayish dawn with Mandorallen still riding some distance ahead until they reached at last the edge of the dark forest and saw before them the vast, open expanse of the Arendish central plain, dun-colored and sere in the last few weeks of winter. The knight stopped there and waited for them to join him, his face somber.

"What's the trouble?" Silk asked him.