"Thou art a true and faithful friend, your Majesty," Garion said with genuine gratitude at being spared a morning of windy speeches. He clasped the king's hand warmly. "Know that if the Gods grant us victory on the morrow, we will return straightaway to this happy isle so that we may more fulsomely express our gratitude to thee and the members of thy court who have all treated us with such noble courtesy.” Besides, they had to come back for the horses anyway. "And now, your Majesty, our fate awaits us. We must, with scant and niggard farewell, take ship to go forth with resolute hearts to meet that fate. An it please the Gods, we shall return anon. Good-bye, my friend."

"Fare thee well, Belgarion of Riva," the king said in a voice near to tears. "May the Gods grant thee and thy companions victory."

"Pray that it may be so." Garion turned with a rather melodramatic swirl of his cloak and led his friends up the gangway. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Durnik pushing his way through the crowd. That would help. As soon as the smith was on board, Garion could give the order to cast off all lines and thus avoid the necessity of more extended farewells shouted across the ship's rail.

Directly behind Durnik came the several carts carrying their packs. Their belongings were quickly transferred to the ship, and Garion went aft to speak with the captain, a grizzled old seaman with a weathered face.

Unlike western vessels, whose bare plank decks were usually holystoned into some semblance of whiteness, the quarterdeck and its surrounding railings were finished with a dark, glossy varnish, and snowy ropes hung in neat coils from highly polished- belaying pins. The effect was almost ostentatiously neat, evidence that the vessel's master took great pride in his ship. The captain himself wore a somewhat weathered blue doublet. He was, after all, in port. A jaunty velvet cap was cocked rakishly over one of his ears.

"I guess that's everything, Captain," Garion said. "We may as well cast off and get clear of the harbor before the tide turns.”

"You've been to sea before, I see, young master," the captain said approvingly. "I hope your friends have, as well. It's always a trial to have landsmen aboard. They never seem to realize that throwing up into the wind isn't a good idea." He raised his voice to an ear-splitting bellow. "Cast off all lines! Prepare to make sail!"

"Your speech doesn't seem to be that of the island, Captain," Garion observed.

"I 'd be surprised if it were, young master. I 'm from the Melcene Islands. About twenty years ago, there were some ugly rumors about me being circulated in some quarters back home, so I thought it might be prudent to absent myself for a while. I came here. You wouldn't believe what these people were calling a ship when I got here."