"Maybe they're just trying to help," Velvet suggested. Velvet had shocked them all when she had entered the cabin a half hour earlier. She wore tight-fitting leather clothing not unlike that normally worn by the Nadrak dancer, Vella. It was a peculiarly masculine garb and bleakly businesslike. "They've done a great deal to assist Zandramas. Maybe it's our turn to get a little help.”

"Is she right?" Garion asked the awareness that shared his mind. "Are you and your opposite helping us far a change?"

"Don't be silly, Garion. Nobody's been helping anybody. That's forbidden at this particular stage of the game.”

"Where did the fog come from then?"

"Where does fog usually come from?"

"How would I know ? "

"I didn't think so. Ask Beldin. He can probably tell you. The fog out there is perfectly natural.”

"Liselle," Garion said, "I just checked with my friend. The fog isn't the result of any playing around. It's a natural result of the storm."

"How disappointing," she said.

Ce'Nedra had risen that morning fully intent on wearing a Dryad tunic. Garion had adamantly rejected that idea, however. She wore instead a simple gray wool dress with no petticoats to hinder her movements. She was quite obviously stripped down for action. Garion was fairly certain that she had at least one knife concealed somewhere in her clothing. "Why don't we get started?" she demanded.

"Because it's still dark, dear," Polgara explained patiently. "We have to wait for at least a little bit of light." Polgara and her mother wore almost identical plain dresses, Polgara's gray and Poledra's brown.

"Garion," Poledra said then, "why don't you step down to the galley and tell them that we'll have breakfast now? We should all eat something, since I doubt that we'll have time or maybe even the need for lunch." Poledra sat at Belgarath's side, and the two of them were almost unconsciously holding hands. Garion was a bit offended at her suggestion. He was a king, after all, not an errand boy. Then he realized just how silly that particular thought was. He started to rise.

"I'll go, Garion," Eriond said. It was almost as if the blond young man had seen into his friend's thoughts. Eriond wore the same simple brown peasant clothes he always wore, and he had nothing even resembling a weapon.