It was evening when they reached the shepherds' encampment. Since a sheep camp is a more or less permanent thing, h is usually more well organized than the hasty encampments of travelers. The tents were larger, for one thing, and they were stretched over pole frames. The tents lined either side of a street made of logs laid tightly side by side. The corrals for the shepherds' horses were at the lower end of the street, and a log dam had backed up a mountain brook to form a sparkling little pond that provided water for the sheep and horses. The shadows of evening were settling over the little valley where the camp lay, and blue columns of smoke rose straight up from the cookfires into the calm and windless air.

A tall, lean fellow with a deeply tanned face, snowy white hair, and the simple white smock that seemed to be the common garb of these shepherds came out of one of the tents as Garion and Zakath reined in just outside the camp. "We have been advised of your coming," he said. His voice was very deep and quiet. "Will you share our evening meal with us?" Garion looked at him closely, noting his resemblance to Vard, the man whom they had met on the Isle of Verkat, half a world away. There could be no question now that the Dals and the slave race in Cthol Murgos were related.

"We would be honored,'' Zakath responded to the invitation. "We do not wish to impose, however."

"It is no imposition. I am Burk. I will have some of my men care for your mounts."

The others rode up and stopped.

"Welcome all," Burk greeted them. "Will you step down? The evening meal is almost ready, and we have set aside a tent for your use." He looked gravely at the she-wolf and inclined his head to her. It was evident that her presence did not alarm him.

"Your courtesy is most becoming," Polgara said, dismounting, "and your hospitality is quite unexpected this far from civilization."

"Man carries his civilization with him, Lady," Burk replied.

"We have an injured man with us," Sadi told him, "a poor traveler we came across on our way over the mountain. We gave him what aid we could, but our business is pressing, and I'm afraid our pace is aggravating his injuries."

"You may leave him with us, and we will care for him." Burk looked critically at the drugged priest slumped in his saddle. "A Grolim," denoted. "Is your destination perhaps Kell?"

"We have to stop there," Belgarath said cautiously.

"This Grolim would not be able to go with you then."

"We've heard about that," Silk said, swinging down from his horse. "Do they really go blind when they try to go to Kell? "