The sun had not come up yet when Sadi came back to their camp, moving very quietly and going from tent to tent with a whispering warning. "There's somebody out there," he warned after he had scratched on the flap of Garion's tent. Garion rolled out from under his blankets, his hand automatically reaching for his sword. He paused then. The old gold hunter had warned them against the shedding of blood. Was this the event for which they had been waiting? But were they supposed to obey the prohibition, or to step over it in response to some higher need? There was not time now to stand locked in indecision, however. Sword in hand, Garion rushed from the tent.

The light had that peculiar steely tint mat comes from a colorless sky before the sun rises. It cast no shadows and what lay beneath the broad-spread oaks was not so much darkness as it was a fainter light. Garion moved quickly, his feet avoiding almost on their own the windrows of years-old dead leaves and the fallen twigs and branches that littered the floor of this ancient forest.

Zakath stood atop the knoll, holding his sword. "Where are they?" Garion's voice was not so much a whisper as a breath.

"They were coming up from the south," Zakath whispered back.

"How many?"

"It's hard to say."

"Are they trying to sneak up on us?"

"It didn't really look that way. The ones we saw could have hidden back there among the trees, but they just came walking through the forest.'' Garion peered out into the growing light. And then he saw them. They were dressed all in white—robes or long smocks— and they made no attempts at concealment. Their movements were deliberate and seemed to have a placid, unhurried calm about them. They came in single file, each following the one in front at a distance of about ten yards. There was something hauntingly familiar about the way they moved through the forest.

"All they need are the torches," Silk said from directly behind Garion. The little man made no attempt to keep his voice down.

"Be still!" Zakath hissed.

"Why? They know we're here." Silk laughed a caustic little laugh. "Remember that time on the Isle of Verkat?" he said to Garion. "You and I spent a half hour or so crawling through me wet grass following Vard and his people, and I'm absolutely sure now that they knew we were there all the time. We could have just walked along behind them and saved ourselves all the discomfort."

"What are you talking about, Kheldar?" Zakath demanded in a hoarse whisper.

"This is another of Belgarath's repetitions." Silk shrugged. "Garion and I have been through it before.'' He sighed ruefully. "Life is going to get terribly boring if nothing new ever happens." Then he raised his voice to a shout. "We're over here," he called to the white-robed figures out in the forest.