"That's what worries me. If she had to follow us, wouldn't it be logical for her to have ringed this forest with troops and Grolims to find out which way we were going?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Well, there's no army out there—only a few patrols, and they're just going through the motions."

Belgarath frowned. "What's she up to?"

"My point exactly. I'd guess that she's got a surprise in store for us somewhere."

"Keep your eyes open, then. I don't want her slipping up behind me."

"It might simplify things if she did."

"I doubt it. Nothing about this entire affair has been simple, and I don't expect things to change at this stage."

"I'll go scout ahead." The dwarf blurred and soared away.

They made their encampment that evening beside a spring that gushed out of an outcropping of moss-covered rock. Belgarath seemed moody and out of sorts, so the rest of them avoided him as they worked at tasks they had repeated so many times that they had become habitual.

"You're very quiet this evening," Garion said to Ce'Nedra as they sat by the fire after supper. "What's the matter?"

"I just don't feel like talking." The peculiar lethargy that had come over the little queen had not diminished as the day wore on, and she had actually found herself dozing in her saddle several times during the late afternoon.

"You look tired," he observed.

"I am, a bit. We've been traveling for a long time now. I think it might be starting to catch up with me."

"Why don't you go to bed then? You'll feel better after a good night's sleep."

She yawned and held out her arms to him. "Carry me," she said.

He looked startled. Ce'Nedra enjoyed startling her husband. His face always looked so wide-eyed and boyish. "Aren't you feeling well?" he asked.

"I'm fine, Garion. I'm just sleepy, and I want to be babied a bit. Carry me to the tent, put me to bed, and tuck me in."

"Well, if that's what you want . . ." He rose, picked her up easily, and carried her across the encampment to their tent.

"Garion," she murmured drowsily after he had gently drawn their blankets up around her shoulders.

"Yes, dear?"

"Please don't wear your mail shirt when you come to bed. It makes you smell like an old iron pot."