"A league or so from the east bank. It's at the foot of a very big mountain. I'd be careful, though. Kell's got a very peculiar reputation. The seers live there, and they don't particularly welcome strangers."

"We'll have to chance it," Barak said. "Thanks for your help, friend. We'll give Kheldar your regards when we catch up with him."

They set out downriver the following morning. There was enough of a breeze so that the sails were able to aid the oarsmen, and they made excellent time. It was shortly before noon when they heard a number of cracking detonations coming from somewhere just ahead.

"Methinks we will encounter a storm ere long," Mandorallen said.

Barak frowned. "The sky's perfectly clear, Mandorallen," he disagreed, "and that doesn't sound exactly right for thunder." He raised his voice. "Ship oars and lower the sail," he commanded his sailors, swinging his tiller over sharply so that Seabird coasted to the bank.

Hettar, Relg, and Lelldorin came up from below. "Why are we stopping?” Hettar asked.

"There's something peculiar going on just up ahead," Barak replied. "I think we'd better go have a look before we blunder into anything."

"You want me to get the horses?"

"I don't think so. It's not very far, and men on horseback are kind of conspicuous.”

"You're starting to sound like Silk."

"We’ve been together for quite a while. Unrak!" he shouted to his son, who had been riding in the bow. "We're going to go see what that noise is all about. You're in charge here until we get back."

"But, father!" the red-haired boy protested.

"That's an order, Unrak!" Barak thundered.

"Yes, sir." Unrak sounded slightly sullen.

The Seabird swung slowly around in the current and bumped gently against the brush-covered riverbank. Barak and the others jumped from the rail to the bank and started cautiously inland.

There were more of those strange detonations that did not sound exactly like thunder.

"Whatever it is, it's coming from just up ahead," Hettar said quietly.

"Let's stay out of sight until we find out what's going on," Barak said. "We've heard that kind of sound before at Rak Cthol when Belgarath and Ctuchik were fighting."

"Sorcerers, thinkest thou?" Mandorallen suggested.

"I'm not positive, but I'm beginning to have some strong suspicions in that direction. I think we'd better stay under cover until we can see just who or what is out there."

They crept to the edge of a clump of scrubby trees and looked out at an open field.

A number of black-robed figures lay smoking on the turf. Others huddled fearfully near the edge of the field.

"Murgos?" Hettar sounded startled.

"Methinks not, my Lord," Mandorallen said. "If thou wilt look closely, thou wilt see that the hoods of their cloaks are lined in diverse colors. Those colors do indicate rank among the Grolims. Thou wert wise, my Lord of Trellheim, to advise caution."

"What's making them smoke like that?" Lelldorin whispered, nervously fingering his bow.