Aunt Pol pulled her horse over beside his and reached out to put her hand on his forehead.
"Don't touch me." Relg cringed away from her hand.
"Stop that," she told him. She briefly touched his face and looked at him closely. "He's coming down with a cold, father," she announced. "As soon as we get settled, I'll give him something for it. Why didn't you tell me?" she asked the fanatic.
"I will endure what UL chooses to send me," Relg declared. "It's his punishment for my sins."
"No," she told him flatly. "It has nothing to do with sin or punishment. It's a cold - nothing more."
"Am I going to die?" Relg asked calmly.
"Of course not. Haven't you ever had a cold before?"
"No. I've never been sick in my life."
"You won't be able to say that again," Silk said lightly, pulling a blanket out of one of the packs and handing it to him. "Wrap this around your shoulders and pull it up over your head. Try to look like you're suffering."
"I am," Relg said, starting to cough.
"But you have to look like it," Silk told him. "Think about sin - that ought to make you look miserable."
"I think about sin all the time," Relg replied, still coughing.
"I know," Silk said, "but try to think about it a little harder."
They rode down the hill toward the collection of tents with the dry, icy wind whipping at them as they rode. Very few of the assembled merchants were outside their tents, and those who were moved quickly about their tasks in the biting chill.
"We should stop by the resupply station first, I suppose," Silk suggested, gesturing toward the square stone building squatting among the tents. "That would look more natural. Let me handle things."
"Silk, you mangy Drasnian thief!" a coarse voice roared from a nearby tent.
Silk's eyes widened slightly, and then he grinned. "I seem to recognize the squeals of a certain Nadrak hog," he said, loud enough to be heard by the man in the tent.
A rangy Nadrak in a belted, ankle-length, black felt overcoat and a snug-fitting fur cap strode out of the tent. He had coarse, black hair and a thin, scraggly beard. His eyes had the peculiar angularity to them that was a characteristic of all Angaraks; but unlike the dead eyes of the Murgos, this Nadrak's eyes were alive with a kind of wary friendship. "Haven't they caught you yet, Silk?" he demanded raucously. "I was sure that by now someone would have peeled off your hide."
"Drunk as usual, I see." Silk grinned viciously. "How many days has it been this time, Yarblek?"
"Who counts?" The Nadrak laughed, swaying slightly on his feet. "What are you doing in Cthol Murgos, Silk? I thought your fat king needed you in Gar og Nadrak."
"I was getting to be a little too well-known on the streets of Yar Nadrak," Silk replied. "It was getting to the point that people were avoiding me."
"Now I wonder just why that could be," Yarblek retorted with heavy sarcasm. "You cheat at trade, you switch dice, you make free with other men's wives, and you're a spy. That shouldn't be any reason for men not to admire your good points - whatever they are."
"Your sense of humor's as overpowering as ever, Yarblek."
"It's my only failing," the slightly tipsy Nadrak admitted. "Get down off that horse, Silk. Come inside my tent and we'll get drunk together. Bring your friends." He lurched back inside the tent.
"An old acquaintance," Silk explained quickly, sliding out of his saddle.
"Can he be trusted?" Barak asked suspiciously.
"Not entirely, but he's all right. He's not a bad fellow, really - for a Nadrak. He'll know everything that's going on, and if he's drunk enough, we might be able to get some useful information out of him."
"Get in here, Silk," Yarblek roared from inside his gray felt tent.
"Let's see what he has to say," Belgarath said.
They all dismounted, tied their horses to a picket line at the side of the Nadrak's tent, and trooped inside. The tent was large, and the floor and walls were covered with thick crimson carpets. An oil lamp hung from the ridgepole, and an iron brazier shimmered out waves of heat.
Yarblek was sitting cross-legged on the carpeting at the back of the tent, with a large black keg conveniently beside him. "Come in. Come in," he said brusquely. "Close the flap. You're letting out all the heat."
"This is Yarblek," Silk said by way of introduction, "an adequate merchant and a notorious drunkard. We've known each other for a long time now."
"My tent is yours." Yarblek hiccuped indifferently. "It's not much of a tent, but it's yours anyway. There are cups over there in that pile of things by my saddle - some of them are even clean. Let's all have a drink."
"This is Mistress Pol, Yarblek," Silk introduced her.
"Good-looking woman," Yarblek observed, looking at her boldly. "Forgive me for not getting up, Mistress, but I feel a bit giddy at the moment - probably something I ate."
"Of course," she agreed with a dry little smile. "A man should always be careful about what he puts in his stomach."
"I've made that exact point myself a thousand times." He squinted at her as she pulled back her hood and unfastened her cape. "That's a remarkably handsome woman, Silk," he declared. "I don't suppose you'd care to sell her."
"You couldn't afford me, Yarblek," she told him without seeming to take the slightest offense.
Yarblek stared at her and then roared with laughter. "By One-Eye's nose, I'd bet that I couldn't, at that - and you've probably got a dagger somewhere under your clothes, too. You'd slice open my belly if I tried to steal you, wouldn't you?"
"Naturally."
"What a woman!" Yarblek chortled. "Can you dance, too?"
"Like you've never seen before, Yarblek," she replied. "I could turn your body to water."
Yarblek's eyes burned. "After we all get drunk, maybe you'll dance for us."
"We'll see," she said with a hint of promise. Garion was stunned at this uncharacteristic boldness. It was obviously the way Yarblek expected a woman to behave, but Garion wondered just when Aunt Pol had learned the customs of the Nadraks so well that she could respond without the slightest hint of embarrassment.
"This is Mister Wolf," Silk said, indicating Belgarath.
"Never mind names." Yarblek waved his hand. "I'd just forget them anyway." He did, however, look rather shrewdly at each of them. "As a matter of fact," he continued, sounding suddenly not nearly as drunk as he appeared, "it might be just as well if I didn't know your names. What a man doesn't know, he can't reveal, and you're too well-mixed a group to be in stinking Cthol Murgos on honest business. Fetch yourselves cups. This keg is almost full, and I've got another chilling out back of the tent."
At Silk's gesture, they each took a cup from the heap of cookware piled beside a well-worn saddle and joined Yarblek on the carpet near the keg.