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elementary," he replied. "People are grateful for a bit of direction when they're confused. Let's move along, shall we?"
    There were other encounters during the long, cold, moonless night as they rode west. They were inescapable in view of the hordes of Murgos scouring the wasteland in search of them, but Silk handled each such meeting smoothly, and the night passed without significant incident.
    Toward morning the little man began artfully dropping various articles to mark their trail. "A bit overdone, perhaps," he said critically, looking at an old shoe he had just tossed into the hoof churned sand behind them.
    "What are you mumbling about?" Barak asked him.
    "Our trail," Silk replied. "We want them to follow us, remember? They're supposed to think we're headed toward Tolnedra."
    "So?"
    "I was just suggesting that this is a bit crude."
    "You worry too much about things like that."
    "It's a question of style, my dear Barak," Silk replied loftily. "Sloppy work tends to be habit-forming."
    As the first steel-gray light of dawn began to creep across the wintry sky, they took shelter among the boulders of one of the ridges that laced the floor of the wasteland. Durnik, Barak and Mandorallen stretched the canvas of their tents tautly over a narrow ravine on the west side of the ridge and sprinkled sand on top of it to disguise their makeshift shelter.
    "It's probably best not to build a fire," Durnik said to Polgara as they led their horses in under the canvas, "what with the smoke and all."
    She nodded her agreement. "We could all use a hot meal," she said, "but I suppose we'll have to wait."
    They ate a cold breakfast of bread and cheese and began to settle in, hoping to sleep out the day so that they could ride on the next night.
    "I could definitely use a bath," Silk said, brushing sand out of his hair.
    The little boy looked at nim, frowning slightly. Then he walked over and offered him the Orb. 'Errand'" he asked.
    Silk carefully put his hands behind his back and shook his head. "Is that the only word he knows?" he asked Polgara.
    "It seems to be," she replied.
    "I don't quite get the connection," Silk said. "What does he mean by it.
    "He's probably been told that he has an errand to run," she explained, "to steal the Orb. I imagine that Zedar's been telling him that over and over since he was a baby, and the word stuck in his mind."
    "It's a bit disconcerting." Silk was still holding his hands behind his back. "It seems oddly appropriate sometimes."
    "He doesn't appear to think the way we do," she told him. "The only purpose he has in life is to give the Orb to someone - anyone, it would seem." She frowned thoughtfully. "Durnik, why don't you see if you can make him some kind of pouch to carry it in, and we'll fasten it to his waist. Maybe if he doesn't have it right there in his hand all the time, he won't think about it so much."
    "Of course, Mistress Pol," Durnik agreed. "I should have thought of that myself." He went to one of the packs and took out an old, burnscarred leather apron and fashioned a pouch out of a wide piece of leather he cut from it. "Boy," he said when he had finished, "come here."
    The little boy was curiously examining a small, very dry bush at the upper end of the ravine and gave no indication that he knew the smith was calling him.
    "You-Errand!" Durnik said.
    The little boy looked around quickly and smiled as he went to Durnik.
    "Why did you call him that?" Silk asked curiously.
    Durnik shrugged. "He seems to be fond of the word and he answers to it. It will do for a name until we can find something more suitable, I suppose."
    "Errand?" the child asked, offering the Orb to Durnik.
    Durnik smiled at him, bent over and held the mouth of the pouch open. "Put it in here, Errand," he instructed, "and we'll tie it up all nice and safe so you won't lose it."
    The little boy delightedly deposited the Orb in the leather pouch. "Errand," he declared firmly.
    "I suppose so," Durnik agreed. He pulled the