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Eriond said as he pulled a large branch out from under a fallen tree. "The caves are nice enough, I suppose, but I like to be able to look at the sky."
    Garion felt very close to this open-faced young man. The experience they had shared in the cave had brought them even closer together and had focused an idea that had hovered on the edge of Garion's awareness for several years now. The fact that both he and Eriond had been raised by Aunt Pol and Durnik had made them in many respects very much tike brothers. He considered that as he bundled several large limbs together with a length of rope. He realized at the same time that he knew very little about Eriond and what might have happened to him before they had found him at Rak Cthol. "Eriond," he said curiously, "can you remember anything at all about where you lived before Zedar found you?"
    The young man looked up toward the sky, his eyes lost in thought. "It was in a city of some kind, I think," he replied. "I seem to remember streets—and shops."
    "Do you remember your mother at all?"
    "I don't think so. I don't remember living in any place for very long—or staying with the same people. It seems that I just used to go to a door, and people would take me inside and give me something to eat and a place to sleep." Garion felt a sudden sharp pang of sympathy. Eriond was as much—or even more—an orphan as he was himself, "Do you remember the day when Zedar found you?" he asked. Eriond nodded. "Yes," he replied, "quite clearly. It was cloudy, and there weren't any shadows, so I couldn't tell exactly what time of day it was. I met him in a very narrow street—an alley of some kind, I think. I remember that his eyes had a sort of injured look in them—as if something terrible had happened to him." He sighed. "Poor Zedar."
    "Did he ever talk to you?"
    "Not very often. About all he ever said was that he had an errand for me. He used to talk in his sleep once in a while, though. I remember that he used to say 'Master.' Sometimes when he said it, his voice would be full of love. Other times it was full of fear. It was almost as if he had two entirely different Masters."
    "He did. At first he was one of the disciples of Aldur. Then later, his Master was Torak."
    "Why do you suppose he did that, Belgarion? Changed Masters, I mean?"
    "I don't know, Eriond. I really don't know."
    Durnik had built a small fire in the center of the clearing, and Polgara, humming softly to herself, was setting out her pots and pans beside it. As Garion and Eriond began breaking the branches they had gathered into manageable lengths, Silk rode back down the hill to rejoin them. "You can see quite a way from up there," he reported as he swung down from his saddle. "We're about ten leagues above the high road from Muros."
    "Could you see the River Malerin?" Belgarath asked him.
    Silk shook his head. "Not the river itself," he replied, "but there's a fairly good-sized valley off to the south. I'd imagine that it runs through there."
    "I was fairly close then. How's the terrain look between here and the high road?"
    "We've got some rough going ahead of us," Silk told him. "It's steep, and the woods look pretty dense."
    "We'll have to make the best time we can. Once we get to the high road, we'll be all right."
    Silk made a sour face. "There's another problem, though," he said. "There's a storm coming in from the west."
    Durnik lifted his face to sniff at the frosty air and nodded. "Snow," he confirmed. "You can smell it coming."
    Silk gave him a disgusted look. "You had to say it, didn't you, Durnik?" he said almost accusingly.
    Durnik's look was slightly puzzled.
    "Didn't you know that talking about unpleasant things makes them happen?"
    "Silk, that's pure nonsense."
    The little man sniffed. "I know—but it's true all the same."
    The breakfast of bread, dried fruit, and bacon Aunt Pol prepared for them was simple, but there was more than enough to satisfy them all. When they had finished, they repacked,