Pawn of Prophecy by David Eddings

them a man so huge that Garion's mind simply refused to accept the possibility that he was real. His tree-trunk sized legs were wrapped in furs cross-tied with leather thongs, and he wore a chain-mail shirt that reached to his knees, belted at the waist. From the belt hung a ponderous sword on one side and a short-handled axe on the other. His hair was in braids, and he had a vast, bristling red beard.
    As they came into the light, Garion was able to see the man who had captured him. He was a small man, scarcely taller than Garion himself, and his face was dominated by a long pointed nose. His eyes were small and squinted, and his straight, black hair was raggedly cut. The face was not the sort to inspire confidence, and the man's stained and patched tunic and short, wicked-looking sword did little to contradict the implications of the face.
    "Here's our rabbit," the small, weasel-like man announced as he pulled Garion into the circle of the firelight. "And a merry chase he led me, too."
    Aunt Pol was furious.
    "Don't you ever do that again," she said sternly to Garion.
    "Not so quick, Mistress Pol," Wolf said. "It's better for him to run than to fight just yet. Until he's bigger, his feet are his best friends."
    "Have we been captured by robbers?" Garion asked in a quavering voice.
    "Robbers?" Wolf laughed. "What a wild imagination you have, boy. These two are our friends."
    "Friends?" Garion asked doubtfully, looking suspiciously at the redbearded giant and the weasel-faced man beside him. "Are you sure?" The giant laughed then too, his voice rumbling like an earthquake.
    "The boy seems mistrustful," he boomed. "Your face must have warned him, friend Silk."
    The smaller man looked sourly at his burly companion.
    "This is Garion," Wolf said, pointing at the boy. "You already know Mistress Pol." His voice seemed to stress Aunt Pol's name. "And this is Durnik, a brave smith who has decided to accompany us."
    "Mistress Pol?" the smaller man said, laughing suddenly for no apparent reason.
    "I am known so," Aunt Pol said pointedly.
    "It shall be my pleasure to call you so then, great lady," the small man said with a mocking bow.
    "Our large friend here is Barak," Wolf went on. "He's useful to have around when there's trouble. As you can see, he's not a Sendar, but a Cherek from Val Alorn."
    Garion had never seen a Cherek before, and the fearful tales of their prowess in battle became suddenly quite believable in the presence of the towering Barak.
    "And I," the small man said with one hand to his chest, "am called Silk - not much of a name, I'll admit, but one which suits me - and I am from Boktor in Drasnia. I am a juggler and an acrobat."
    "And also a thief and a spy," Barak rumbled good-naturedly.
    "We all have our faults," Silk admitted blandly, scratching at his scraggly whiskers.
    "And I'm called Mister Wolf in this particular time and place," the old man said. "I'm rather fond of the name, since the boy there gave it to me."
    "Mister Wolf?" Silk asked, and then he laughed again. "What a merry name for you, old friend."
    "I'm delighted that you find it so, old friend," Wolf said flatly. "Mister Wolf it shall be, then," Silk said. "Come to the fire, friends. Warm yourselves, and I'll see to some food."
    Garion was still uncertain about the oddly matched pair. They obviously knew Aunt Pol and Mister Wolf - and just as obviously by different names. The fact that Aunt Pol might not be whom he had always thought she was was very disturbing. One of the foundation stones of his entire life had just disappeared.
    The food which Silk brought was rough, a turnip stew with thick chunks of meat floating in it and crudely hacked off slabs of bread, but Garion, amazed at the size of his appetite, fell into it as if he had not eaten for days.
    And then, his stomach full and his feet warmed by the crackling campfire, he sat on a log, half dozing.
    "What now, Old Wolf?" he heard Aunt Pol ask. "What's the idea behind these clumsy wagons?"
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