ONE

 QUENTIN STOOD at the high parapet overlooking the tranquil forest. His

 eyes scanned the gently lifting hills clothed in their greens of early

 summer, all softened in the golden afternoon light by the gathering

 mists of evening. At his hand upon the cool stone balustrade a thin

 parchment roll fluttered in the easy breeze. At his feet lay a leather

 case from which he had drawn the scroll to read only moments before.

 The case bore the royal insignia he knew so well: the terrible,

 twisting red dragon of the Dragon King.

 The warmth of the later afternoon sun splashed full on his face, and

 yet Quentin fell a chill creeping through him. He sighed a heavy sigh

 and hung his head, shaking it slowly from side to side. Hearing a

 rustle behind him and the brushing tread of a soft foot on the stone,

 he turned to see Toll gliding up.

 The tall young man settled, himself easily on the edge of the parapet

 and crossed his arms over his chest. He regarded Quentin with a

 quizzical brown eye and breathed the clean, fresh air deep into his

 lungs. "Listen," he said, holding his head to one side. "It is the

 sound of the earth at peace."

 Quentin listened and heard the faraway chirp of birds as they flittered

 among the whirtle berries, the breeze nudging the leaves, voices

 murmuring in a courtyard somewhere below.

 "They told me a rider from Askelon had arrived with a message for you.

 I thought to come and see if my master required anything."

 Quentin looked at his friend and smiled. "You mean curiosity moved you

 from your beloved stables. Yes, a message from the King." He picked

 up the parchment and handed it to Toll, who began to read.

 Presently Toli's head came up, and his eyes found Quentin's studying

 him. "This does not say what the trouble is."

 "No, but it is not a request for a friendly visit. There is some need

 behind it, and some urgency. If it were but a small thing Eskevar

 would have waited. We're due to travel back to Askelon in a few weeks

 anyway...."

 "And this recommends that we leave right away. Yes, I see. But there

 is something else?" Toll's sharp eyes appraised Quentin, who stiffened

 and turned away from their piercing gaze.

 "What makes you say that?"

 Toll laughed softly. "Only that I know my Kenta very well. You would

 not look so if you had not a suspicion of what lay behind this innocent

 summons."

 "Innocent?" He fingered the leather case that he had stooped to

 retrieve. "But you're right, Toli. I am afraid a little. Something

 came over me as I read that message a feeling of deep sadness, of

 loss...."

 Toli watched Quentin closely and waited for him to continue.

 "I'm afraid that if we go to Askelon now, we will never come back to

 Dekra again."

 "You saw this?"

 Quentin only shook his head.

 "Well, then it may not be. Your feelings may only be a warning of what

 may come if we do not go at once."

 Quentin smiled again; this time a flicker of relief shone in his eyes.

 "Yes, perhaps you are right. As usual the servant has rescued his

 master from himself.

 "We can leave tonight. It will be good to sleep on the trail again. We

 have not done that in a long time, you and I."

 "We shall, but not tonight. Have you forgotten that tonight we dine

 with Yeseph? If I am not mistaken, we have only enough time to prepare

 ourselves and go to his house. He will be waiting."

 "We will leave at dawn instead," said Quentin.

 "So be it," said Toli, inclining his head in a slight bow. "I will see

 to our preparations when we have supped with Yeseph and the

 Elders."

 Quentin nodded and took the rolled parchment which Toli offered him,

 then slid it back into its case as they turned and walked back into

 Quentin's rooms.

 The two dressed themselves in their finest woolen mantles and stuffed

 their feet into fine leather boots and set off for Yeseph's humble

 lodgings.

 Yeseph lived in a quarter of the mined city near the library. As they

 walked along together, Quentin looked upon the home he had come to

 love. His eyes, long ago accustomed to the tumbled structures that

 still met his gaze on every side, seemed not to notice the destruction,

 but instead saw it all the way it had been in the time of the mighty

 Ariga.

 In his mind he saw stones lifted back into place one upon another;

 arches reconstructed with their colorful tiles, and beautifully carved

 doors thrown wide in welcome; courtyards once again abloom with

 flowering plants; streets echoing with laughter and song. He saw it

 all as he imagined it had been. Quentin always experienced the same

 magical sensation when he moved about the city. In the ten years he

 had lived in Dekra, he never lost the rapture it held for him, or the

 feeling that he belonged there, that Dekra was his home as was none

 other he would ever find.

 "It will be once again," said Toli as they moved along the quiet

 streets, over stones worn smooth with time.

 "What will be?" asked Quentin absently.

 "This city. It will be again what it once was: the way you see it in

 your head."

 "Do you think so?"

 "Don't you?"

 "I believe that it will. I want to believe it. Though it seems

 sometimes that the work goes so slowly. There is so much to be done.

 We could use more hands."

 "But look how much has been accomplished since we came here. And every

 year our numbers grow. Whist Orren blesses our efforts with his

 own."

 It was true. The work of restoring the ancient city and populating it

 with people who shared the dream of rebuilding it to its former glory,

 of studying the ways of the Ariga and their god that was going on at a

 fine pace. Much had been done in ten years' time.

 The work of a lifetime, however, still remained. And that was what

 pricked Quentin's impatience.

 They met Quentin's stooped old teacher where he stood waiting for them

 at the gate of his courtyard. His face beamed when be saw the two

 young men striding up. "Hello!  Hello, my friends!" cried Yeseph,

 running out to meet them. "I have been wailing for you, You are the

 first to arrive. I was hoping that would be the case. I wanted to

 talk to you both."

 He drew them into the shady courtyard and led them to stone benches

 under a spreading tree. The yard was spotless and furnished as nicely

 as any garden could be whose owner loved plants and flowering things.

 "Sit down, please. Sit. Omani!" Yeseph clapped his hands when his

 guests had seated themselves beneath the tree. A slim young girl

 appeared with a tray of wooden goblets and a stone carafe. She floated

 forward with an easy grace and laid the tray at Yeseph's elbow where he

 sat. "You may pour, bright one," he said gently.

 The girl poured and served the beverages around. She turned to leave

 and Yeseph called after her, "See that the meal is prepared when the

 others arrive, it will not be long now, I think." She bowed and

 retreated into the house, smiling all the while.

 The Curatak did not have servants. But often young girls or boys would

 attach themselves to the households of older Curatak leaders or

 craftsmen to serve and learn at their hand, until they decided what

 they wished to do with their lives. In that way those who needed the

 assistance of a servant did not lack, and young people found useful

 occupation until they could enter the adult world.

 Yeseph watched the girl disappear into his darkened doorway a little

 wistfully. Quentin noticed his look and commented, "She's a very able

 helper, Yeseph. You are blessed."

 "Yes, and I am sorry to lose her."

 "Why would you lose her?"

 "Why not? She is nearly eighteen. She wishes to be married soon. Next

 summer perhaps. She and Rulan, a former pupil of mine. He is a good

 young man, very intelligent. It will be a good

 / 359 f match. But I will lose a wonderful cook and companion. I feel

 she is my own daughter."

 "Why don't you get married again?" asked Toli. Yeseph suddenly looked

 flustered. "Who has been talking to you?"

 "No one. I merely wondered."

 "Well, it is true nonetheless. That is what I wanted to tell you. I

 am to be married. I am announcing the banns tonight."

 "Congratulations!" shouted Quentin, Jumping to his feet. He crossed

 the distance between himself and his former teacher in one bound and

 embraced him, kissing both cheeks.

 "Who is the lucky bride?"

 "It is Karyll, the cloth-maker."

 "The widow of Lendoe, who was killed in the accident at the forge some

 years ago."

 "Yes, the same. A fine woman. She has been lonely for so long...."

 Quentin laughed. "You need not explain to us; you have our permission

 already. I am sure you will both be very happy together."

 "Yes, we shall- I am very happy now sharing this news with my friends.

 You know I have come to regard you both as my own

 SODS."

 "Certainly, you have been both teacher and father to us more times than

 we can remember."

 "So it is fitting that you are the first to know." "Will the honored

 woman be here tonight? I would wish to congratulate her as well."

 "She will be here if that is not her voice I hear even now."

 The sound of light voices lifted in laughter came to the courtyard from

 the street beyond. Yeseph dashed to the gate once more and welcomed

 his bride and her two companions. Blushing and smiling, be led her

 toward Quentin and Toli, who stood grinning.

 "My friends, this is my betrothed, Karyll."

 The short, round-faced woman smiled warmly back at them. Her hair was

 bound demurely at her neck in an ornamented netting, and among the

 brown Quentin could see streaks of silver. She was dressed in a plain

 white, loose-fitting gown with a bright blue shawl over her shoulders.

 She was a handsome woman.

 As Yeseph drew her close to him with his arm, be gave his future wife a

 look of such endearment that Quentin felt a pang of longing for his own

 beloved.

 "Hello, Karyll, and congratulations. Yesepb has been telling us that

 you two arc to be married. I am very pleased."

 "Thank you, Quentin. We are very happy." She turned and gazed into

 Yeseph's eyes and added, "Yeseph is full of your praises. It pleases

 me that be has chosen you to hear of our plans first'

 "When will the wedding take place?" asked Toli.

 "Yeseph and I thought that a midsummer wedding would be nice."

 "Yes," agreed the groom. "There is really nothing to prevent us being

 married At once. We are both of age." He laughed and Karyll laughed

 with him. But the laughter faded when Yeseph saw that neither Quentin

 nor Toli shared their mirth. Both had become strangely silent; the

 light of happiness was extinguished in their eyes.

 "What is the matter? Does our plan not meet with your approval?"

 "Yes, and more than you know. But I fear that we will not be among the

 happy wedding guests."

 "Why not, may I ask?"

 "We were going to tell you this evening. We have received a summons

 from the King, and we must leave for Askclon."

 "Yes, I know ... in a few weeks, but..."

 "No at once. A rider came today. We must leave at once."

 "Then we will wait until you return," offered Yeseph. Karyll nodded

 her agreement.

 Quentin smiled sadly. "No, I could not ask that. I do not know when

 we may return. Please, do not wait on our account."

 Toli attempted to set the mood in a lighter tone. "Kenta means mat if

 he were in your place, Yeseph, he would not let so lovely a creature

 escape into the arms of another. You must marry as you have planned.

 We will return to greet the happy couple before they have been wed a

 fortnight."

 I 361 I

 Yeseph sought Quentin's eyes. He, as usual, could read more there than

 his friend intended. "Is it trouble, then?"

 "I fear that it is," Quentin sighed. "The message did not say it

 directly, and the courier did not say more. But he left immediately

 without awaiting an answer."

 Yeseph regarded Quentin as he stood before him. From an awkward,

 impetuous youth had grown a square-shouldered, sensitive man tall, lean

 in the way young men are, yet without the careless air they often have.

 Quentin had a regal bearing, and yet utterly lacked any

 self-consciousness of it, or the arrogance that often accompanied such

 a noble spirit.

 A pang of longing ached in the old man's heart when he saw his young

 pupil and protege wavering, as if on the brink of a great abyss. He

 wanted to reach out and pull him back, but he knew he could not.

 Quentin belonged to Dekra, yes. But he also belonged to Askelon, and

 neither loyalty could he deny.

 "You must go, of course." Yeseph offered a strained smile. "When will

 you leave?"

 "Tomorrow at dawn. I think it best...."

 "Of course. Of course. Do not delay. Besides, the sooner you are

 off, the sooner you may return, and perhaps you will bring Btia with

 you this time."

 At the mention of the name, Quentin started. He smiled warmly again.

 The cold shadow which had fallen upon the happy group moved away, and

 in the glimmering of a softly falling twilight they began to talk

 excitedly once more of all they would do when next they met.

 Despite their desire for an early start the next morning, Quentin and

 Toli were the last to leave Yeseph*s house. There had been much

 singing and eating and talking. The Elders had blessed the young men's

 journey, and all had listened to stories and songs of the lost Ariga

 sung by one of the young Curatak musicians. Then all had made their

 good-byes, but none more ardently than did Quentin.

 "Look, Kenta," said Toli as they found their way along the dark and

 empty streets. The moon shone full upon the city, pouring out a liquid

 silver light upon all it touched.

 Quentin followed Toll's gaze upward toward the sky. What do you

 see?"

 "Oh, it is gone now. A star fell, that is all." "Hmmm." Quentin

 retreated again into his reverie. He listened to their footsteps echo

 along the streets and feh Dekra's quiet peacefulness enfold him. Then,

 unaccountably, he shivered, as if they had just walked through a

 hanging pool of cooler air. Toli noticed the quiver of Quemin's

 shoulders and looked at his friend. "Did you feel it too

 Quentin ignored the question, and they continued on a few more paces.

 "Do you think we will ever return to this place?" he asked finally.

 "The night is not a time to dwell on such things." The two walked

 silently back to the governor's palace and made their way to their

 rooms. "It will be good to see Askelon again," said Quentin as they

 parted. "And all our friends. Good night." "Good night. I will wake

 you in the morning." For a long time Quentin lay on his bed and did

 not close his eyes. He heard Toli quietly packing their things in the

 next room, and the Jher's soft footfall as he left to see to the horses

 before he, too, slept. At last he rolled over on his side and fell at

 once to sleep as the moon shone brightly through his balcony doors,

 peering in like a kindly face.

 TWO

 QUENTIN MET Toli in the stables the grouping of low stone structures

 Toli had turned to the purpose of breeding horses. In his time at

 Dekra the Jher had become an excellent trainer and breeder of fine

 horses. In fact, with the help ofEskevar's stable

 / 363 I

 master, he was developing a remarkable strain of animals which were a

 cross between the heavier warhorses, such as Balder, and lighter, more

 fleet racing stock which were the pride of Pelagia. The resulting

 breed would possess strength and stamina enough for battle, but would

 also have the ability to run fast and far without tiring.

 Quentin passed under the wide stone arch and came to stand before

 Balder's stall. The old warhorse whinnied softly when he saw his

 master approaching. Quentin held out his hand and patted the horse's

 soft muzzle and stroked the bulging Jaw.

 "You may stay here this time, old boy. Take care of him, Wilton," he

 called over his shoulder to the youngster who helped Toli. "Give him

 an extra carrot now and then." Then patting the horse's white-starred

 forehead he said, "We will go for a long ride when I come back."

 The stables smelled of sweet fennel and straw and the warm bodies of

 the horses. The smell reminded Quentin of traveling, and he reflected

 that he was indeed anxious to be off. He crossed to where Toli stood

 checking their mounts' tack and gear.

 "Good morning, Kenta. I was just about to come and wake you."

 "As you see I am ready to go; I did not sleep much of the night. Is

 all prepared?" He turned to slap a milk-white stallion on the

 shoulder. "Ho, there. Blazer! Are you anxious to stretch those long

 legs of yours?" The horse tossed its flowing mane and rolled a

 blueblack eye at Quentin as if to say, "Away! Let us be gone!"

 "I have only to charge Wilton with some final instructions," remarked

 Toli, "then we shall go."

 It amused Quentin that Toll, who considered himself Quentin's serv

 am-for-life, was also an object of devotion among the Curatak. The

 gentle Jher enjoyed the services of several helpers, whom he treated as

 well as any master treated a devoted servant. The simple fact was that

 Toli was regarded as much a prince as was Quentin;

 and in the city where all men were servants of one another, this was

 the highest honor.

 Toli returned and took the reins of both horses and led them out into

 the quiet streets. Quentin followed at Toll's right hand and listened

 to the clop of the horses' hooves upon the cobbled stones of the

 ancient streets. In the east the sky shone with a violet haze which

 lightened into a golden-red hue as the sun rose higher.

 Toli sniffed the air and announced, "The wind is from the west over the

 sea. We will have good weather for our journey."

 "Good. I am hoping to be in Askelon before the new moon. We should be

 able to manage that, aye?"

 "It is possible. With good horses and the King's road restored through

 Pelgrin ..."

 "We have horses with wings, my friend. And Eskevar's road is now

 complete as far as the Arvin. We shall fly indeed."

 They reached the gates of the city and let themselves out. The gates

 were seldom tended, since Dekra had no fear of intrusion and no real

 need of defense.

 At the small door which opened within the larger, Quentin paused and

 took a long last look upon the city he loved. The red stone glowed

 with the rosy hue of the rising sun. Towers and spires swept

 majestically into the clear, cool morning air, gleaming and glittering

 like radiant crystal.

 The ordinary sounds of the city waking to life echoed out into the

 empty streets: a dog barked, a door opened and closed. Behind him

 Blazer and Riv, Toll's sleek black mount, shook their bridles,

 impatient to be moving along. Quentin raised an arm in farewell to

 Dekra and then turned to his horse.

 "It is time for speed," he called as he swung himself up into the

 saddle. "On, Blazer!" The horse lifted his forelegs off the ground,

 gave a little kick and leapt ahead to the trail.

 Quentin pushed an eager course through the low hills and into the

 wretched marshlands. They planned to hold north as far as Malmarby,

 thus skirting the boggy wasteland as much as possible. At Malmarby

 they would hire a boat to cross the inlet and swing along the shore

 west past Celbercor's Wall. Then the trail would become easier. They

 would make for the Arvin River where it came spilling clear and cold

 out of the Fiskills and ride through the wild foothills above Narramoor

 along the King's new road, and speed along through Pelgrin to

 Askeloo.

 The days on the trail were uneventful." Game was plentiful and,

 / 365 f thanks to TolTs skill as a hunter, they never lacked for

 anything the hills could provide.

 They arrived at Malmarby village one bright morning, picking the wider

 path toward the town out of the maze of bogs and wetlands which

 surrounded it.

 As they approached the village, Toli stiffened in the saddle and reined

 his horse to a halt. Quentin mirrored his actions, wondering what had

 alarmed his friend.

 "What is it? What do you see

 "Something is amiss in the village yonder. I fed it."

 "It looks peaceful enough. But let us go with caution

 They paced the horses slowly ahead, and both watched the thickets and

 dense shrubbery which lined the path for any signal that might confirm

 TolFs apprehension.

 They saw no one and heard nothing, until just before reaching the

 village itself. Quentin slopped his horse and stood in the saddle,

 looking around. The muddy track which served as Malmarby's main street

 was vacant. No living thing stirred among the rough wooden houses; the

 town lay silent as a tomb.

 "There does not appear to be anyone around. I wonder where .. ."

 He had not finished speaking when four men sprang out of the nearest

 thicket and grabbed the horses' bridles. Two of the men were armed

 with spears and the others with short swords. All appeared very

 frightened, their faces grim with worry and pale from fear.

 It was the look upon these sorry faces which made Quentin hold his

 hand. "Stay, Toli! We need not fear these men, I think." Quentin

 spoke loudly and calmly so that their would-be attackers would know

 that they intended no harm.

 There was a rustle in the thicket and another man stepped out, or

 rather fell, into the road. Quentin recognized the thin, careworn face

 of the village counselor.

 "Good morning. Counselor. Is this the way you treat strangers

 nowadays? Or perhaps you wished to invite us to breakfast."

 The thin, bald man blinked and rushed forward, squinting at the

 travelers with his one good eye.

 "Quentin? Step back, men, it is the Prince! Let them go!" Quentin

 smiled at the appellation. He was not the Prince, but his legend had

 so grown among the simple people ofMensandor that he held that lofty

 position in their esteem. So they conferred upon him the highest title

 they could presume, to them he was, quite simply, the Prince.

 "Yes, it is Quentin. But tell me, Milan, what bodes this reception?

 And where are your townspeople? The village looks deserted."

 "I'm sorry, good Sir. We meant you no harm." The village chief looked

 heartbroken. He wrung his hands over each other as he spoke, as if he

 feared some fierce retribution. "It's just that... well, we cannot be

 too careful these days. There have been stories of evil deeds we

 thought it best to post a watch on the road."

 "Robbers?" Quentin asked.

 Milan ignored the question and asked one of his own. "You yourself

 have seen nothing?"

 "No, nothing."

 Quentin shrugged and looked at Toli. Toli studied the faces of the men

 before them and remained silent.

 "Well, perhaps our fears are unfounded. Will you stay with us

 "No, not this time. If we may have the use of one of your excellent

 boats we will put off directly. We are going to Askelon as quickly as

 may be."

 The town counselor fixed Quentin with a strange, knowing look and

 turned away. "Go on ahead and tell the town. The way is clear, there

 is nothing to fear," he called to one of the men. Then to Quentin he

 added, "The boat is yours. You may take mine; it is the largest by

 far. My son will go with you."

 "We are grateful for your kindness," said Quentin as they all moved off

 together.

 They passed the simple dwellings which crowded one another all along

 the path right down to the water's edge. Quentin saw an occasional

 fleeting face at a window or peering from a doorway, but by the time

 they reached the great wooden pier which served as wharf for the town's

 fishing boats, most of Malmarby's citizens were going about their

 business as though nothing unusual had

 / 367 I

 happened. Many followed them down to the pier, and many more hailed

 the regal travelers as they passed.

  

 The boats of Malmarby were broad, boxy things sturdy enough to

 withstand the anger of the harshest seas, which they never faced, since

 the bulky boats served but to ply the sheltered inlet from one end to

 the other along its length.

 Milan's boat was more than adequate for their need, though the horses

 showed some trepidation at being led aboard such a strange looking

 vessel.

 With Milan's son, Rol, at the long stern oar, they waved themselves

 away from the throng on the pier. Rol's strong hands worked the oar,

 and soon they had entered a deeper channel where a swift current pulled

 them along. They raised the small sail on its stubby mast and drifted

 smartly away.

 "Where do you wish to land, my Lords?" called Rol from his seat at the

 tiller.

 "Anywhere you think best, as long as it is west of the WalL" Quentin

 paused and regarded the hardy youth with his strong shoulders and thick

 thatch of brown hair. He remembered when the good-natured young man

 had been a skinny little boy who ran alongside the horses whenever a

 traveler passed through the village such as Quentin and Toli often had

 occasion to do.

 "What is it the village fears?" asked Quentin, stepping close to Rol.

 "What has come to pass since we nave last come this way?"

  

 The young man shrugged a muscled shoulder and continued working the

 oar. "I do not know. Stories, that is all. It does not take much to

 frighten such a small village."

 "What are these stories you speak of? Where do they come from?"

 Toli stepped in to hear what Rol had to say.

 "This spring some people came to us out of the Suthlands saying they

 had been set upon by demons and their homes burned."

 "Demons do not burn homes," remarked Toll.

 Again the tentative shrug. "I do not know if they do or no; that is

 what the people said."

 "Hnimmm... that is strange. Did they say what these demons looked

 like?"

 "They were giants. Fierce. Fire spewed from their mouths, and each

 one had ten arms with claws for hands."

 "Where did these demons come from? Did they say?" No one knew. Some

 said they came from beyond the sea.

 From beyond Gerfallon. Others said they saw the sign of the Wolf

 Star on their foreheads. Maybe they came down from the sky." "This is

 an odd tale," said Quentin to Toli as they drew aside. "Why would

 anyone burn a village of peasants in the Suth lands?" Toll asked.

 "There is little enough there, and nothing to be gained by such

 doings."

 "I cannot guess. There has been nothing like this these past ten

 years. The realm is at peace. We must remember to tell the King about

 what we have heard."

 Rol proved an able seaman, and the day's end found them close to their

 destination. A faint mist gathered on the water at the shoreline and

 pushed out into the inlet. Through the gray mist they saw the dark

 plane of the Great Wall Jutting out into the deep water as the shadows

 lengthened upon the land.

 Rol steered the boat around the Wall's looming edge and made for the

 rocky strand. No one spoke as they passed by the imposing shape. The

 steady slap and dip ofRol's long oar was the only sound which broke the

 stillness on the water.

 Quentin watched the mist curling around the base of the Wall and

 thought it made the Wall appear to be floating on a foundation of

 billowing clouds while the deepening sky above seemed to grow hard and

 solid as stone as it darkened with the twilight. He started when he

 heard a hollow knock and felt the slight jolt that told him they had

 touched shore.

 "Will you stay with us tonight, Rol? We will camp a little way along

 the trail, up there." Quentin pointed to a tree-lined rise which

 bordered the shore. "Toli will have a fire going in no time, and we

 will have some hot food."

 "Thank you, my Lord. I am tired and hungry, too. I cannot say which I

 am the more."

 "Well, you have done us a great service, and it shall be rewarded.

 Here" Quentin reached into the soft leather pouch which

 I 369 I

 hung at his belt Aa gold ducat for, your trouble, and one for your

 kindness."

 Rol bowed low as he thrust out his callused hand. "Sir, it is too

 much. I durst not accept so much." He fingered the gold coins and

 handed them back to Quentin.

 "No, you have earned them both, and our praise besides. Keep them and

 say no more about it. But look! Toll is already making camp. Let us

 hurry to join him, or we may be too late for our supper."

 The three reclined around the fire and talked as the stars came out in

 the immense black vault of the heavens. Below them on the strand the

 water lapped gently against the smooth, round rocks, and above them in

 the trees a night bird called to its mate. Tall pine stood over them,

 and the air smelled of fresh wind and balsam.

 Quentin drifted easily to sleep, nodding in his place, until he at last

 bade his companions good night and rolled himself in his cloak. Toli

 added another log to the fire and got up to check the horses before he

 himself turned in. Rol already slept soundly, judging from the slow,

 even rhythm of his breathing.

 Toli stretched and lifted his eyes to the night sky, now sparkling with

 tiny lights. As he scanned the heavens his eye caught it curious

 sight. He stood for a moment contemplating what he saw, and then

 turned and crept softly toward Quentin.

 "Kenta ..." He nudged his sleeping master gently. "Kenta, I want you

 to see something."

 Quentin turned and sat up. He peered intently into Toll's face, lit on

 one side by the firelight. He could not read the expression there.

 "What is it? Have you at last seen the White Stag?"

 "No, nothing so important." Toli dismissed the jest. "I thought you

 might want to see this.. .." He led Quentin a short space away from

 the fire and the overhanging boughs of the trees.

 "Look to the east... there just above the Wall. Do you see it?"

 "A star? Yes, I see it that very bright star."

 "See how it shines. Do you think it odd?"

 "It is the Wolf Star. But you are right; it does have a different look

 tonight. What do you make of it?"

 Toli gazed upward at the brilliant star and at last turned away,

 saying, "I do not know what to make of it. I only wanted you to see

 it, so that we may be agreed about it."

 Quentin was not satisfied with this answer. Toli, evidently

 withholding something, declined to speak further. There was no use in

 pushing the matter further until the Jher was ready to say more.

 Whatever was tumbling around in that head, thought Quentin, would come

 out sooner or later, but only when Toli desired it so. He would wait.

 Quentin sighed and rolled himself once more in his cloak and fell to

 sleep.

 THREE

 FROM THE sound of the gurgling crash which filled the rock-rimmed

 canyon, the Arvin's first cataract lay Just ahead. Blazer and Riv

 picked their way among the loose stones of the canyon floor as Quentin

 and Toli scanned the soaring cliffs above. All around them towered

 jagged spires of rock. They moved carefully, as through a giant's

 petrified forest.

 They passed between two large outcroppings of dull brown Stone upon

 which rested a great slab forming the posts and lintel of an enormous

 doorway" Azrael Gate," muttered Quentin as they passed quickly through,

 and then, brightening considerably, "Look! Eskevar's road." He pointed

 across Arvin's racing headwaters to the other side where the road

 began.

 Without hesitation Quentin urged his steed forward into the frigid

 water. The swift stream splashed around the horse's legs and wet his

 rider to the knees- Quentin found the icy tingle the perfect tonic to

 banish the oppressive for boding which had settled upon him as it

 always did when he rode through the eerie canyon which ended in AzraePs

 Gate. Now, with that behind and the clear wide road ahead, his spirits

 suddenly lifted..

 I 371 I

 "it wont be long now," he called over his shoulder to Toli, Just then

 splashing into the course. "Tomorrow night we will dine with Durwin,

 and the following will see us at the Dragon King's table."

 "I thought you were the one for haste," replied Toli, "We can do better

 than that!" At these words he slapped Riv over the shoulders with the

 reins and leaned into the saddle. The horse spurted ahead, sending

 torrents of icy water up into the air as he surged past Quentin and

 clattered up out of the stream and struck for the road.

 "A challenge!" shouted Quemin at Toll's retreating figure. He snapped

 Blazer's reins as they clambered out of the water and dashed after Toli

 in chase.

 High in the lonely foothills the sound of their race echoed and

 reechoed from one blank stone face to another. Their jubilant cries

 sang through the rills and crevices, and rang in rock hollows and

 caves. The horses' hooves struck sparks from the stone paving as they

 flew.

 At last, exhausted and out of breath, the two trotted to a halt upon a

 ridge. Below them the foothills dropped away in gentle arcs, fading

 from violet to blue in the hazy distance. Away to the south stood the

 lofty, snow-wrapped crags of the Fiskills, where endless winds howled

 among the sharp peaks.

 "Ah!" sighed Quentin as he drew a deep breath. "Such a sight! It is

 a beautiful land, is it not?"

 "It is that and more indeed. My people have a word for the land

 I do not think I have ever told you: AJ-al lira

 "No, I have never heard it. What does it mean

 "I cannot be precise there is no exact meaning in your tongue. But it

 means something like 'the land of flowing peace.""

 "Al-al lira I like that; it fits." They started down together. "And

 it certainly is peaceful. Look out across those valleys. These years

 have been good ones- The land has produced full measure. The people

 are content. I cannot think but that the god has blessed the realm in

 recompense for the troubled times when Eskevar was away from his

 throne."

 "Yes, these have been good years. Golden times. I hope we will see

 them endure."

 Quentin cast a sideways glance at his companion. Toll's eyes were

 focused on some distant horizon. He appeared as if in a trance.

 Quentin did not want to break the happy mood, so did not pursue the

 matter further. They continued down the slope without speaking

 The next day dawned fair and bright, warmed by soft winds from the

 west. The travelers were already well on their way when the sun peeped

 over Eriemros, the FiskilTs highest peak. The road made going easy and

 they pushed a steady pace, reaching the lowlands by midday.

 They ate a hasty meal among moss-covered stones in the shade of an

 ancient oak and started again on their way. They had not traveled far

 when Toli said, "Along the road, yonder. We have some company."

 Quentin raised his eyes and saw very faintly, and very far away, what

 appeared to be a group of travelers coming toward them on foot. There

 was just a glimpse, and then a bend in the road took them from

 Quentin's sight.

 "Merchants, perhaps?" Quentin wondered aloud. Often traders who sold

 their wares from town to town banded together in traveling companies

 for mutual entertainment and protection. "I would buy a trinket for

 Bria."

 They continued on, and Quentin thought of all the things his lovely

 would enjoy. They rounded the side of a grassy hill covered with

 scarlet wildflowers and approached the spot where they had first seen

 the travelers.

 "Odd," said Quentin. "We should have met them by now. Perhaps they

 stopped up the road beyond that dump of trees." He pointed ahead to

 where a bushy stand of trees overhung the road, sheltering all beyond

 from view.

 They continued on with a growing perplexity.

 When they reached the shelter of the trees they could look once gain

 far down the road; there was not a single person to be seen.

 "This becomes stranger with every step " said Quentin.

 Toli swung himself down from his horse and walked along the road, his

 eyes searching the dust for any signs which might hold an explanation

 of the disappearance of the group they had both seen quite clearly only

 a short while before,

 / 373 /

 They moved forward slowly. Quentin watched the wooded area to the

 right of the road. Then Toli stopped and knelt down. He traced his

 finger around the outline of footprints in the dust.

 "They stopped here before leaving the road .. . there." He pointed

 into the trees.

  

 "How many were there

 "I cannot say from these signs. But there were men and women, children

 too."

 "Humph!" The utterance was a puzzled snort. "I wonder what has sent

 them scurrying into the woods? Not the sight of two horse, men,

 surely

 Toli shrugged and climbed back into the saddle. "Here is something

 else we must remember to tell the King."

 "Indeed we will."

 At dusk they camped in a grassy glade just off the road. The sun sent

 ruby fingers sifting through the gossamer clouds which moved gracefully

 across the violet arc of heaven. Quentin stood in a meadow dotted with

 yellow flowers that brushed pollen-laden beads against his legs. With

 his arms crossed on his chest and a look of dreamy concentration he

 contemplated the imposing shape before him: high up on its plateau, the

 thin trail leading up like a white wisp rising from the lower ground,

 stood the High Temple of Ariel.

 "You miss your old home, no doubt," said Toli coming up behind him.

 "No..." said Quentin absently, then laughed as he stirred and looked

 into Toll's dark brown eyes" No more than one misses the shadows once

 he walks in sunshine. I was only thinking of the time I spent in that

 temple, for the days of loneliness and frustration, of endless studying

 and not finding the one I really sought. I would not have made a very

 good priest I could never see the sense in anointing the sacred rock of

 the temple. It seemed like such a waste of expensive oil, though

 others esteemed it a fine gift.

 "And the sacrifices the gold bracelets, silver bowls and carefully

 groomed animals simply made the priests wealthier and fatter than they

 already were."

 "Whist Orren demands more than bracelets, bowls or flesh. And he lives

 not only in temples made by men, but in their lives."

 "Yes, the God Most High holds out freedom to men; the price is

 unbending devotion. The lesser gods do not demand as much, but who can

 know them? They are like the mists on the water when the sun touches

 them, they vanish."

 They turned and went back to settle themselves for the night. They

 ate, and Toli turned the horses out to graze in the sweet grass as

 evening gathered its long purple robes about the quiet glade.

 Quentin lay with his head resting upon his saddle with a clear,

 unhindered view of the spangled heavens. The stars never change, he

 observed. And then, even as he framed the thought, he remembered the

 conversation he had earlier with Toli. He turned his head toward the

 east and saw the strangely glittering star Toli had pointed out to him

 several nights before.

 "The Wolf Star seems to grow brighter," observed Quentin.

 "I have been thinking the same thing, Keota."

 "I wonder what High Priest Biorkis would say to an omen such as this.

 The priests surely have their explanations."

 "Go and ask him."

 "What! Do you think I dare?"

 "Why not? There is no harm."

 "I do not believe my ears! My servant tells me to seek an omen from an

 unholy source! You. Toli, of all people, know I have turned away from

 tokens and omens. I follow a different god we both do."

 "I do not suggest you ask an omen of Ariel) or discard truths you have

 learned. Only that you go to your onetime friend and ask his opinion

 of a strange event. There is no harm in that. Besides, Whist Orren,

 who holds the stars in their courses, sometimes declares his will

 through such portents. Any who will look may see what is written

 there."

 "You are right, Toli. Biorkis is still my friend. Besides, I would

 like to take a walk. Come along." Quentin was on his feet and

 striding off across the meadow toward the temple trail, which showed in

 the bright moonlight as a silver thread winding its way up the side of

 the steep hill.

 They reached the trail and began the circuitous ascent to the top. As

 they climbed higher, Quentin looked out into the moon

 / 375 I

 bright night. The valley glimmered darkly; every leaf of tree and

 blade of grass was traced in spun silver. Away in the distant hills

 shepherds' fires winked like stars fallen upon the land.

 They gained the top at last and entered the expansive courtyard. In

 the center of the white, stone-paved yard stood a torch on a carven

 stone stanchion. Its fluttering flame cast a wide circle of light

 around its base and reflected on the closed doors of the temple.

 "We will see if pilgrims such as we are made welcome by night,"

 whispered Quentin.

 They crossed the courtyard and climbed the many steps to the main

 entrance. Upon reaching the huge doors, Quentin lifted his poniard

 from its sheath at his belt and rapped upon the solid beams with its

 handle.

 He waited, knowing at this late hour he must rouse some nearby priest

 from his sleep. As he waited, an uncanny sensation came over Quentin a

 feeling that he was once more the skinny temple acolyte of so many

 years ago. For a moment he looked at the dark stone of the temple and

 the moonlight-filled courtyard through the eyes of his youth.

 He knocked again and immediately heard the shuffle of someone on the

 other side.

 "Be on your way, pilgrim. Come back tomorrow. The priests are

 asleep," came the muffled voice from the other side.

 "There is one who will admit us if you but tell him who it is who

 desires entry."

 "There is none who would admit you but the High Priest himself."

 "Excellent! He is the very man we seek!"

 "No, go away! Come back tomorrow; I'll not disturb him tonight."

 They heard the footsteps shuffling away again on the other side of the

 door.

 "Well, he means to do us no favors," said Quentin. "But there is

 another entrance at the rear of the temple. We will try that, having

 come this far."

 The two moved like shadows under the high portico of the temple and

 reached the far south side, that which overlooked the

 The Warlords ofNm peaceful valley. They walked along the side of the

 temple, the moonlight falling in slanting rays, forming bands of light

 and shadow under the mighty eaves.

 "Listen," said Toli. "Voices."

 Quentin paused and cocked his head to one side. Voices from a little

 way ahead and below them carried on the still air. The sound was but a

 dull murmur, barely recognizable.

 They continued more cautiously and the voices grew louder. Soon the

 travelers were crouching behind the immense columns of the temple,

 looking down upon a small circle of robed men bent over a shining

 object.

 "They are star searching," remarked Quentin excitedly. "And look that

 one in the center. I think I know that shape."

 Quentin stepped boldly out of the shadow of the column and descended a

 few steps toward the group. He took a deep breath and said in a loud

 voice, "Priests of Ariel, will you receive two curious pilgrims?"

 The startled priests turned around quickly and beheld the figures of

 two young men descending toward them.

 The priest in the center of the huddle stepped forward and replied,

 "Pilgrims are always welcome to the shrine of Ariel, though most choose

 to make oblations in the light of day."

 "We do not come to make oblations, or to inquire of the god Ariel, but

 of a priest instead."

 "Priests are but the servants of their god, it is he who declares his

 will."

 "Neither do we ask for the god's interest in any affairs of ours said

 Quentin approaching the priest. He could see the man's face full in

 the moonlight now and knew that he addressed his old tutor. "We would

 speak to you man to man."

 Quentin smiled as a faint glimmer of recognition lit the priests

 visage. "My heart tells me that I should know you, sir," said the High

 Priest slowly- The old eyes searched the young man's features fora due

 which might tell him who it was that addressed him. "But a name does

 not come to my lips. Have we met then?"

 Quentin moved closer and placed his hands on the priest's

 I 377 I

 rounded shoulders. "Is the life of a priest so busy that be has no

 time for memories?"

 "Memories do not walk the temple yards by night, nor do they confront

 their bearers face to face."

 "Then perhaps you will remember this." Quentin dug into the pouch at

 his belt and produced a silver coin. He handed it to the priest.

 "This is a temple coin. Then you must be ..."

 "You gave me that coin yourself, Biorkis; many years ago."

 "Quentin? Is this Quentin the acolyte?" the old man sputtered.

 "Yes, I have returned to see you, my old friend for so I always

 considered you."

 "But how you have changed. You have grown up a fine man. You are well

 as I can see. What brings you here tonight of all nights?"

 The other priests looked upon this reunion in wonder. They gathered

 close around to see who this returned stranger might be.

 "Can we walk a little aside?" asked Quentin. "I have something to ask

 you."

 The two moved on, followed closely by Toli. The priests fell to

 murmuring their amazement and talking among themselves.

 "Your name has grown in the land," said Biorkis as they walked to a

 rocky outcropping at the edge of the plateau.

 "Oh? You hear tales up here, do you?"

 "We hear what we wish to hear. The peasants bring us no end of

 information. Some of it is useful. But you are known as the Prince

 who saved the Dragon King and defeated the monstrous sorcerer,

 Nimrood."

 "It was not I who defeated Nimrood, but Toli here, my servant and

 friend."

 Biorkis bowed to Toli and indicated that they should all seat

 themselves upon the rocks. "They also say that you are building a city

 in the Wilderlands which rises by magic from the stones of the

 earth."

 "Again, that is not my doing. Dekra is my city only in that the

 gracious Curatak have allowed me to join in their work of restoring it

 to its former glory."

 "This is what the people say, not I. As for myself, I surmise that the

 truth of these stories is to be found at the heart like the stone of an

 apricot. But I know from this that my former acolyte is doing well and

 has risen in the esteem of his countrymen. But why should you seek me

 out now? The temple doors have not been closed these many years."

 "We come to ask your opinion of something we have seen." Quentin

 turned toward the east and pointed out across the quiet, moon-filled

 valley. "That star rising yonder. The Wolf Star. Has it not changed

 in some way of late? Do the priests detect a waxing of its power?"

 "So you have not forsaken your studies altogether. You still seek

 signs in the night sky."

 "No, I must admit that I no longer study the stars in their courses.

 This event was pointed out to me by Toll, who remarked on it a few

 nights ago."

 "Well, your Toli is right. In fact, we have been following this star

 with interest for many months. Tonight, as you nave seen, we were once

 more examining the charts and seeking an answer to this wonder."

 "Then you do not know what this sign portends?"

 "Does one ever?" Biorkis laughed. "Why do you look so shocked?  A

 priest may have doubts even the High Priest. Ah, but we have our

 theories. Yes, many theories."

 "That is what we have come to hear your theories. What do you think it

 means?"

 FOUR

 DUR WING LONG brown robes swept along behind him as he rushed along the

 darkened corridors ofAskelon Castle. Torches lit the way, sputtering

 in the gusty air as Durwin hurriedly passed. Ahead of him he could see

 a pair of doors which opened onto a patch of the night sky infused with

 the moon's radiant beams.

 He stepped across the threshold and onto the balcony, then paused.

 There, a few paces from him, stood the slim figure of a woman; her dark

 hair tumbled down in shimmering ringlets and curls and her face was

 averted, revealing the shapely beauty other slender neck. She was

 dressed in a loose-fitting gown of white held at her trim waist by a

 long blue sash which trailed nearly to the ground.

 "Your Majesty," said Durwin, softly announcing himself. **I am

 here."

 The woman turned and smiled.

 "Good Durwin, thank you for coming so quickly."

 "Bria ... I thought..."

 "You thought I was the Queen, I know. But it was I who sent you the

 summons."

 "You look so much like your mother standing there with the moonlight in

 your hair."

 "I will accept that as a compliment, kind sir. For me there is none

 higher. But you must be tired from your journey. I will not keep you,

 but I must speak to you a little. Do sit down, please."

 She raised her arm and indicated a stone bench a short space away.

 Durwin took her arm and walked with her along the balcony. "The night

 is beautiful, is it not?" he said.

 "Yes... it is very." The young woman spoke as if she had just become

 aware that it was night. The hermit could tell she had something on

 her mind which disturbed her.

 "I would not have troubled you, but I could think of no better help

 than to have you here. Theido is gone, and Ronsard with him."

 "It is nothing, my Lady. I am only too glad to know that this old

 hermit may still be of some use to those who dwell in Castle Askelon. I

 would have come sooner if I had known your courier had quite a time

 finding me. I was in the forest gathering herbs and tending to the

 illness of a peasant's wife nearby."

 "I knew you would come as soon as you could. I " the Princess broke

 off, unable to say what she felt in her heart.

 Durwin waited and then said, "What is the matter, Bria? You may speak

 freely. I am your friend."

 "Oh, Durwin!" Her hands trembled, and her head sank. She buried her

 face in her hands, and he thought she would cry. But she drew a deep

 breath and raised her face to the moon, clear-eyed. In that moment the

 young woman reminded him more than ever of another woman who bore an

 immense inner strength in times of great distress Queen Alinea.

 "It is the King,*' said Bria at last. "Oh, Durwin, I am very worried.

 He is not like himself. I think he is very ill, but he will see none

 of his doctors. He laughs at any suggestion I make regarding his

 health. My mother is worried, too. But she can do nothing either. And

 there is something else."

 Durwin waited patiently.

 "I do not know what it is trouble, I think. Somewhere." She turned

 and fixed the hermit with a smile which, though it graced her mouth,

 did not light her eyes as it normally would. "Quentin is coming."

 "Yes, I know, in a few weeks. We are all going to celebrate

 Midsummer's Day together."

 "No he is coming now. Eskevar sent for him. Even knowing that he

 would come for Midsummer, the King sent a special courier to bring him.

 That is how I know there is something wrong."

 "It could just be that he wishes to see him the sooner just a whim,

 that's all."

 / 381 I

 Bria smiled again. "Thank you for that, but you know the Dragon King

 as well as I do. He does nothing on a whim. He has some reason for

 wanting him here- But what it is I cannot guess."

 "Then we will wait and see. When will Quentin be here?"

 "If he left upon receiving the summons, I believe he would be here day

 after tomorrow the day after that at the latest."

 "Good. That is not so long to wait you will see. In the meantime I

 will try to discover what ails the King in body or in spirit. Anything

 that may be done, I will do. Worry no more on it, my Lady."

 "Thank you, fair friend. You will not tell them that I sent for

 you?"

 "No, if you would rather not. I will just say that I grew weary of my

 books and medicines and desired the warmth of fellowship with my

 friends. I came early to the celebration, that is all."

 "I feel better already knowing you are here."

 "I am content. Though I imagine you would rather a certain younger man

 stood here right now."

 Bria smiled, and this time the light sparkled in her deep green eyes"

 Oh I'll not deny it. But I am content to wait. It does cheer me

 somewhat to know that he comes the sooner."

 They talked some more and then rose; Bria bade Durwin a good night.

 Durwin escorted her to the door back into the castle and then turned to

 stroll along the balcony alone.

 He leaned his arms on the parapet and looked into the gardens below. In

 the moonlight he saw a solitary figure pacing among the beds of ruby

 roses, now indigo in the moonlight. He could not see who this person

 might be, but it was clear from the altered gait that the walker had

 fallen prey to a melancholy mood. He hunched forward and crossed his

 arms on his chest, stopped and started continually.

 Durwin looked on, and then the figure seemed to sense that he was being

 watched. He stopped and drew himself up and turned to look quickly

 into the balcony. Durwin drew away, but he had seen what he had

 already guessed. In the moment the face swung around, the moonlight

 illumined it and Durwin knew that it was Eskevar, the Dragon King.

 The Warlords ofNia

 Biorkis' long white braided beard, the symbol of his office, glowed

 like a bright waterfall frozen in the moonlight. His wrinkled face,

 though still as round and plump as ever, looked itself a smaller moon

 returning its reflected light to a larger parent. He gazed long into

 the sky and then said, "It may be something, or it may not. The

 heavens are filled with signs and wonders, and not all of them have to

 do with men."

 "If you thought that, would you be standing out in the night

 stargazing?"

 "No, likely not. But this is a most peculiar phenomenon one does not

 see such a sign but once in a lifetime, perhaps not even then. To

 chart its progress would be of value aside from any meaning we might

 derive from its study."

 "You evade my question, Biorkis. Why? Certainly the star is there for

 all to see and make what they will of it."

 An expression of great weariness appeared on the face of the High

 Priest as he turned to regard Quentin. "To the best of my knowledge

 this star is an evil sign."

 He had spoken simply and softly. But the effect produced within

 Quentin chilled his blood, he fancied the air had grown suddenly

 colder.

 Quentin sought to lighten the remark. "Omens are always either good or

 bad, depending upon the reader."

 "Ah, but the greater the sign, the greater the consequence. And this

 is a great sign indeed. Surpassingly great."

 Quentin raised his eyes to the eastern sky and regarded the star

 carefully. It was bright, yes, but there were other stars nearly as

 bright. He looked back at Biorkis with a questioning glance.

 "It has only begun to show itself," said the High Priest in answer to

 the look. "With every passing night it grows brighter, and so does the

 evil it portends."

 "What is the nature of this evil? Can you tell?"

 "Evil is evil, you know that. What does it matter? The suffering will

 be great in any case. Flood, famine, pestilence, war all are the same,

 all destroy in their turn."

 "Well said. Your words are true. But men may do much to prepare

 against an evil time, if they but know its source."

 "Here is where our theories guide us. Some say that the star

 I 383 I

 will grow and grow until it fills the sky, blotting out the sun and

 moon and stars. Then it will touch the earth and drive all living

 things insane before consuming them with fire.

 "Others say that each nation has a star and that this Wolf Star

 represents a fierce and brutal nation which rises against other nations

 and seeks to extinguish them with its power.

 "Still others regard this as the beginning of the end of mankind on the

 earth. This star is the token ofNin, the destroyer god who brings his

 armies down to make war on the nations of the earth."

 "And you, Biorkis, what do you say?"

 "I believe all are right. Some part of every guess will be shown in

 the truth."

 "When may that truth be evident?"

 "Who can- say? Much that is foretold does not come to pass. Our best

 divinations are only the mumblings of blind men." Biorkis turned his

 face away. "Nothing is certain," he said softly. "Nothing is

 certain."

 Quentin stood, went to the old priest and placed a hand on his

 shoulder. "Old man, come with us. You have lived long enough to see

 the gods for what they are. Let us show you a god worthy of your

 devotion, the Most High, Lord of All. In him you will find the peace

 you seek. You told me once that you sought a brighter light."

 Biorkis looked at him wearily. "You remember that?"

 "Yes, and more. I remember you were my only friend in the temple. Come

 with us now and let us show you the light you have been seeking for so

 long."

 Biorkis sighed, and it seemed as if all the earth groaned with a great

 exhaustion. "I am old too old to change. Yes, these eyes have

 searched for the truth, but it has been denied them. I know the

 hollowness of serving these petty gods, but I am High Priest. I cannot

 go with you now. Maybe once I could have turned away as Durwin did, as

 you have but not now. It is too late for me."

 Quentin looked sadly down on his old friend. "I am sorry."

 Toli had risen and was moving away. Quentin turned and looked back at

 Biorkis who still remained perched upon a rock, looking out into the

 peaceful valley. "It is not too late. You have only to turn aside and

 he will meet you. The decision is yours."

 Quentin and Toli walked down the sinuous trail side by side without

 speaking. When they reached the meadow and the dimly glowing embers of

 their fire Quentin said, "You knew the star to be an evil sign, didn't

 you?" Yes. I considered it so."

 "But you suggested we go to the temple. Why?"* "I wanted to hear what

 other learned men might say. For all thdr spiritual uncertainties, the

 priests are still men of great knowledge."

 "And did Biorkis confirm your worst fears

 "Biorkis spoke what may be, not what will be. Only the God Most High

 can say what win be. His hand is ever outstretched to those who serve

 him

 "Well, if Biorkis is right in his speculations, then we will have need

 of that strong hand before long, I fear

 FIVE

 THE EARTH moves through stages, epochs. The ancient legends tell of

 previous earth ages four at least. We are living in the fifth age of

 man. Each age runs its allotted course and then gives birth to a new

 age." Durwin spread his bands out on the table. Quentin, his chin in

 his hands, stared at the holy hermit in rapt attention. Around them in

 Durwin's chambers, candles flickered and filled the room with a hazy

 yellow glow.

 "These ages may run a thousand years or ten thousand. Of course, there

 is no way to tell how long it may last, but the ancients believed that

 before the end of each age the world is thrown into turmoil. Great

 migrations of people commence; great wars are fought as nation rises

 against nation; the heavens are filled with signs and wonders. Then

 comes the deluge: all the earth is flooded,

 / 385 I

 or covered with ice. Then fire burns the earth and erases all signs of

 the preceding age. It is a time of chaos and darkness, great

 cataclysms and death. But out of it comes a new age, both finer and

 higher than the one before."

 As Durwin spoke, an eerie sense of dreadful fascination crept over

 Quentin. He shrugged it off and asked, "But must the earth be

 destroyed completely for a new age to be born?" ! Durwin mused on

 this question, but before he could open his | mouth to speak, Toli

 answered, "Among my people there are many I stories of the times before

 this one. It is said that the Jher came into I being in the third age,

 when the world was still very young and men I talked with the animals

 and lived in peace with one another. I "These stories are very old;

 they have been with us longer than the art of our oldest storytellers

 to remember. But it is said that the destruction of the world may be

 averted by some great deed though what it is that may be done is not

 known.

 "Tilgal, the Star Maker's son, is said to have saved the world in the

 second age by hitching his horses to his father's chariot and carrying

 offMorhesh, the Great Evil One, after wounding him with a spear made of

 a single shaft of light. He threw Morhesh into the (Pit of the Night,

 and Morhesn's star was extinguished so the earth | did not burn."

 \ Durwin nodded readily. "So it is! As I was about to say, it is

 believed that not every age must end in calamity. The destruction may

 be lessened or turned aside completely usually by some act of heroism,

 some supreme sacrifice or the coming of a mighty leader to lead mankind

 into the new age."

 "Do you believe this?" Quentin asked. "I believe that what has

 happened in the past beyond men's remembering did happen. Those who

 witnessed it explained it as well as they could with the words and

 ideas they had available to them. Certainly, much remains unexplained;

 but it seems strange that each race has somewhere in its past memories

 of this sort."

 Quentin leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table and clasped

 his hands. "I meant, do you believe that the star in the sky betokens

 the end of the age?"

 Durwin pulled on his chin and scratched his Jaw. He looked at

 Quentin with quick, black eyes and smiled suddenly. "I believe a new

 age is coming, yes. Such as the world has never known. A time of

 mighty upheaval and change. And I believe change does not take place

 without struggle, without pain. So it is'

 "It all seems very grim to me," admitted Quentin. "You should not

 think of the pain involved," responded Toli. "Think instead of the

 greater glory of the new age."

 Toli and Quentin had ridden from Nan-amoor to Durwin's cottage in

 Pelgrin Forest. They made good time and arrived late in the afternoon,

 just as the sun slipped into the treetops.

 "Durwin is not here," said Toli as they approached the cottage. They

 looked around before Quentin went inside. He returned without a clue

 to where the hermit might be.

 "He may be away only for a short while, perhaps tending someone nearby.

 Maybe he will return by nightfall, but I think not. His cloak is gone

 and his pouch, though his bag of medicines is inside."

 They had then decided to ride through the night and reached Askelon's

 mighty gates as the moon set in the west. Not wishing to disturb the

 servants or awaken the King and Queen, they went instead to the

 chambers kept for Durwin when he was in residence at the castle. There,

 to their surprise and pleasure, they found the hermit slumped in his

 chair with a scroll rolled up on his lap. He was sound asleep and

 snoring.

 Upon their entrance, despite their attempts to be quiet, Durwin

 awakened and greeted them warmly. "You have ridden all night! You are

 hungry, I will fetch you some food from the kitchen."

 He hurried away with a candle in his hand, while Quentin and Toll

 pulled off their cloaks, dipped their hands in the basin and attempted

 to wash away their fatigue. They then settled themselves, exhausted,

 into chairs and dozed until Durwin returned with bread and cheese and

 fruit he had niched from the pantry.

 "Here, sit at this table and eat while I tell you what I have been

 doing since last we met." Durwin told them of his studies and his

 healing work among the peasants, and at last Quentin told him about

 their audience with Biorkis and their discussion about the star which

 nightly grew brighter.

 / 387 I

 They had talked long and late. At last they rose from the table and

 turned to curl themselves in their chairs to sleep. Just then a barely

 audible knock sounded on Durwin's door. Quentin said, "Durwin, you

 have a visitor, I believe. Do you entertain so late at night?"

 "I, as you well know, did not expect a single person in my chambers

 tonight and I find not one, but two. So now I entertain any

 possibility! Open the door and let them in, please."

 Quentin stepped to the door and opened it. He was not prepared for the

 greeting he received.

 "Quentin, my love. You are here!" Instantly Quentin's arms were

 thrown wide as he swept up a young woman in a long white woolen robe

 and buried his face in her hair.

 "Bria! I did not know how much I missed you until this moment."

 The two lovers clung in a long embrace, breaking off suddenly when they

 remembered that they were not alone. Quentin set his lady back upon

 her slippered feet and drew her into the room. Durwin and Toli smiled

 as they looked on.

 "What brings you to this hermit's chambers so late at night?" Quentin

 asked in mock challange.

 "Why, I was passing without and I fancied I heard voices. I fancied

 one of them was yours, my love."

 "Ah! Your Ups utter the answer my ears long to hear. But come, I have

 much to tell you. Much has happened since I was with you last."

 "Not here you don't!" replied Durwin. "In a very short time this

 chamber will ring with the snores of the sleeping! You two doves must

 take your cooing elsewhere." He beamed happily as he shooed them out

 the door.

 Quentin and Bria walked hand in hand along the darkened passageway and

 out onto the same balcony the Princess and Durwin had occupied only a

 night before.

 As Quentin opened the balcony door, the faint light of a glowing sky

 met his eyes. Dawn's crimson fingers stretched into the sky in the

 east, though the sun lingered below the far horizon and one or two

 stars could still be seen above.

 "I have missed you, my darling' lighed Bria. "My heart baa mourned

 your absence."

 "I am here now, and with you. I find my greatest happinett when I am

 at your side."

 "But you will leave again too soon, I fear. My father has a tad:

 for you, and we will be separated again

 "Do you know what it is

 Bria shook her head.

 "Then how do you know it will take me away from you so suddenly?"

 "A woman knows...."

 "Well, then, we will have to make each moment we are together so much

 the sweeter." So saying, Quentin pulled her to him gently and kissed

 her. She wound her arms around him and rested her head upon his

 chest.

 Quentin looked at the placid sky as its rosy red brightened to a golden

 hue. The mighty ramparts of Askelon Castle gleamed like burnished

 gold, magically transformed from their ordinary state of dull stone by

 the dawn's subtle alchemy.

 "Quentin " Her voice was small and frightened. "What is happening? I

 am afraid, though I do not know why. The King holds his own counsel

 and will see no one. And when I ask him about affairs in the realm, be

 only smiles and pats my hand and tells me that a Princess should think

 of only happy things and not concern herself with mundane matters.

 "I am worried for him. Oh, Quentin, when you see him you will know he

 is not well. He is pale and drawn. Some dark care sits heavily upon

 his brow. My mother and I know not what to do."

 "Calm yourself, Bria, my love. If there is anything I may do to ease

 his mind, count on it that it shall be done. And if medicines have any

 effect, Durwin will know it and will avail.

 "And yet, I must confess that I am troubled, too. But by nothing so

 easily explained would that it were. I would give a fortune to any who

 could calm the turmoil I feel growing inside me.

 "There is trouble, Bria. I feel it, though all about me appears

 peaceful and serene. I start at shadows, and night gives no rest, it

 is

 I 389 I

 as if the wind itself whispers an alarm to my ears, but no sound u

 heard." :

 Bria sighed deeply and clutched him tighter. "What is happening? What

 will become of us, my darling?"

 <t! do not know. But I promise you this: I will love you forever."

 They held each other for awhile, and the new sun rose and filled the

 sky with golden light.

 "See how the sun banishes the darkness. So love will send our troubles

 fleeing far from us I promise."

 "Can love accomplish so much, do you think?" Bria said dreamily.

 "It can do all things."

 SIX

 "GOOD THE TOO I say we should turn back. We have already come too far,

 and it is past the time when we should have been in Askelon. The King

 will be fearing our disappearance soon, if not already."

 "But we have not seen what we came to see: the enemy, if there is one.

 We would be remiss if we returned now. Our task is not completed."

 Ronsard sat hunched in the saddle, one arm resting on the pommel, the

 other bent around behind him as he pressed his hand into the small of

 his back. "If I do not get off this horse soon, I may never walk

 again."

 "Since when have you become fond of walking? The Lord High Marshall of

 the Realm should set a better example for his men,"

 joked Theido, swiveling in his saddle to cast an eye upon the four

 knights behind.

 "My men know me for what I am," said Ronsard. "But I jet not when I

 say that we should return at once. It is no light thing to keep a King

 waiting."

 "Nor is it meet lo bring him useless information the one would foil his

 purpose as easily as the other." Theido turned hia horse and brought

 himself close to Ronsard. "But I will tell you what we shall do, so

 that I may hear the end of your complaining. We will send one of the

 knights back with a message of what we barn discovered so far, and of

 our intention of continuing until we are satisfied."

 "Fair enough. Also relay that we will return at the earliest we may,

 by the most expeditious means, with a full report."

 "Agreed." Theido turned his sun-browned face toward the place where

 the knights waited, resting their mounts before continuing on their

 journey. Mart ranI Come up here." He signaled one of them.

 The knight approached his leaders on foot and saluted. "Martran, you

 are to ride to the King at once and deliver this message: we are

 continuing on our mission and are sorry for the delay in returning to

 him sooner. Tell him also that we will come hence as soon as we are

 satisfied that we have obtained that which we seek, or have some better

 report to give him. Do you understand?"

 "Yes, my lord," replied the knight crisply.

 "Repeat the message ordered Ronsard.

 The knight repeated the message word for word with the same inflection

 given the words as Ronsard himself had used. "Very well," said

 Ronsard. "Be on your way. Stop for nothing and no one."

 The knight saluted again and walked back to his horse. He mounted and

 rode off at once, without looking back.

 Now then," said Theido, snapping his reins impatiently, "let us go

 forth."

 Ronsard raised himself in his saddle and called to the remaining

 knights. "Be mounted! Forward we go!"

 / 391 I

 Since leaving Askelon they had ridden further and further south, first

 to Hinsenby and then along the coast as it dipped toward the Suthland

 region of Mensandor. They had passed through Persch and a host of

 peasant villages unnamed on any map.

 Now they approached a rocky stretch ofcoastland which rose in sharp

 cliffs at the brink of the sea.  This was where the Fiskill Mountains

 spent themselves in their southernmost extremity. The crags marched

 right down to the sea, and there the land dropped away as if it had

 been divided by the chop of an axe. The sea lay crowded with jagged

 teeth of immense rocks, some as big as islands, though they jutted

 sharply out of the ocean's swell, bare and lifeless, uninhabited except

 as roosts for myriads of squawking seabirds.

 A narrow, treacherous track climbed upward through the cliffs and

 entwined itself among the tors. Now it cut through a wall of rock so

 narrow that a man's outstretched hands touched either side, and now it

 swung out upon the sheer cliff face where one misstep would send horse

 and rider hurtling down into the churning sea.

 They halted.

 "I suggest we stop here for the night. I would not like to trust that

 trail by night; it is bad enough in the daylight."

 "Very well," agreed Ronsard. "A fresh start at it in the morning would

 not be disagreeable to me."

 They removed themselves but a little away from the trail and set about

 making camp for the night. As the sun slid down below the dark rim of

 the sea, the birds fluttered to the roosting rocks and the evening

 trembled with their noisy calls.

 After a while the moon ascended and cast its pale light all around. The

 tired men dozed and talked in hushed tones.

 "Listen!" said Ronsard abruptly. All lapsed into silence and sifted

 the soft sea breeze for sounds. The only sound to reach their ears was

 the faraway roll of the waves crashing against the rocks and slapping

 against the cliff walls.

 Theido cast a wondering glance toward his old friend.

 "Oh, I guess it was nothing," said Ronsard, but he still peered

 intently into the night as if listening for the sound to repeat

 itself.

 In a moment he was on his feet, pacing uneasily about the camp, just

 out oflhe circle of the firelight. Then he walked a short way along

 the road and stood for a long time looking toward the cliff trail.

 Theido watched him narrowly and was not surprised when the brawny

 knight came hurrying back.

 "What is it?"

 "Someone is coming! Up there in the cliffs I am certain of it!"

 He ordered his knights in a harsh whisper, "Put out the fire and take

 the horses aside. Hide yourselves and watch me for a signal!"

 In the space of five heartbeats the small camp was deserted, and no

 sign remained that only a moment before five knights had been encamped

 there.

 Then Ronsard and Theido sat down to wait in the dark alongside the

 road, hidden from view by a low-lying clump of hartstongue. Shortly

 there could be heard the minute sounds of a group of people hurrying

 along the path, desperately trying to pass unseen: the rattling echo of

 a stone dislodged by a careless foot, the muffled creak of a wheel upon

 the rock, a cough.

 Then their murky shapes could be seen against the night sky as they

 drew nearer. They were on foot, and there were smaller shadows among

 the larger ones. They huddled together in a close knot, rather than

 ranging themselves along the trail; they evidently feared separation

 more than detection.

 "It is no army," breathed Ronsard between clenched teeth. He let his

 breath out slowly. "But now to find out who they are and why they risk

 the cliffs in the night the very thing we declined to do."

 "We had a choice; perhaps they felt they had none," replied

 Theido.

 Ronsard rose from his place and stepped near to the trail, just ahead

 of the nocturnal travelers' leader. When the man approached close at

 hand, Ronsard said in a loud, steady voice, "Halt, friend! In the name

 of the Dragon King!"

 A shriek and a stifled oath came from the main body of the group. But

 the man stopped dead in his tracks and looked about him for the source

 of the unexpected command. Ronsard stepped closer, and the moonlight

 fell on his face. He smiled and held up his hands to show the

 frightened travelers that he meant them no harm.

 I 393 I

 "Wh what do you w want?" the leader managed to stammer.

 "I wish to speak with you that is all. I will not detain you long."

 Ronsard still spoke in the same steady voice, loud enough for all to

 hear.

 "Who are you?"

 "I am the Lord High Marshall of Mensandor," replied Ronsard- "Who are

 you, and whither do you run by the light of the moon?"

 "Oh, sir!" gasped the relieved man. "You do not jest?  You are really

 a King's man?"

 "At your service. Are you in trouble?"

 At this all the people rushed forward and drew close around Ronsard as

 if to seek the protection of his title, a welcome shield over their

 heads. They all began to shout.

 Theido crept from his hiding place and came to stand beside Ronsard,

 who held up his hands and called for quiet. "I think I would better

 hear the tale from only one mouth at a time. You are the leader of

 this band." He pointed to the man he had addressed at first. "You

 begin."

 The man's face shone pale in the moonlight, but Theido got the

 impression that it would be pale in bright daylight as well. Deep

 lines of fear were drawn on the man's countenance. His eyes did not

 hold steady, but shifted to the right and left and all around as if to

 warn him of the imminent approach of an enemy.

 "I ... we ..." The man's mouth worked like a pump, but words were slow

 in coming.

 "It is all right; you are safe for the time. I have soldiers with me,

 and we will defend you at need." Ronsard raised his arm in signal and

 his knights came forward to stand along the trail, their hands upon the

 hilts of their long swords.

 Their presence seemed to frighten the man rather than calm him.

 "Come, you may speak freely," said Theido in a gentle voice.

 "We are from Dom," the leader managed to squeak out at length. "We

 have left our homes and carry all our belongings with us. We are going

 to the High Temple." He paused, gulped air and plunged ahead. "We

 know not where else to go."

 "It is a strange pilgrimage you make, friend," observed Ronsard. "Why

 do you leave your homes and flee by night?"

 "Have you not heard? They are coming ... a terrible host, terrible.

 They have landed at Halidom, and they are coming. Why, we are fleeing

 for our lives to the protection of Ariel! Only the god can save us

 now."

 "Who is coming? Have you seen anyone?"

 The man looked at Ronsard wide-eyed with disbelief. "Do you not know?

 How is this possible? The whole land is in turmoil! We are fleeing

 for our lives!"

 The people began to shout again, each pouring out his heart, beseeching

 the King's men to help them escape. Ronsard and Theido listened and

 drew aside to confer. "Something has frightened these people, that

 much is clear. Though what remains a mystery. I can make no sense out

 of it." Ronsard scratched his jaw.

 Theido called the leader over to where they stood. "Good sir, have you

 seen someone? This enemy you flee from? Do you know from whence he

 comes?"

 The man hesitated. "Well ... we have seen no one. But we dared not

 wait. Two days ago, men of HaUdom in the Suthlands came to Dom, and

 they told us of terrible things which had happened there. A mighty

 enemy has risen up and drives all before him. Their city was burned,

 and the streets ran with the blood of their children and women. Those

 that would save their lives fled to the hills. So we flee while we

 still may."

 "This enemy did you hear a name?"

 "It is too terrible to say!" The man threw his hands heavenward in

 supplication.

 "Terrible it may be, but we will hear it. Tell what you know,"

 commanded Ronsard. His authoritative tone seemed to have a calming

 effect upon the frightened peasant.

 He looked from one to the other of them and said, his voice now a

 strained whisper, "It is Nin the Destroyer!"

 SEVEN

 THEIDO LOOKED blankly at Ronsard and then back at the frightened

 peasant- The man's eyes glittered wide and round in the moonlight. He

 had scarcely dared utter his enemy's name, and his tongue had frozen in

 his mouth. But as appalling as the name was to the peasant enough at

 least to inspire a whole village to flight at the very sound of it the

 name meant nothing to Theido or Ronsard.

 "I have never heard this name," said Theido. Ronsard shook his head

 and looked hard at the peasant.

 "Is there another name by which this enemy may be known? We know

 nothing of this Nin or his armies."

 "No there is no other name I know."

 "Halidom was destroyed? These men that came to Dom, they saw it

 destroyed?"

 "Yes, so they said. Some of them had lost everything home and family,

 possessions everything."

 Theido turned to Ronsard. "There is where we will find our answer at

 Halidom."

 "So it would seem. We will go there and see what may be seen. The

 King will want to know in any case." He turned back to the leader of

 the fleeing people. "This Nin you speak of he was moving toward Dom,

 you say? How did you know if you did not see him?"

 "The men of Halidom told us. The enemy ranges the whole countryside.

 No place is safe from him. That is why we go to the High Temple at

 Narramoor to ask the god to protect us."

 "There may be a safer place than even the temple," said

 Theido. "I have lands at Eriott which need the work of many hands. Go

 there and present yourself to my steward, called Toffin. Tell him his

 master sends you to him that he may give you shelter and food and land

 to work. And give him this." Theido drew a small round token from the

 pouch at his belt: a clay tile baked hard with his signet pressed into

 it.

 The peasant stared at the signet tile and then at Theido. He seemed as

 much dismayed by it as by Nin himself. "Are we to be sold into slavery

 because we have no place to go? We have left our homes to become serfs

 of the King's men?" He had spoken loudly, and there came a murmur from

 the rest of the group standing a little way off.

 "My offer," explained Theido, "is honorable. You may take it or no. I

 do not withdraw it. I keep no serfs; all who work my lands are free

 and enjoy the fruits of their labors in equal share. If you doubt my

 words, go there and see for yourselves. In any case you are free to

 leave or stay once you have seen. No one compels you to do as I bid.

 "Only know this: if you stay' you will be required to do your share and

 to work the land that is given you. If you do not, your place will be

 given to another who will."

 The man looked at the token in Theido's hand. He reached out for it

 hesitantly, casting a sideways glance to the others in his band.

 "We, too, are honorable, though we are but men of low birth." He

 snatched the tile out of Theido's hand. "We will go to your lands at

 Eriott and inquire of your steward; we will see how he receives us. If

 he bears the good will of his master, you will find us busy in your

 fields when you return from your duties." He bowed stiffly from the

 waist and turned to go. He paused and turned again. "If it be as you

 say, you have our thanks, my lord."

 "I do not ask for thanks, but only that you will do as we have agreed.

 That shall be to me more than gratitude itself."

 The man bowed again and went to where his people waited to learn the

 outcome of the interview just concluded. Words were exchanged quickly;

 there were mumbled whispers all around, and suddenly the band was on

 its way again, but bolder this time and changed in mood. Several of

 the refugees waved their thanks to

 / 397 /

 Theido as they passed, and all talked excitedly together as they moved

 hurriedly away down the trail.

 "Well, you have done your fellows a fine service this night. I hope

 you will not have cause to regret your kindness," said Ronsard when

 they had gone.

 "One never regrets a kindness, my friend. But I have no doubt that I

 have gained as much as they in the bargain'

 "How so?"

 "Good land needs the plowman*s hand to bring it to life and a husband

 to care for it. If I did not have men to work my fields, they would

 soon become barren and worthless. These men do me great service by

 helping me care for my lands. Rightly managed, there is more than

 enough for everyone."

 "Well, I hope we may see your trust proved true. But why not? The

 realm has known nothing but peace these many years and we are at peace

 still."

 "I wonder," replied Theido, "I wonder."

 Quentin hastened along wide corridors lined with rich tapestries toward

 the Dragon King's apartments. Upon rising, he had been summoned to

 meet with the King in his private council chambers, and had dressed in

 fresh garments a new runic and trousers of forest green and a short

 summer cloak of blue, edged in green and gold. The finely embroidered

 cloak, fastened with a broach of gold at his shoulder, fluttered out

 behind him as he swept along.

 Just as he stepped up to the door which opened onto Eskevar's

 apartments, the door swung inward and Oswald, the Queen's chamberlain,

 emerged. "Sir, if you would but come aside with me, my Lady would have

 a word with you."

 Oswald smiled his request, but his gray eyes insisted; so Quentin

 nodded his assent and followed the chamberlain. They withdrew to a

 room just across the corridor from the King's chambers. Oswald knocked

 upon the door and stepped in. "Quentin is here. Your Majesty."

 Quentin stepped into the room behind the chamberlain and saw Queen

 Alinea sitting on a bench in the center of the room with her hands

 folded in her lap. Her eyes were bent toward the floor, but her look

 was faraway, and Quentin saw lines of worry creasing her noble brow.

 When he had entered, the Queen sat up and her face was suddenly

 transformed by a beautiful smile. Instantly the dim chamber seemed

 filled with light. She rose as he came to her and held out her arms to

 embrace him. Quentin hugged her and brushed her pale cheek with his

 Ups, she kissed both of his.

 "Quentin, you have come! Oh, I am so glad you arc here. Your journey

 was not unpleasant, I trust? It is good to have you back. The months

 seem long when you are away." She gripped his hand in both others and

 led him to the bench. "Please, sit with me but a little." To

 Quentin's glance she answered, **I know the King is waiting, but it is

 important. I would have a word with you before you enter his

 presence."

 Her sparkling green eyes, deep and serene as forest pools, searched his

 for a moment, as if deciding whether the hearer would be strong enough

 to bear the words she had to say. "Quentin," she said softly, "the

 King is very ill."

 "So I have learned from Bria." He blushed. "We met this morning when

 I arrived. She told me of her concern for his health."

 "But I think even Bria does not guess how tar he has fallen. She is

 devoted to her father and loves him with all her heart, but she does

 not know him as I do. Something consumes him before my eyes; it gnaws

 at him from within, stealing his strength and sapping away his

 spirit."

 Again in answer to Quentin's look, she continued, "Do not wonder at

 what I tell you, you will see for yourself soon enough. He has greatly

 changed since last you saw him. It is all I can do to keep from

 weeping in his presence." She appeared to be on the verge of tears at

 that very moment.

 "My Queen, I am your servant. Say the word and I will do whatever you

 require."

 "Only this. Take no unusual notice of him when you go in to him; be to

 him as normally. Do not let on that you believe him ill, or that I

 have told you anything of his condition

 "I promise it. But is there nothing else I may do?"

 "No." She patted his hand. "I know that you would if you

 / 399 I

 could. But I have sent for Durwin and have placed a heavy charge on

 him. It may take all of his healing powers to restore the King if be

 is not now beyond them."

 "I will pray to the Most High that Durwin's cures may have effect."

 "That is my course, as well," smiled the Queen, and again the room

 seemed lighter, for a dark cloud had passed over Quentin's heart as

 they talked. He rose more encouraged. "Go to him now, my son. And

 remember what I told you."

 "I will, my Lady. You need not fear

 Quentin quietly left the room, and when he had stepped back into the

 corridor he found Oswald waiting for him. The chamberlain led him back

 to the King's chambers, knocked, then admitted him.

 "Your Majesty, Quentin is here."

 Quentin drew a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. In the

 center of the high-ceilinged chamber sat a heavy, round oaken table,

 shaped liked the room itself, for it was a part of one of Askelon's

 many towers. Small round windows of amber glass tinted the afternoon

 light with a warm hue. Eskevar was standing in a shaft of light from

 one of these windows, his back turned, gazing out onto the courtyard

 below.

 There was an awkward moment when Quentin could not speak, and the King

 did not seem to have heard the chamberlain's announcement. Quentin

 hesitated, feeling suddenly trapped. Then the King turned slowly and

 fixed his eyes upon Quentin. A thin smile stretched his lips.

 "Quentin, my son, you have come."

 If not for the Queen's warning, Quentin did not know what be would have

 done. He bit his lower Up to stifle a cry and then recovered himself

 and forced a grin.

 "I came as soon as I could.  Toti's horses are magnificent. I believe

 they have wings. We flew over the land at a fair pace."

 Still smiling the sad, weak smile of a dying man, Quentin thought the

 King advanced slowly and offered his hand.

 Quentin took it without hesitation and could not help noticing how weak

 the King's grip had become, and how cold the feel of his hand.

 Eskevar*s flesh had taken on a waxen pallor, and his eyes seemed to

 burn with a dull, feverish light. His lips were cracked and raw, and

 his hair, that crowning glory of rich, dark curls, hung limp and

 lifeless and had turned now almost completely gray.

 Quentin found himself staring at the face of a strange man who looked

 at him intently with sunken eyes rimmed with dark circles. He looked

 away quickly and said, "This is a cheery room. Sire. Will we be

 alone, or are others expected?"

 "Others will come, but not yet. I wanted to speak to you alone first.

 Please, sit down." The King lowered himself slowly into a chair at the

 round table, and Quentin followed. He wanted to weep at the sight

 ofEskevar, the mighty Dragon King who was now tottering like an old

 man.

 How could this be? wondered Quentin. How could such a change be

 wrought in such a short time? In a scant eight or nine months the King

 had deteriorated to a shocking degree. Quentin wanted to dash from the

 room, to remove himself far away from the creature who sat beside him

 and who wore the King's crown.

 Eskcvar gazed into the young man's eyes with a look of inexpressible

 gentleness; a fatherly compassion which Quentin had never seen there

 before suddenly flowered. Quentin was strangely moved and forgot for a

 moment the horror of the King's shattered health.

 "Quentin," said Eskevar after a moment's contemplation, "as you know, I

 have no son, no heir to my throne save Bria. My brother. Prince

 Jaspin, is banished, nevermore to return.

 "I think it time for me to choose my successor."

 "Oh, no. Sire," Quentin snapped. "Now is not the time to think of

 such things. You have many years ahead of you. You are strong yet."

 Eskevar shook his head slowly, frowning slightly. "No, it is not to

 be. Quentin" again the sweet, sad smile and fatherly glance "Quentin,

 I am dying."

 "Nol"

 "Yes! Hear me!" The King raised his voice. "Slowly it may be, but I

 am dying. I shall not live to see another spring. It is time for me

 to set my house in order.

 "I intend to choose you as my successor wait! Since you arc

 / 401 I

 not in direct bloodline, it will have to go before the Council of

 Regents. But I expect no problem there. As I have chosen you myself,

 they will ratify my choice gladly."

 Quentin sat gazing at his folded hands, speechless. The King*s words

 had stricken him mute.

 After what seemed like hours he looked up and saw Eskevar watching him

 quietly, but intensely. "You honor me greatly. Sire. But I am not

 worthy of such high accord. I am an orphan, and of no noble birth. I

 am not worthy to be King."

 "You, Quentin, are my ward. You have been a son to me as I have

 watched you grow to manhood these last years. I want you, and no

 other, to wear my crown."

 "I do not know what to say, my Lord."*

 "Say but that you will do as I command; ease my heart in this

 matter."

 Quentin stood up from his chair and then went down on his knees before

 his King. "I am ever your servant. Sire. I will obey."

 Eskevar placed a hand upon Quentin's head and said, "I am contented.

 Now my heart can rest." He touched Quentin on the arm. "Rise, sir!

 One king does not kneel to another. From this day on you are

 considered the heir to the throne of Mensandor."

 Just then there came a knock upon the chamber door and Oswald's voice

 could be heard calling, "The others have arrived. Your Majesty," as

 the door swung open.

 In walked Toli and Durwin. Toli hesitated at the sight of the King,

 but Durwin did not flinch at all. He hurried to the table and, with a

 quick bow, began talking of his travels, all the while keeping a close

 eye on the ailing monarch as if weighing him for some remedy.

 "Good, good. Be seated both of you. We have a matter to discuss."

 The King looked at his comrades closely and drew a deep, weary breath

 before he began.

 "For some time I have been of an uneasy mind. Restless, hungry and

 uneasy. At first I attributed this to the illness which consumes me,

 but it is more than that, I fear. It is for Mensandor that my unease

 persists. There is some distress in the realm."

 The Dragon King spoke softly and distinctly, and Quentin

 realized that Eskevar had so long been the head of his land that he had

 developed a special feeling for it and knew instinctively when

 something was wrong- It was as if a pan of him were hurt and he felt

 the wound. He had discerned trouble before anyone else had suspected

 even the slightest eddy in the current of peace and prosperity that

 flowed throughout the kingdom

 It struck him absurdly at first, but with growing conviction that

 perhaps what ailed the land was the cause of the King's distress as

 well.

 "To prove my intuition I summoned the faithful Theido and Ronsard to me

 and sent them with a small force to discover, if they could, whence the

 trouble came.

 "The time for their return is now past. I have received no word or

 sign from them, and I am anxious for what may have befallen them. That

 is why I have summoned you" he nodded to Quentin and Toll. "It becomes

 ever more urgent that we discover the source of our harm before it is

 too late. There is evil afoot; I feel it. Each day it grows the

 stronger. If we do not find it soon and crush it out ... "

 "My Lord," said Toll, "we have seen portents which would indicate the

 prudence of your fears."

 "And I as well," agreed Durwin.

 Toll and Durwin shared with the King the signs they had observed,

 foreshadows of an impending evil they could not identify. Quentin

 noted that as his two comrades spoke, and especially when they

 mentioned the Wolf Star, Eskevar appeared to fall even further beneath

 the weight of his kingdom's peril.

 After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the King spoke solemnly.

 "Quentin and Toll, my brave friends, we must discover wherein our

 danger truly lies. My people require your courage."

 "We will go at once and seek out this evil- And it may be we will find

 good Theido and Ronsard, as well," Toli offered boldly.

 Quentin said nothing but stared from one to another of the faces around

 the table.

 "Very well," sighed the King. "You know I would not send you out thus

 if I thought it were but a small thing, or if another ' could serve as

 well."

 He turned and looked at Durwin thoughtfully. "You, sir, I did not

 summon, but as usual one who knows me better than I know myself has

 doubtless interceded." He smiled again, and Quentin saw a flicker of

 the former man. The King continued, "I will detain you, good hermit,

 that you may remain with meI may soon have need of your ministrations,

 and perchance your arts will be better employed here than on the back

 of a horse."

 "So it is," replied Durwin. "I will abide."

 The King rose with some difficulty and dismissed them, asking his two

 warriors, "How soon will you ride?"

 "We will leave at once. Sire," said Toli.

 "It is well; but stay and share at my table tonight at least. I want

 to see my friends all together before ..." He did not finish the

 thought.

 The three arose, bowed and went quietly out.  At the door Quentin

 turned and was about to speak. He looked at Eskevar, and his eyes

 filled with tears; no words would come. He bowed quickly and then went

 out, too overwhelmed to say what he felt in his heart.

 "THE VILLAGE has been subdued. Most Excellent One." The rider bowed

 low in his saddle. Behind him black smoke ascended in a thick, dark

 column to be scattered by the wind blowing in from the sea. His sorrel

 pony jerked its reins and tossed its head, its hide besmeared with soot

 and dried blood. "There was no resistance."

 Savage eyes watched the messenger from beneath the rim of an iron helm

 ornamented with black plumes which fluttered like wings in the wind.

 The warlord said nothing but turned his horse and started slowly away.

 The messenger spurred his mount forward and drew up beside his

 departing commander. "Is there something that has displeased you, my

 Master?" The voice trembled anxiously.

 "No, it is well. Our task is complete. I will return to the ships;

 you will accompany me. I may have need of a messenger." He lifted

 himself in his saddle and called to several riders who waited a little

 distance apart. The riders held their helmets under one arm and stared

 impassively ahead at the smoke curling upward.

 "You four" the commander gestured with his gauntleted hand "stay with

 the men and occupy this place. You Others will come with me. We ride

 at once. Follow."

 "But what is to be done with the prisoners. Most Excellent One?"

 called the messenger after the dark retreating form. The warlord did

 not turn nor look around, but the messenger heard the words drifting

 back to him.

 "Kill them," his commander said.

 The room hung heavy with the pungent fragrance of burning incense, and

 clouds of the aromatic vapor drifted about the great figure seated on a

 throne of silk cushions. Tiny colored birds fluttered and chirped in

 cages nearby, their songs accompanied by the soothing notes of a

 flute.

 Presently, the tinkling ring of a chime sounded in the passageway

 beyond, followed by the rustle of clothing. The gigantic form seated

 on the throne appeared to be asleep, for he did not move or acknowledge

 the intrusion in any way. The huge head remained resting on the great

 barrel of a chest. The meaty hands clasping one another in the wide

 lap remained motionless, thumbs pressed together.

 "Immortal One, I have news," said the minister who had just entered so

 quietly. He waited on his knees with his forehead pressed to the

 floor, hands thrust before him, palms upward.

 "You may speak, Uzia." The voice seemed to fill the small room, even

 though the words had been spoken quietly.

 "Your warlords have returned. And they bring tidings of victory. The

 cities of the coast are subdued."

 "Has a suitable residence been found for me?"

 I 405 I

 "Alas, no. Immortal One, these were but small villages and none

 possessed a dwelling worthy of your being. For this affrontery the

 villages have been burned and the ashes scattered, lest the sight of

 them displease you."

 Nin the Destroyer looked darkly upon his most trusted minister. "This

 land will feel my wrath he shouted. The birds trembled in their cages,

 and the music stopped, Uzia, the prime minister, cowered below him on

 the floor.

 "The wretches of this accursed land speak of many castles in the north,

 and one in particular which may serve your needs while you sojourn here

 to subject this land to your will."

 "What is the name of this palace

 "It is called Askelon. It is the city of the high king of this land

 one known as the Dragon King."

 "Ah," said Nin softly. "The sound of these words pleases me. Say them

 again."

 "Askelon is the home of the Dragon King."

 "It will be my home, and I will be the Dragon King. This pleases meT

 have never killed a dragon before nave I, Uzia?"

 "No, my Deity. Not to my knowledge." He hastened to add, "That is,

 unless in a previous life, of course.

 "Then I will look forward to that event with anticipation, and I will

 savor the moment of its accomplishment." He stood slowly. "Now, where

 are my warlords?" Nin asked, his deep voice booming.

 "They await you on the beach," replied Uzia. "I will summon them."

 "No, I will go to them. They have achieved my desires and will be

 rewarded by the sight of their god drawing near to them."

 "As you command. Great One-**

 Uzia bowed again and raised himself from the floor. He turned and

 withdrew to the hall and clapped his hands and shouted, "The Deity

 walks' Kneel before him everyone!" He went before his sovereign,

 clapping his hands and shouting the warning. Nin followed slowly,

 balancing his immense bulk upon ponderous legs.

 As they reached a short flight of stairs which led upward to the deck

 of the palace ship, Uzia clapped his hands again and eight attendants

 brought a throne on poles. They placed the throne before their king,

 and he lowered himself into it. Then, straining every muscle, the

 chair-bearers climbed the steps, careful to keep the throne level, lest

 they incur the wrath of their temperamental god. Soon they moved out

 upon the deck.

 Two more attendants waited on deck with large shades made of brilliant

 feathers. As soon as Nin's chair emerged out upon the deck, the huge,

 burly head was shaded from the bright sunlight of a beautiful summer

 day. The attendants swayed under the weight of their burden, but

 proceeded down a long ramp which had been erected out over the shallow

 water from the palace ship to the shore. The ramp terminated in a

 platform on the beach, forming a dais from which Nin the Destroyer

 could command his subjects.

 At the sight of this procession moving slowly down the ramp, the four

 warlords dismounted and drew near to the dais, prostrating themselves

 in the sand. The chair-bearers reached the platform and placed the

 mobile throne squarely in the center of the dais, beneath a broad

 canopy of rich blue silk. Then they withdrew to await the irking

 command; they knelt with their faces touching their knees.

 The blue silk ruffled in the soft sea breeze. Above the dais gulls

 wheeled in the air and shrieked at the spectacle below. Nin raised his

 hands and said, "Arise, my warlords. You may look upon your

 Deity."

 The warlords, clad in their heavy armor, rose stiffly to their feet and

 stood shoulder to shoulder before their patron.

 "I have seen your victory from afar Nin continued. "With my own eyes I

 witnessed the flames of destruction. I am well-pleased. Now tell me,

 my commanders, what is the strength of this land? Is there an army to

 stand before the Destroyer's blade?" He looked at the four fighting

 men and nodded to one of them, who stepped forward slowly. "Gurd?"

 The warrior struck his heart with his closed hand; the mailed fist

 clanked dully upon the bronze breastplate. His long straight black

 hair was pulled tightly back and bound at the back of his head in a

 thick braid.

 Quick black eyes set in a smooth, angular red face watched Nin closely.

 "I have seen no soldiers in the south. Immortal One. The peasant

 villages were unprotected."

 "Amut."

 / 407 /

 The warrior, a member of the yellow race, advanced. His gleaming head

 was shaved completely bald, except for a short bob of hair which he

 wore tied in a tight knot. On his cheeks and forehead were strange

 blue tattoos, and a ragged scar streaked from the corner of one

 almond-shaped eye to the base of a thick, muscular neck. "In the north

 we encountered no soldiers. Great One. The cowardly populace fled

 before our arrows like leaves before the storm."

 "Luhak," called Nin and the third warlord stepped forward.

 Luhak touched his bearded chin with a brown hand. His head was covered

 in a helm of white horsehide which sprouted a short plume made from a

 horse's tail at its crest. He was tall and lean, and when he opened

 his wide mouth to speak, a row of pointed white teeth flashed.

 "I encountered but one village in the mountainous interior of this

 land, named Gaalinpor," the warrior said. "No army could cross those

 mountains in surprise. We may turn our eyes elsewhere."

 "Boghaz."

 The last warlord, a towering black man whose features were hidden

 beneath the black veil which covered the lower part of his face,

 revealing only the large, dark eyes, took his place beside the others.

 His head was encased in a horn-covered, leather helmet, and he wore a

 breastplate made of flat disks of horn which had been linked together

 with Iron rings. A long red cape fell from his shoulders to the heels

 of his black boots. At his side he carried, as they all did, a curious

 curved sword with a thin, tapering blade honed dagger-sharp on both

 edges.

 "And I, too, have seen no soldiers. The villages offered no

 resistance, the blood of the stubborn ran red upon the ground, and

 their ashes ascended to heaven in your honor. Immortal Nin." With

 that the black warrior touched his forehead and bowed low.

 "What land is this which builds no walls around its cities and leaves

 the small villages unprotected? Here is wealth for the taking, my

 warlords. We will push north to Askelon and there I will establish my

 palace, so that I may be comfortable while bringing this land under my

 rule.

 "Go now and bring me word when the castle is mine, that I

 The WartorSs of Nin rosy come at once and take possession of what I

 desire. But do not make sacrifice of the Ring. I will have that

 pleasure for my own; his blood will Bow for me alone. Hear and

 obey."

 The four commanders saluted Nin and backed away a few paces. Then they

 turned, mounted their horses and galloped off together. Nin clapped

 his hands, and the attendants sprang forward to begin the laborious

 process of carrying their god back up the ramp and into the magnificent

 palace ship.

 NINE

 HEAVY DEW still clung to the leaves as the first rays of golden morning

 broke upon the countryside. Near the sea such dew was common, but it

 never ceased to delight Quentin when the sun struck each tiny droplet

 of moisture and turned it into a glimmering gem. Each hillock and bush

 seemed to acquire inestimable value.

 Toll's high-spirited horses, now well-rested, pranced and jogged in the

 cool morning air. Quenun himself lined his voice in a hymn to the new

 day. Toli, too, joined in and their voices rang in the dells.

 "Ah, it is good to be alive!" shouted Quentin, more for the joy of

 shouting than for the sake of conversation.

 "This morning the saddle seems a friend to you called Toli, bouncing

 along behind. "That is not the impression you gave me last night."

 "In the morning the world is re-created. All things are made new

 including saddles."

 "It is good to see my master in such high humor. For the last three

 days one would have mistaken you for a growling bear not that I

 noticed."

 / 409 I

 Quentin seemed to ignore the remark and they continued on as before,

 the trappings of the horses jingling brightly as they cantered along.

 "I am sorry if I have been out of sorts," said Quentin after some time.

 "I have had much on my mind these past days. It is like a shadow has

 been hovering over me. But now I can see clearly again."

 "That is well for both of us," replied Toli in his usu sal elliptic

 style.

 The two riders approached and mounted the crest of a long, sloping

 hill. Here they paused for & short while and contemplated the road

 before them and the valley beyond, in the center of which lay the

 village of Persch.

 "See how quiet it is," remarked Quentin as he gazed at the scene below.

 "So peaceful. This is how it has been for a thousand years...." His

 voice trailed off.

 "We will pray that it may remain so for another thousand," answered

 Toli. He flicked the reins and started down the road, a thin dirt

 trail barely scratched in the long, thick green grass of the hilts.

 As they drew nearer to the seaside village, Toli grew tense with

 concentration. Quentin noticed the change in his companion's attitude

 and asked, "What is it? What do those eagle eyes of yours see?"

 "Nothing, master. And that is what worries me. I see no one ' no

 activity in the village at all."

 "Perhaps the people of Persch are late abed and late to rise," Quentin

 said carelessly, attempting to maintain the mood of tranquillity which

 had just been shattered by Toll's observation.

 "Or maybe they have a reason for remaining behind doors on such a day

 as this, though that reason is certain to be born of fear."

 Quentin sighed. "It will not be the first time we have encountered

 such this trip." He placed his free hand on the hilt of his sword and

 shifted it slightly to bring it into readiness. His eyes scanned the

 breadth of the town drawing slowly closer with each step. He saw not a

 sign of life, either human or animal, in the streets or on the road

 before them. Certainly that was strange. Ordinarily, the first rays

 of morning light would find the narrow little streets busy with

 citizens going about their daily chores. The merchants would be

 opening their stalls in the marketplace and the craftsmen their

 awnings. Farmers would be offering cheese and melons and eggs in

 exchange for cloth and various metal utensils. Wives would be carrying

 water from the well in the town square, and children would be

 scampering around corners and darting to and fro in noisy play while

 the village dogs barked and dodged their bare, sun browned legs.

 But this morning there was no such bustle and fuss. The empty streets

 seemed haunted by the echoes of childish laughter and the eerie absence

 of the villagers.

 The riders entered the main street of the town, and Quentin beard the

 soft crush of the horses' hooves upon the tiny fragments of shells with

 which the people of Persch paved their streets. Quentin always thought

 that this gave all seaside towns a fresh, clean appearance. This day,

 however, the whitened streets looked desolate, sepulchral.

 No face appeared even fleetingly in a doorway or darkened window. No

 sound could be heard, except the soft sea breeze blowing among the

 eaves; it whispered a note of utter loneliness.

 "Everyone is gone," observed Toli. His voice seemed to die in the

 empty air. l

 "I do not believe it. Everyone cannot have left. Someone must have

 remained behind. A whole village does not disappear not without good

 cause."

 They reached the village square. It was an irregular rectangle formed

 by the fronts ofPersch's principal buildings; the inn, which was

 rumored to serve a most remarkable fish stew; the communal hall (since

 no nobleman dwelt in Persch, the citizens had erected their own great

 hall in which to observe feasts and holy days); the marketplace and the

 stalls of the vendors; the small temple and shrine to the god Ariel;

 and the dwellings of the craftsmen.

 In the center of this rectangle stood a large well, and on a mound

 beside it an immense old cedar tree spread forth its shaggy limbs to

 offer shade to all who gathered there. Quentin and Toli drew up to the

 well and dismounted, Toli picked up a shallow wooden bucket which lay

 beside the stone rim of the well and

 / 411 I

 dipped out water for the horses. Quentin filled a gourd and drank his

 fill of the cold, fresh water and then offered some to Toli.

 "Hmmm," Quentin mused, "not a sound, not a sight. And yet, I feel that

 we are not alone."

 "Yes, I feel someone close by. I also feel their fear." Toli replaced

 the gourd carefully and then motioned for Quentin to mount up again.

 Quentin did so with a questioning look, and the two rode the rest of

 the way through the village When they reached the last dwelling Toli

 led them aside and whispered, "We were not entirely alone back there.

 I felt someone's eyes upon us. Let us leave the horses here and go

 back by another way."

 They crept quietly along a pinched alleyway between buildings and soon

 made their way back to the square. There was nothing to be seen; it

 all looked just as it had only moments before.

 "Well, it appears we should look elsewhere. Perhaps we may try one of

 the dwellings."

 "Wait but a moment more and I will join you."

 Toli had no sooner finished speaking when they heard a slight

 scrabbling hiss, like that of a snake moving through dry sand. It

 stopped and started with a measured pace. They listened for a moment,

 and the sound seemed to diminish rapidly. It was then Quentin realized

 that someone had been very close to them, perhaps just around the

 corner of the same wattle and daub abode where they now crouched

 waiting in the shadows. The sound was the light, shuffling footfall of

 someone treading gently, cautiously along the shell-strewn path.

  

 "He is getting away!" whispered Quentin harshly, and he dived around

 the edge of the dwelling in time to see a leg and a hand disappear

 behind an overgrown yew thicket.

 "He is making for the basin!" shouted Toli- "We will catch him this

 way." He pulled on Quentin's arm and pointed behind them to where the

 narrow alleyway turned and started down as it became a path, like so

 many in the sea town, which led to the waterfront where the villagers

 kept their fishing boats.

 Toli bounded away, and Quentin followed in his fleet steps. They

 tumbled down the path together and jumped down the rock steps placed in

 the side of the sandy hill which separated the town from the strand

 below. Ahead of them lay the boat basin, the small cove which formed

 the harbor of Persch. There, between two fishing boats resting with

 their black hulls skyward, a small skifF with a white triangular sail

 had been thrust up on the sand. And hurrying nimbly along the sand

 toward the skiff ran the slight figure of a young man.

 Quentin darted out onto the beach in pursuit. He ran a few paces, then

 stopped, raised his hand and shouted, "Hold, sir! Stop! We mean you

 no harm! We only wish to talk!"

 The figure half-turned and only then saw the two men watching him.

 Though Quentin and Toli were soil too far away to make out the features

 of the face, the effect of Quentin's words was quite obvious. "You

 have frightened him!" called Toli as the figure on the beach lurched

 forward, stumbled, fell, picked himself up and ran deer like for the

 skiff. "Come on!" cried the quick-footed Jber skimming over the

 sand.

 The young stranger had reached the skiff and was shoving the boat into

 the water with all his might. It seemed to have caught on something,

 thought Quentin, or perhaps the tide had withdrawn somewhat since the

 boat had been left there, making it harder to push free.

 But, with the strength of desperation, the stranger succeeded in

 launching the small sailboat and was thrashing through knee-deep water

 to turn the boat around before clambering in, fish like over the

 side.

 Toli reached the water's edge first and jumped in. Quentin plunged in

 after him, and both waded toward the boat. The stranger, paddling

 furiously with a long oar, cast a terrified look over his shoulder.

 Quentin noticed the compact frame and slim shoulders dressed in the

 leather vest and coarse-woven brown trousers worn by fishermen. The

 shapeless, floppy soft hat, also traditional among the seaside dwellers

 of southern Mensandor, was pulled down low over the young face.

 Quentin waded toward one side of the boat, and Toli splashed toward the

 other. The boat, despite the prodigious thrashings of its occupant

 with the oar, was not moving into the deeper water rapidly, and they

 had no trouble reaching it in quick strides.

 / 413 I

 Once they were within range, the oar whistled above their heads.

 Quentin tried to reassure the stranger, saying, "Be still, good sir!

 Desist! Owl" as the wildly flailing oar came dangerously close. "We

 mean you no harm!"

 As Quentin thus occupied the bo/s attention, Toli moved behind him

 toward the bow. The youngster turned and brought the oar down on the

 gunwale with a crack in the exact spot where Toll's fingers had been

 only an instant before. Quentin, seeing the stranger momentarily

 off-balance following the delivery of the blow, seized the stem with

 both hands and gave the boat a mighty, twisting shove. The young

 stranger gave a surprised yelp and, with arms flung wide and fingers

 clawing the air, toppled over the side headfirst into the water, the

 oar clattering to the bottom of the boat.

 Quentin ducked the splash, and Toli swung himself around the side of

 the skiff to face Quentin. Between them floated the fisherman's hat.

 Quentin reached into the shallow water, snagged a bold on the

 stranger's collar and hauled him sputtering to his feet.

 "Well, what have we here?" asked Quentin amiably. "Toli, I think we

 have caught ourselves a..." He slopped abruptly. Now it was Quentin's

 turn to be surprised. ; "A girl!" cried Toll, finishing Quentin's

 thought. |, Quentin held the dripping hat, now a soggy black bag in

 his hands, and looked in wonder at the long, dark tresses, now wet and

 ropy, glistening in the sun. The young woman's dark lashes blinked

 over clear, ice-blue eyes as she shook away the water streaming down

 her face. She had soft, well-shaped features, and her cheeks bore the

 ruby blush of excitement.

 "Let me go!" she cried. "I am nobody. I have no money. Let me

 go!"

 "Peace," said Quentin softly. "We will do you no harm, my lady."

 The young woman looked from one to the other other captors, eyeing them

 suspiciously. "We are not robbers, if that is what you are thinking,"

 replied Toli. "We are King's men."

 "Since when do King's men arrest innocent citizens and abuse them for

 no reason?" she challenged them haughtily.

 "Innocent citizens have nothing to fear from us. Why did you run?"

 The woman threw a furtive glance toward the village and murmured, "I

 was frightened. I found the village deserted, and ... "

 "And then you heard us coming and hid."

 Yes," she said sullenly. She drew a soggy sleeve across her face and

 threw a defiant look at Quentin. "Now, let me go!l"

 "We will let you go in good time. But you have pricked our curiosity,

 and we wish answers to our questions first. Now," said Quentin

 offering her his hand, "we needn't remain standing in the water, let us

 all dry out on the beach."

  

 He turned and began sloshing toward the shore. Suddenly he felt his

 knees buckle, and he pitched forward into the water with a strangled

 yelp. His back and shoulders were pummeled with fierce blows. He

 twisted underwater and was trying to haul himself back to his feet when

 the attack was broken off. He surfaced sputtering and shook the water

 out of his eyes. Toli was gripping the young lady by the arms, having

 pulled her off Quentin. His servant then pushed her, clawing and

 kicking, toward the shore.

 Toll's face wore a strange, ridiculous grin.

 TEN

 "How is THIS possible?" Theido shook his head in disbelief. His eyes

 scanned the blackened plain where the village of Halidom had been.

 "There must be something left, though it does not look promising."

 Ronsard motioned to his knights, and the party started down the gentle

 hill above the flat valley of Halidom. Each man's face wore a look of

 grim wonder, and each man's mind echoed Theido's thought how was it

 possible that an entire village could be annihilated so completely?

 / 415 I

 There was nothing left of Halidom but a blackened spot on the earth.

 Not a timber stood; not a stone was left standing upon another. The

 entire area where the town had been was now a razed jumble of

 destruction.

 ^"Even the birds have finished with it," observed Ronsard as they

 approached the perimeter of the scorched circle.

 "Not quite. Look over there." Tbeido gazed a short distance away.

 Ronsard followed his look and saw a large flapping buzzard settle

 himself upon the remnant of a tree trunk. Three scolding ravens flew

 up from where they had been busily feeding on the ground.

 "Let us sec what draws their interest." Ronsard turned to his men.

 "Spread out and search the ashes for any signs of who this enemy might

 be." Then he and Theido reined their horses toward the place where the

 buzzard was now hopping along the length of burned trunk. The bird was

 eyeing something on the ground below. What it was could not be

 determined.

 They moved through the midst of the destroyed village. Scattered among

 the ashes were the charred remains of the everyday life of the simple

 villagers: an iron tripod with its battered pot nearby, a small stone

 statue of a household god, the blackened shards of a wine jug. And

 here and there lay the remains of hapless villagers: a sooty skull

 staring vacantly skyward; a long, clean length of shinbone, the curved

 hull of a ribcage rising from the desolation.

 The vulture took disgruntled flight at the approach of the horses and

 lifted itself slowly into the sky to circle high overhead with the

 ravens.

 "By the gods'" cried Theido, drawing near the spot.

 "What... ? " began Ronsard. Then he, too, saw what Theido had seen.

 "By Orphe no!"

 Theido had already thrown himself from his mount and was tugging at the

 lashings of his saddle for his water skin. Ronsard, entranced by the

 sight before him, dismounted slowly and stepped closer. He placed a

 hand on the hilt of his sword and was drawing the blade when Theido

 touched his arm. "No need for that, I think. He is beyond pain,

 beyond suffering."

 As Theido spoke, the object of their attention a badly burned torso of

 a body jerked convulsively, and a yellow eye rolled toward them. Upon

 seeing them, the mangled half-corpse uttered a pitiful moan. Theido

 knelt gently down beside the carcass and offered his water skin.

 "Peace, friend. Here is water for your parched tongue." Theido was on

 his knees, gently bringing the tip of the skin within reach of the

 cracked mouth. He allowed a few drops of water to seep out and dampen

 the man's lips. The black tongue poked out and moistened itself with

 the water. The cracked eyelids fluttered, and the dry eyeballs rolled

 in their sockets. Miraculously, the water seemed to take effect and

 the eyes cleared with recognition.

 "How is this poor creature still alive?" wondered Ronsard, bending

 close to Theido's ear.

 "I do not know." The knight paused to let some more water trickle out.

 "But perhaps he may tell us something of what happened here before

 Heoth claims him."

 "Can you speak, friend? We are King's men, and your answers would do

 your King service."

 Ronsard turned away from the stench which assailed his nostrils. The

 man was burned horribly. Great areas of his chest and arms were

 charred black, the lower part of his body had been crushed by the tree

 when it fell. He lay in a shallow depression in the ground,

 half-twisted on his side. His hair had been burned off one side of his

 head; on the other, a few dark strands still clung to the bare scalp to

 trail in the breeze.

 The birds had fed on the man where he lay and had laid open a fair

 portion of his shoulder and back. White bone could be seen gleaming

 from the raw, red wounds.

 "Let him die in peace," said Ronsard turning back. His voice was tight

 and choked.

 "No-o-o." The sound was little more than a whisper on the wind. Both

 men looked down into the eyes and saw a glimmer which held them. The

 man was trying to speak.

 "Easy. We hear you. Let me come close to listen." Theido leaned

 forward and placed his ear directly above the man's lips. He spoke

 softly and with a serenity Ronsard found hard to believe. "Tell us

 what happened, if you can."

 The words formed themselves in the air, though Ronsard could

 / 417 I

 not see how; and, however faint, they could be understood. "I haw been

 waiting for someone to come," the man whispered. His voice was a dry

 rasp the sound of a withered leaf blown over the sand. "Waiting ...

 waiting ..."

 "We are here now, your vigil is over. Can you tell us anything?"

 "All killed ... all destroyed ... burned ... everything

 "Yes, we see. Who did it? Do you know?"

 "Ahh... " a long raking gasp "the destroyer god... ten feet tall...

 fire spewed from his mouth ... everything destroyed."

 "Just the god alone?"

 The words were growing fainter and more tenuous. "N-no... ahh .. .

 many soldiers .. . they say ..." The man coughed violently, and the

 torso was racked by another convulsion.

 "What did they say?"

 "Ahh..."

 "Tell me and then it is over. The god will take you to your rest."

 "Beware ... Nin the Destroyer ... Ahh-hhh."

 The yellowed eyes grew cloudy and still. There was not enough breath

 left to make a last gasp, but Ronsard fancied he felt the last remnant

 of life flee the broken form that had held it so long against its

 will.

 Theido stood slowly. "Let us bury this brave one at once."

 The birds squawked overhead as if they knew that they would be denied

 their meal.

 When the pathetic corpse had been buried with as much kindness as the

 knights could render, Ronsard and Theido went a little apart to talk.

 "Have you seen enough, my friend?" asked Ronsard, leaning on his

 sword.

 "Here yes. But I would like a look at this enemy that strikes helpless

 villages and kills the defenseless."

 "That we shall have ere long, I believe. But now is not the time for

 it. We should return at once with word of what we have seen. When

 next we ride, it will be with a thousand at our backs."

 "Aye, you speak my feelings ... hmmm." Theido paused and seemed to

 regard something on the far horizon.

 "What is it, Theido? Does something trouble you yet?"

 Theido drew a long breath, and when he turned back to Ronsard a strange

 light shone in his eyes. He turned again to the horizon, and his voice

 sounded faraway. A shadow moved across the valley.

 "I am afraid, Ronsard."*

 "You, afraid? How little you know yourself, sir!"

 "Don't you feel it?" His look was quick and sharp. "No? I

 wonder..."

 "Speak your mind, Theido. Let there be nothing between us now. You

 have a foreboding, I can tell. Out with it! Do not fear you will

 unsettle me unduly. I am man enough to ride my thoughts with a tight

 rein, I assure you."

 "Very well you arc right, of course. But it is not so easily put into

 words.

 "Just now as we were talking I had a feeling that we were riding down a

 narrow path whose end lay in darkness, and darkness was frilling all

 around. That is all, just that.  But it made me afraid."

 Ronsard studied his friend carefully, and at last spoke in a firm but

 quiet voice. "We were together, you and I? Well, come what may, that

 is enough for me. It will be a dark path indeed that daunts these two

 knights.

 "But come, this is an evil place. Let us return at once to Askelon for

 the King's counsel. I fear we have been too long absent already."

 "We shall return as you say, fair friend." Theido squared his

 shoulders and clapped Ronsard on the back with his hand. "But I would

 that we had seen this mysterious enemy and knew somewhat of his

 strength in numbers. I would feel better if we could but see his

 face."

 "So should I, but perhaps that time is not far hence. We may yet

 encounter him before reaching Askelon though we are ill prepared for

 battle."

 "I have no wish to engage an unknown enemy, brave sir. Only to espy

 his methods. All the more since this one seems so fantastic to

 believe."

 They had been walking back to their horses and upon reaching them

 Ronsard swung himself up and called to his knights, "Be mounted, men!

 We are away for Askelon!"

 / 419 I

 The knights took their saddles and began riding back up the hill the

 way they had come. But this time they gave the charred circle on the

 plain a wide berth.

 Theido stood for a moment beside his horse, gazing faraway. Behind him

 he heard Ronsard call; he shrugged, mounted his big black palfrey and

 hurried to catch the others. As he gained the crest of the hill, the

 late afternoon sun caught him full in the face and he felt his

 melancholy flow away in the flood of golden warmth that washed over

 him. He spurred his horse forward and did not look back.

 ELEVEN

 DUR WING HIKED his robe over his knees and waded into the reed-fringed

 pool. The afternoon sun fell in slanting shafts through broad oaks and

 silver-leaved birch to glint in shimmering bands upon the clear water.

 Tiny fish flashed away from Durwin's intruding feet. The liquid,

 crystalline call of a lark on a nearby branch split the forest's green

 silence into two quivering halves.

 Durwin stepped carefully into deeper water, scanning the pebble-strewn

 bottom as he splashed along. He thought for a moment to throw off his

 robe and submerge himself in the pool's cool depths, as was his custom

 on a warm summer's afternoon in Pelgrin Forest.

 But he thought better of the notion, inviting though it was, and

 continued his browsing. He soon had reason to be glad he had kept his

 robe, for as he worked his way around the pool, dipping now and then

 into the water, he noticed something white shining in the water. He

 glanced again and realized that it was a reflection on the mirrored

 surface of the pool. With a start be looked up and saw a woman clothed

 all in white standing on the shaggy, grass-covered bank above him.

 "My Lady!" he exclaimed, "you gave me a jump! I did not know that I

 was being watched."

 "I am sorry, Durwin. I did not mean to alarm you," laughed Alinea, her

 voice ringing in the hollow. It had been a long time since he had

 heard her laugh. "You appeared so deeply engrossed I feared to disturb

 your thought. Forgive me."

 "Your consideration is most thoughtful, but unnecessary. I am only

 gathering some biddle weed for a tisane."

 "Water hemlock? That is a deadly poison, is it not?"

 "You know the plants of the field and forest?"

 "Only a few. My mother. Queen Ellena, knew many remedies and made our

 medicines for us. As a child I helped her gather the herbs."

 "Well, then you know that a plant is neither deadly nor dangerous, but

 the intent of the healer makes it so. Yes, some are very powerful. But

 in wise hands even the most poisonous may make a wonderfully potent

 cure."

 "Your hands are surely the wisest in the realm, kind hermit. Your

 medicines are most efficacious."

 "Oh, my Lady! You do not know how sorry your words make me"

 "Have I said something wrong? Please tell me." The Queen drew a few

 steps closer to the edge of the bank. Durwin waded toward her.

 "No, you intended nothing wrong. But your words mock my lack of skill.

 For the one patient I would above all heal with my humble craft lies

 abed no better now that when I first began his treatment. His malady

 resists my utmost art."

 "Surely it is a most subtle cachexy.**

 "So it is!"

 Durwin peered into Alinea's deep green eyes and read the heavy burden

 of care which grew there; every day added to the weight. He felt

 powerless to help her, as he felt powerless when he stood over the

 birth of a peasant baby born too soon and dying before it had begun to

 live. He would have taken the burden upon himself though it was a

 thousand times greater. But there was nothing he could do, save stand

 aside, humbled by his own uselessness.

 / 427 /

 "Do you wink the Most High God hears our prayers for the sick?"

 "He must, my Lady. He bears all prayers and answers each Ja its own

 season."

 "Then prayer will do what potions cannot."

 "You shame me with your faith. In my search through all my medicines I

 have sorely neglected that remedy. But no more."

 The Queen sighed and raised her eyes to a sky shining soft and blue and

 bright in the afternoon light. Clouds fair and faraway drifted slowly

 on the breeze which rustled the trees gently from time to time. The

 little pond was a polished glass reflecting all that passed above.

 Alinea plucked a tiny purple flower from a cluster at her feet. She

 gazed into it as if seeking a sign from its maker.

 Durwin continued wading, stooping now and then to snatch up a plant by

 its roots. When he had collected enough, he strode through the water

 and climbed the bank where Alinea had settled to wait in the shade.

 "What is happening, Durwin?" Her question was softly spoken, but the

 uncertainty in her voice and the worry lurking behind her eyes gave it

 the impact of a shout. Before he could speak a reassuring word she

 continued, "It seems to me that something very bad, some dark evil, is

 growing, drawing nearer. Sometimes I stop for no reason and a cold

 fear passes over me. It is gone again as quickly as it came, but

 afterwards it lingers in the air like a chill, and nothing is the

 same."

 "I, too, have felt it. But I am at a loss to explain it. Something, I

 believe, is moving in the land something evil, yes. It is unknown now,

 but will not so remain. Too soon we will know what it is."

 "To hear you speak so does cheer me, though your words are not happy

 ones. At least I know that a dear friend feels as I do and

 understands."

 "I would reassure you if I could."

 "You have done your service well. I came here hoping to find you and

 to rest a little. I have seen naught of the hills and woods of late,

 and the summer is waxing full."

 "It is peaceful here. When I come here I can almost imagine that I am

 in the heart ofPelgrin itself, it is so quiet. I take heart that even

 in a storm-blown sea of troubles, there are still islands of serenity

 to be found. Nothing can touch them, and nothing will."

 The Queen moved to rise, and Durwin offered his hand. "Stay a while

 longer if you wish, my Lady. I must go and begin with these." He

 shook sparkling drops from the biddle weed

 "No, we will return together. I must look in on the King once

 again."

 They moved to their horses and the ride back to Askelon Castle in the

 quiet warmth of each other's company.

 "Where do you come from, changeling?" Quentin asked, squeezing the

 water from his jerkin. "And what is your name'

 "I'll not tell you until I know who it is that asks." The young

 woman's eyes flashed defiantly.

 "All right, a name for a name. I am Quentin and this is my friend and

 servant. Toll." As he said their names, Quentin thought he saw a

 flicker of recognition cross the girl's comely features. "Do those

 names mean anything to you?"

 "No. Should they?" she shot back.

 "There are some who would have heard them spoken before, that is

 all."

 "I suppose there arc some who have heard of most anyone as loud and

 quarrelsome as you two are."

 Quentin rankled at the girl's sharp tongue. "You have not told us your

 name though we have given ours," he said crossly.

 "I give my name to whom I choose. And I choose to be known only by my

 friends." She shook her limp, wet hair and turned her face away.

 "If you knew who it was that spoke to you " Quentin began hotly. His

 temper was rising at the haughty spirit of this obstinate young

 woman.

 "If.yoK knew who it was you mistreated ..." She turned on Quentin

 again and, quick as a cat, leapt at him with claws extended.

 Toli caught her by the arms once more, saying, "Peacel What my master

 is trying to tell you, my lady, is that we are sworn to protect all

 subjects of the realm. We arc at your service." He spoke softly and

 released her when she grew quieter.

 / 423 I

 "Well, you need have no care for me," she returned in a more subdued

 tone. "I am not one of your King's subjects."

 "Not of Mensandor? Ah, now we are getting somewhere," Quentin remarked

 sourly.

 The girl looked at each of them from beneath dark lashes, as if sizing

 them up. "Very well, I will trust you but only because your servant

 has a mannered tongue." She glanced darkly at Quentin. "I am Esme. My

 home is in Elsendor."

 "Then you are very far from home. What brings you to Mensandor and to

 this modest village yonder?"

 "The village was not my destination, I assure you, sir. But my tale is

 not for your ears, worry me though you will."

 "And who might best hear your tale if not King's men?" Quentin

 asked.

 "The King himselfl" She folded her arms over her chest and glared at

 them both.

 "Then allow me to offer you the King's protection until you shall

 obtain audience with him," said Toli, bowing low. Esme smiled

 triumphantly and nodded. Quentin looked heavenward, as if seeking

 patience.

 "I accept your protection; it seems a woman needs it in this rough

 land." She straightened her clothes and looked at them both squarely.

 "Then take me at once to the King, I charge you."

 "Toli is right to offer you the King's protection, and we will ride to

 the King but not yet. We have a charge placed upon us by the King

 himself and cannot return until it is accomplished."

 The young lady frowned and seemed about to lash out angrily once more,

 but again Toll interceded. "My master speaks the truth, were it not

 for the urgency of our errand we would gladly conduct you directly to

 the castle itself. We return there ourselves as soon as may be."

 "Then I will go myself. With or without your protection, my mission

 must not wait."

 "How will you go? In your boat? That would take far longer than you

 might think. The current of the Herwydd is strong; going against it is

 not easily done, and Askelon is far. Or perhaps you would walk all the

 way?"

 "Or you could give me your horse," she answered.

 "My master is suggesting prudence, my lady. Our errand is perhaps of

 an end not many days hence. We have good horses and can reach Askelon

 swiftly at need. Come with us ... " he hesitated "for your protection

 and so you may reach the King the sooner."

 The fiery young lady stared from one to the other of them before she

 made up her mind. "Very well, I will go with you. There seems no

 better choice." With that she turned and began walking back toward the

 abandoned village of Person.

 Toli and Quentin followed behind, and upon reaching the village square

 Esme turned to them and announced, "I will attend directly." She then

 disappeared into one of the dwellings.

 "I will wait here for our proud companion," announced Quentin. "Fetch

 the horses, and we'll away as soon as she returns."

 Toli brought the horses and set himself to redistributing small items

 of their traveling effects.

 "What are you doing?" asked Quentin, looking on.

 **I assumed that you would not care to have the lady share your mount,

 so I am making ready mine."

 "I will take the responsibility; it is my place."

 "How so? I am your servant, it is my place. And it was my tongue

 which placed this burden upon your back. Therefore, I will help bear

 it."

 "If it pleases you, Toli, you shall carry her in your arms all the way.

 Have it as you will."

 "I am ready," called a voice behind them. They turned to see a very

 different young woman than the one they had fished from the sea. She

 had gathered back her hair and bound it in a leather thong. She wore

 riding trousers, but of a finer cut and fit than a man's, and

 embroidered with intricate designs along the seams. She wore a short

 cloak thrown over one shoulder, it, loo, was carefully embroidered and

 matched her trousers. The cloak was of deep blue, as was the soft

 short tunic under it. A thin belt of new leather held a long dagger at

 her waist. Soft leather boots covered her feet and reached almost to

 her knees.

 A more remarkable transformation could hardly have been anticipated

 Toll and Quentin blinked in wonder. Esme looked like a warrior

 princess, but such things were unheard of in Mensaodor. "Which horse

 will I have?" she demanded. "Toll has agreed to share his with you."

 Without another word they climbed into then- saddles. Toli reached a

 hand down and drew the lady up to sit behind him on Riv's broad back.

 They soon left the silent village behind.

 As the declining sun lengthened their shadows upon the green hills,

 they stopped for the night in a stand of thin aspens near a | trickling

 brook. Quentin and Toli routinely began making camp, \ while Esme

 planted herself on a grassy knob and drew her knees up ' to wait. Only

 when Toli had meat on the spit and broth bubbling in the shallow pot

 did she approach.

 "We will eat better tomorrow, perhaps," remarked Quentin. "We did not

 have opportunity to gather provisions as we would have liked." He

 inclined his head in the direction of Person.

 "It appears a banquet to me," said Esme, her eyes glowing as she

 watched Toli turn the spits. "I have not eaten in two days."

 The confession shamed Quentin, who colored deeply. "I... I must

 apologize for my behavior back there, my lady. It was not meet of me

 to judge you so."

 "And I have misjudged you," she admitted. "But perhaps you will grant

 me my error. A woman must sometimes discourage untoward advances by

 strange men. I thought you would take advantage of me."

 "I would pity the man who tried."

 "No harm will come to you while you remain with us, my lady," said Toli

 earnestly.

  

 "I thank you, good sir." When their eyes met, Toli looked away quickly

 and finished preparing the meal.

 When it was ready they sat down together. Toli handed a plate of meat

 around and filled their bowls with broth. He broke some crusts of hard

 bread which they each dipped into the broth to soften it for chewing.

 Esme ate with a most unladylike appetite which Quentin and Toli made

 certain not to notice.

 "You are most kind not to scold my ill manners. The food does so warm

 an empty stomach."

 "How could we scold what we ourselves indulge?" asked Quentin. "Have

 more; you are welcome."

 "I have eaten quite enough, thank you. Toli, your way with simple fare

 is praiseworthy. I would care to see what you could do with more

 exotic victuals."

 Toli said nothing, but merely smiled mysteriously.

 "Would you now tell us what you were doing in the village alone?"

 Quentin asked after some time.

 Esme looked into her bowl of broth as if the answer might be read

 there. She cocked her head to one side and said, "That I was alone was

 no fault of my own. I went there, as you would surmise, to obtain the

 clothes you first saw me wearing. I found the village empty as you

 did; so I helped myself to the garments."

 "You wished to disguise yourself why?"

 "I have already told you a woman cannot be too careful traveling alone.

 It was a poor disguise, I know. But I thought it might serve until I

 could discover another or until" she smiled broadly "disguises were no

 longer necessary."

  

 "Do you know so little of Mensandor, then, that you think every man a

 rogue?"

 "It is not Mensandor's subjects that I fear, though I did not propose

 to put them to the test. But tell me of your erk-and.  Something tells

 me that we may be of closer purpose than seems first apparent."

 "We go to seek comrades long overdue," offered Toli. "They were sent

 to "

 "To derive the truth from certain rumors now growing in the land," said

 Quentin tactfully.

 Esme's brow became suddenly troubled. "They rode to the south, your

 friends?"

 "Yes; south along the coast. Why?"

 "Good sirs, I greatly fear for your friends." Her voice quavered on a

 note of sharp concern. "I do not wonder that they are long overdue or

 that they may not return at all."

 Quentin leaned forward in keen attention. Toli laid aside the utensils

 and watched Esme carefully. "What do you know about this?" asked

 Quentin calmly enough, but there was no mistaking his anxiety.

 I 427 I

 "Only this' Esme saw the effect her words had had on them and chose her

 way carefully. "It was between Dom and Person that I lost my

 companions two days ago

 TWELVE

 "THERE YOU are," said Quentin softly as he moved quietly up to stand at

 Toli's shoulder. "I should have known you would be siargazing."

 "I could not sleep, Kenta. The star is growing' The light of the

 late-night sky gleamed in the Jher's upturned face.

 "It looks the same to me," Quentin said without conviction. "It will

 be dawn soon, perhaps we should make ready to leave. Our new

 companion's words have troubled me; it would ease my mind to be on our

 way. I would not like to think that Tbeido and Ronsard were trapped

 because we didn't warn them and prevent it."

 "Yes, the star grows each night, and evil increases," replied Toli. He

 turned and looked at Quentin, his large dark eyes filled with a light

 Quentin had rarely seen. "I will make ready the horses and wake the

 lady. I fear the day is already far spent."

 He slipped away noiselessly to leave Quentin pondering his words and

 peering up at the star glowing brightly in the east. Quentin heard a

 soft tread behind him, light as a shadow, and Esme came to stand beside

 him.

 "So you know about the star too," she said.

 "We have been watching it, yes though what it betokens is not

 certain."

 "There is no need to spare me your worst suspicions. Our priests are

 well-acquainted with heavenly signs and the reading of portents. I

 know what they say about the Preying Star. But I am not afraid."

 "Then you are braver than I, my lady. For I must admit that I

 sometimes feel very much afraid when I look upon it."

 Toll brought the horses, and the three mounted up. They left the

 shelter of the aspen grove, slipped out into the waning night and moved

 across the starlit hills. Behind them rose the cragged wall of the

 Fiskills and the narrow trail beside the sea. They had come through

 that pinched corridor late in the afternoon and had pushed on into the

 sloping foothills on the other side to find their camp for the night.

 Although extremely curious about his new charge, Quentin had not

 pressed her for details of her story. She did not seem inclined to

 talk about the loss other companions, nor about the mission which took

 her to King Bskevar. But her fearful thoughts on the safety of Tbeido

 and Ronsard had unsettled him, for he had been feeling a vague

 uneasiness regarding them himself. She had put words to his doubt and

 had made it real and urgent.

 "They must have gone south toward Halidom," Quentin had reasoned as

 they sat around the campfire after their supper. "Otherwise, Esme and

 her party would have met them on the road between Dom and Persch."

 "But why would they go so far?" Toll had asked.

 Quentin had shrugged. "I will ask them that irihen next we meet.

 Perhaps they saw something which took them there. These empty villages

 are mystery enough for me."

 They had lapsed into silence and uneasy rest. Quentin's restive mind

 gnawed at his unanswered questions like a hound with a twice-picked

 shank. He felt better now that they were moving again.

 He listened to the cadence of their passing in the deepest part of the

 night. Soon the horizon would begin to lighten in the east as the sun

 rolled back the darkness for another day. But now they rode as night's

 children slipping unseen through the sleeping world.

 Quentin struck once more along the coastal road, a wide, rock strewn

 path which linked the seaside villages. If Ronsard and his knights

 were to be found it would likely be along this road, although there

 were other, more infrequently traveled routes to the north through the

 brown Wilderlands. These were tracks which the

 I 429 I

 traders used to traverse the vast and empty Suthlands and bring them to

 the more populated regions of the north.

 The empty villages first Persch, then Yallo and Biskan had greatly

 troubled him; though he sought time and again for a logical

 explanation, none was forthcoming. He wondered if Theido and Ronsard

 had discovered them as well. They must have if they had passed

 through, or the towns may have been abandoned after the knights had

 ridden on. There was no telling how long ago they had traveled the

 road, where they might have stayed, or who they might have seen.

 Quenrin hoped, though reason told him six armed knights were a match

 for anything, that they had not encountered whatever it was that had

 overtaken Esme's party.

 They rode for an hour or more, following the rising and falling trail

 as it climbed and descended the gently undulating hills along the

 coast. At each crest they could see the great sea, lying dark and

 still in the distance. Gerfallon was not troubled by the mere

 vexations of mortal men, he slept in his deep bed, and his creatures

 with him.

 Quentin stopped at the crest of the next hill and waited until Toli,

 with Esme sitting behind, hands on knees, had drawn up beside him.

 Blazer jigged sideways, impatient with the delay.

 "What do you think that could be?" asked Quentin, nodding in the

 direction of the dark northern hills. A faint leaden smudge could be

 barely seen glowing in the sky faraway. "If I did not know better, I

 would say that the sun was coming up in the north today. A false sun

 that would be."

 "I have seen such false sunrises, and you may suspect some misfortune

 is at hand."

 "What is it?" asked Esme.

 "Fire," said Toll.

 "Are you certain? It does not look like a fire to me," said Quentin,

 leaning forward in his saddle for a better look. "Why, it would take a

 pile of wood the size of a "

 "Village." Toli supplied the missing word.

 "You do not think .. . ** cried Quentin with growing alarm. "Ulem lies

 in that direction!"

 "Yes, a league lo the north, I would say."

 "Then we waste time talking," said Quentin as he turned hia horse

 toward the glow in the sky. "We may be of some help. Let us go!"

 "Hold tight, my lady," said Toli as he snapped the reins. Riv leaped

 from the track and bounded after Quentin's gliding shape.

 As the horses galloped at full speed, the glow on the horizon

 brightened and spread. At half a league it covered the far hills and

 deepened with an ugly reddish hue. The hanging gloom of smoke could be

 discerned against the darker curtain of night.

 In the east the sky had grown pearly with the coming of the dawn,

 making the glow ahead seem even more ominous and unnatural.

 Quentin reined to a halt at the bottom of a deep ravine. In the spring

 the thaw from the Fiskills filled the dry bed with icy water. Now it

 was filled with weeds and brush, the waters having long since emptied

 into the sea.

 "I think Illem lies just beyond the ridge," said Quenrin. The ravine

 carved its way through a long trough of a valley bounded on three sides

 by low ridges. From the bottom of the dry stream bed the sky to the

 north shone as rust and the smoke rolled away on the landward wind.

 "Something is wrong," said Toli. "We should proceed with caution until

 we can find out where the enemy lies."

 "I agree," said Esme. "We are only three against who knows how

 many."

 Quentin looked at her with surprise. She evidently counted herself as

 one of the protectors rather than the one protected. "Why must there

 be any enemy? Surely you don't think ..." Quentin stopped; he knew

 Toll's uncanny instinct well enough to know that even his slightest

 whims should be taken seriously. He had seen them proven true too

 often to dismiss them lightly. "Very well, we will continue along the

 valley until we draw even with town. Then we can climb out below it in

 the shelter of the ridge."

 They started off again, but at a more measured gait. Quentin led the

 way, scanning the tops of the hills for any signs of unusual

 / 431 I

 activity. They had proceeded only a little way when the course wound

 around a sharp bend. "Wait!" shouted Toli in a sharp whisper.

 "Listen!"

 Just around the bend could be heard an odd muffled sound, as if a large

 animal were rooting in the soft soil of the dry stream bed. It

 shuffled along, breathing heavily, with an airy, bristling sigh.

 Blazer and Riv both lifted their ears at the sound.

 "What can it be?" wondered Esme, her whisper almost lost in the

 quickly growing intensity of the sound.

 "Whatever it is, it is coming this way," said Quentin. "Over here!" He

 spurred Blazer toward the near bank to escape the path of the oncoming

 beast.

 But he was too late. As Blazer jumped forward, the thing came churning

 around the bend. Quentin had a glimpse of a vast, rippling body

 shapeless and ill-defined. The creature saw him too, and let out a

 whelp which seemed to come from a dozen throats at once. It was then

 that Quentin knew what it was.

 "Hold!" shouted Quentin, laying the reins hard to his mount's side, so

 that Blazer reared on his hind legs and wheeled about. His command

 echoed from the far bank. Toli was instantly at his side.

 The beast screamed and broke into a hundred separate pieces, each one

 darting in a different direction. The strange beast was, in fact, the

 townspeople of Illem fleeing their burning homes en masse. The sound

 had been that of many feet hurrying through the dry brush and the

 murmur of fear as they fled.

 "Hold!" Quentin called again. "In the name of the Dragon King!"

 The people stopped. The sight of the instantly appearing horse and

 rider rooted them to the spot. For a moment no one dared to move.

 Quentin judged them to be as many as fifty in all men, women and

 children.

 One brave man stepped forward. "Do not hinder us, sir. Whoever you

 be, if you be friend let us go!" The man approached Quentin slowly.

 The others behind him were too frightened to move or speak.

 "We will do you no harm; have no fear," said Quentin.

 The man looked over his shoulder and cried, "The Destroyer is upon usi

 We have only escaped with our lives let us go! Even now he comes for

 usi"

 "Who is this Destroyer? We will meet him and "

 "No, it is too late!" He made a quick motion to his followers and as

 they started to move on, the man suddenly threw his hand in the air.

 "Ahh! They have found us!"

 Quentin looked behind the man and saw something moving by torchlight

 down the sides of the ravine. He drew his sword from its place behind

 his saddle and beard the ring of Toll's blade at the same time.

 "Run for it!" Quentin cried to the townspeople. "We will protect your

 escape."

 Toli charged ahead, and Quentin saw more torches boiling down the side

 of the ravine. Quentin leaned forward on Blazer's neck, darted toward

 the embankment and drove straight to the nearest of them. He heard

 Toll's blade sing in the air and the crash of metal followed by a

 stifled cry. With his own sword held high, he leaped across the Hat

 bed of the stream and caught a confused group of mail-clad soldiers as

 they tumbled down the bank. Two of them felt the bite of his blade,

 and two others fled back up the bank.

 Turning, Quentin found his way barred from behind. Blazer reared and

 lashed out with flying hooves. Quentin's sword became a flashing

 shield before him as be fought to Toll's side. Twice a lance head

 thrust out of the darkness, and each time the sword sliced through the

 shaft. Now a buckler was cleaved in two, and then a helm.

 It was clear that the soldiers had not anticipated finding men on

 horseback. They were uncertain what to do and ran into each other in

 an effort to stay out of range of Toll's well-trained steeds. This led

 Quentin to believe that, though greatly outnumbered, they would

 prevail

 But once over the initial surprise, the soldiers quickly regrouped and

 surrounded the riders. "We are cut offl" cried Quentin as he raced by

 Toli. "We must break through the line. Where is the weakest point?"

 / 433 I

 "There see that gap?" Esme called. Quentin saw her point past him

 with her dagger.

 He looked and saw a space between two soldiers who were hurrying toward

 them. "Good eye, girl! Follow me!" He threw the reins ahead, and

 Blazer sprang for the spot. Closer, he saw that a wall of low bushes

 stood in the gap. Before he had time to think, Blazer was up and over

 it.

 Toli was not so lucky. Riv, with the weight of an extra rider, charged

 up and cleared the shrubs with his forelegs, but his hind legs became

 tangled in the branches. Quentin saw all three go down as soldiers

 instantly converged on the spot.

 Blazer thundered to a churning stop, and Quentin pulled him around and

 headed back into the fray. "Whist Orren, protect your servant!" he

 cried in desperation.

 In the scant few moments of battle, the sky had lightened enough to see

 the soldiers distinct from the darker background. Quentin sounded a

 battle cry and prepared for the shock of the inevitable collision. He

 saw Riv thrashing his head as the horse regained his feet. Toli and

 Esme were lost beneath a dozen black shapes of soldiers swarming over

 them.

 Quentin bore down and slashed out at the jumble of lances and swords.

 He heard the gasps of pain and felt the sword strike deep. He thrust

 and thrust again and the roiling mass of bodies parted.

 Then he felt something tugging at his cloak, yanking him backwards.

 Hands reached out and grabbed his arms; his sword was struck from his

 hand. Blazer reared and Jumped, but the grip on Quentin's arms held

 firm and he was hauled from his saddle.

 As he tumbled to the ground he saw Esme leap up out of nowhere and dart

 past him. For one heartbeat their eyes met. In that same instant

 Quentin thought she would come to his aid. But she turned away and was

 instantly in Toll's saddle. Then Quentin was on the ground and a foot

 smashed into his throat.

 As the world spun sickeningly before his eyes, he heard the sound

 ofRiv's hooves pounding away.

 THIRTEEN

 HEAVY DRAPERIES were hung across the windows of the Dragon King's

 chamber. The barest thread of light shone through a chink in the

 gathered cloth to fall in a single shaft upon the King*! high bed.

 Otherwise, the room was as dark as a cave deep under a hill.

 Durwin entered quietly and stood for a moment by the door. He pressed

 a finger to his chin and then moved closer, listening to the irregular

 and shallow breathing of the still form on the bed. He stepped near

 the stricken King and stooped to peer into the sleeping man's face. It

 was then that he detected the faint, putrid odor of death.

 The holy hermit spun around and lay the wooden goblet he carried on a

 nearby table. He went to the high narrow window and seized the

 draperies in both hands and pulled with all his might. There was a

 tearing sound and a crash as the stifling folds came tumbling down

 beneath an avalanche of dazzling morning light now streaming into the

 gloomy chamber.

 Fresh air swept fair and warm into the night-chilled room and banished

 the foul stench. The man on the bed, pale and wizened amidst his

 mounds of thick coverings, stirred feebly. A breathless moan passed

 his lips.

 "My King, awaken!" shouted Durwin, bending close. "Do you bear me?

 Awaken, I say, and throw off the sleep of death!"

 Durwin snatched up the goblet and, slipping his arm beneath Eskevar's

 head, brought it close to the invalid's lips. He poured and the yellow

 liquid ran down the King's chin and neck, staining his bedclothes.

 But some of the medicine seeped into his patient's mouth. The King

 gasped weakly and the hermit poured again, emptying the goblet. In a

 moment the gray eyelids flickered and raised, revealing two dark eyes,

 filmy with stupor.

 "Awake, Eskevar. Your time is not yet." The eyes stared unmoving in

 their milky gaze. "Oh, have I come too late?" Durwin muttered to

 himself.

 "What is it? Durwin? What has hap ** The Queen appeared in the open

 doorway. She took two steps into the room, then saw her husband

 staring upward, motionless, "Oh!" she cried, rushing to the bed.

 "He is with us still, my Lady. But for how long I cannot say." As he

 spoke, Alinea clutched his arm for support, then threw herself upon the

 bed, burying her face deep in the bedclothes. In a moment her sobs

 could be beard, muffled and indistinct.

 Durwin stood aside regarding the Queen and her dying King. His own

 heart swelled with pity and grief. "God Most High," he prayed, "you

 give men life and receive it back from them when their span is done.

 All things grow in their season as established by your command. Surely

 it is to you a hateful thing when life is cut short.

 "An evil malady afflicts our King and crushes him in a deadly embrace.

 Release him from it. Turn his steps back from their downward path, and

 restore him once more to his loved ones and to his realm."

 Durwin's quiet prayer lingered in the air like a healing balm. The

 breeze blew softly, carrying the scent of roses from the gardens

 outside. It whispered softly in the stillness of the room. Then all

 was silent.

 "Durwin look!" Alinea exclaimed. In her hands she clasped one of

 Eskevar's as she knelt at his side. The King was now gazing quietly at

 both of them; his eyes were moist with tears.

 "Oswald!" Durwin called. The Queen's chamberlain, hovering near the

 door, stepped fearfully into the room. "Fetch me the flagon upon my

 worktable!" The worried servant disappeared at once and was back

 before Durwin could add, "And hurry!"

 The hermit once more administered the liquid, pulling the seal from the

 stoppered bottle and pouring it down the King's throat.

 This time Eskevar coughed deeply, closed his eyes as if in pain and

 said, in a voice barely audible, "Have I fallen so low as to be

 poisoned in my own bed?"

 "The King complains that is certainly a good sign." The Queen turned

 an anxious visage toward the hermit. "My Lady, he is safe for the

 moment, but not out of danger yet."

 Durwin moved about the bed and began throwing off the coverings of wool

 and fur. "I have been foolish and slow-witted, however. Perhaps the

 King would not have sunk so far, almost beyond return, if I had been

 more observant. Come, my Lady, we must get him up."

 Alinea looked doubtful. "Do you think ..."

 "At once. He must save the strength he still possesses. He must use

 it to gain more. Help me to get him on his feet."

 They took the unresisting body of the King, now light as feather down,

 between them and raised it carefully. Supporting him by the arms, they

 pulled him from the bed gently and placed his bare feet upon the floor.

 "Ahhh!" Eskevar cried out in pain. The Queen threw a worried glance

 at Durwin, who only nodded as if to ay, "Continue, it must be done."

 Carefully they walked him step by halting step back and forth across

 the room, stopping to stand before the window each time to allow him to

 catch his breath. On and on they walked, the King's head lolling on

 his shoulders, barely conscious.

 By midday Eskevar could move freely, though he still required the arm

 of his Queen for support. His brow was damp with sweat and Us shrunken

 frame shaken by racking spasms of violent coughing. He swooned with

 exhaustion.

 Durwin and Oswald carried him back to the bed as Alinea looked on,

 wringing her hands. "He will sleep soundly now, I think. We will wake

 him again in a while to eat. And he must walk again before the sun

 sets. I will watch him through the night."

 Durwin turned away from the bed and shook his head back and forth

 slowly. "How could I have let him slip so far?"

 "In truth, it is not your blame. You have done all that could be

 asked, and even now you have saved his life." Alinea patted "Durwin's

 arm gently and smiled with calm assurance.

 / 437 I

 "The god has opened my eyes in time, my Lady. That is something indeed

 to be thankful for. But we must not slacken our vigU again or he will

 be lost. He is very weak and his strength very fragile."

 "Come to the kitchen, Durwin, and refresh yourself. You, too, will be

 needing your strength in the hours to come, as will we all."

 Quentin twisted on the ground. A sharp pain seared through his side.

 One eye was swelling shut, and his mouth, tasting of blood, throbbed

 with a dull ache. He raised his head slowly and looked cautiously

 about.

 Smoke from the burning town still drifted in hanging clouds which

 rolled along the ground, stinging his eyes and making his nose run. The

 sun was barely up, a fierce red ball burning through the black haze

 which filled the air and seeped down the slopes of the ravine where he

 lay.

 A soldier nearby saw Quentin*s slight movement and jabbed him in the

 shoulder with the butt of his lance. Quentin put his head down again

 and lay still, he had seen what he wanted to see. The main force of

 soldiers had moved off, only a few remained to guard the prisoners if

 prisoners there were, for Toli was nowhere to be ^een.

 Quentin tried to wiggle his fingers, but they were numb. The ropes

 which bound him had been tied tightly and efficiently. Both hands were

 thrust behind his back and lashed together; a loop passed around his

 neck and one around his feet. To move hands or feet tightened the

 noose around his neck and strangled him. But periodically Quentin

 wormed this way and that in an attempt to better reckon his

 surroundings.

 It was only by the hand of the god that he was still alive. In the

 chaotic moment of his capture he had been instantly beaten senseless.

 As he lay bleeding on the ground, a scowling warrior had raised a

 double-bladed axe over him. Quentin had seen the blade flash on its

 downward arc toward his heart.

 He was saved at the last heartbeat by a hand which caught the axe-man's

 arm in mid stroke An argument had broken out then. Although Quentin

 could not understand the slurred words of the rough speech) be knew

 that it concerned him and his probable fate. The soldier with the axe

 wanted to kill him at once. The other ap* parcntly insisted upon

 waiting, probably for a superior's approval. Quentin was then bound up

 and left to wonder what awaited him.

 He did not have long to wait.

 He heard the hollow sound of a horse's hooves. There was a sudden

 scurrying around him, a harsh voice barked out an order, and he was

 jerked ungently upward to his knees by two grim warriors grasping him

 by the arms. The voice uttered another command, and Quentin's head was

 snapped sharply back by a hand thrust into his hair. His eyes squeezed

 shut with the pain.

 When he opened them again, he was looking into the cold, hardened eyes

 of a warlord ofNin.

 The warlord regarded him coolly. He was wearing a strange form of

 battle dress made of bronze, which glowed in the rising sun with a

 reddened luster that matched the tint of his flesh. His arms were

 covered in sleeves of mail from his shoulders to his wide, heavy hands,

 and from knee to ankle he wore bronze leggings. He wore no helmet, and

 his long black hair was pulled back and bound in a long, thick braid

 which hung down his back. A long, curved sword hung from the pommel of

 the saddle, its thin blade besmeared with crimson ribbons of blood.

 The warlord's horse, wide of shoulder and heavy of flank, shook its

 braided mane and snorted loudly. One of the soldiers supporting

 Quentin began speaking. The speech was strange to Quentin's ears; he

 could not think what language it might be, for he could not catch a

 word of it. But, he guessed, the soldier was telling his commander

 about bow the prisoner had been captured.

 The warlord listened intently, interrupting the discourse to ask a

 question at one point. Quentin then thought he saw a spark of interest

 light the savage countenance. He spoke a quick command, and two

 soldiers rushed forward and untied his legs. Then Quentin was hauled

 to his feet and marched away. The warlord watched him go, then spurred

 his horse and rode off down the ravine.

 Quentin was pulled up the steep bank of the dry stream bed. In the

 smoke blowing across the field he saw soldiers, all wearing the same

 coarse dark do thing and carrying brutal-looking double

 / 439 I

 bladed battle-axes, clustered around several great wagons. At one the

 soldiers gave up their weapons, which were collected and placed in the

 wagon. At another they were given large baskets. They then hurried

 back into the smoldering remains oflllem.

 Quentin was taken to one of the nearer wagons and placed up against one

 of the huge wheels so large that it was fully as tall as he was. He

 was untied and then lashed to the wheel by his wrists and ankles. He

 had no choice but to watch the strange activity taking place in the

 ruins.

 A line of soldiers emerged from the curtain of smoke carrying sacks of

 grain and casks of wine. These and other foodstufis, the provisions of

 the entire town, were heaped up into a great pile and then loaded into

 hand-drawn barrows which carted the provisions away.

 Then soldiers with baskets began filing past two by two, moving off

 into the hills. Quentin could not see where they were going, but knew

 the general direction to be north. The men carried the baskets on

 their shoulders, some bent low by the weight of what they carried.

 Quentin wondered what the baskets contained.

 But as he watched the activity around him, his mind returned again and

 again to the one thing he feared most. More than his own ^safety, he

 wondered what had become ofToli. His friend, companion and servant was

 gone. There were two possible explanations, he knew. Either Ton had

 been killed in the attack, in which case his body lay unattended back

 down in the ravine, or the crafty Jher had managed to somehow escape in

 the confusion of the battle. Quentin prayed Toll had escaped.

 He heard a signal a long blast on a horn and a rank of men on horses

 moved past the wagons. Each carried an axe and a shield as well as the

 peculiar curved sword. The horses, too, were armored. Large discs of

 hardened leather attached with rings of iron and woven into strips were

 slung over the animals' withers and rump, trailing almost to the

 ground. Upon their hooves were bands of sharpened spikes, and two

 long, cruel spikes sprouted from each horse's head plate as well.

 Whoever they were. thought Quentin, they had come prepared for war.

 When the riders had passed he heard another blast on the horn and, to

 his horror, the wagons began rolling. Quentin, thinking they had

 forgotten about him, cried out as the wheel on which he was tied rolled

 forward. His cries brought nothing but laughter from soldiers passing

 nearby. He knew then that they had not forgotten him. He was intended

 to travel with them in this torturous manner, battered slowly to death

 on the turning wheel.

 FOURTEEN

 YESEPH SAT on a bench in his courtyard, head nodding on his breast. All

 around him the gentle sounds of evening crept into the air. The sun

 had slipped behind the hills ofDekra and though the sky was still a

 brilliant blue, streaked with orange clouds, long evening shadows cast

 the clean-swept courtyard of the esteemed Elder into deep gloaming.

 Beside him a young laurel tree rattled its fragrant leaves in the

 fitful breeze. The feathery notes of a lilting melody drifted over the

 wall and fell into the courtyard like delicate petals of a flower. His

 cup sat untasted near his hand. He sighed heavily.

 There was a slight pit-a-pat and the rustle of clothing and Karyll, his

 wife, was beside him. Yeseph could fed' the warmth of her presence as

 she stood looking down on him.

 "My husband is tired from his day's work," she said. "Dear one,

 awaken; our evening meal is ready." Her voice was as light and

 soothing as the breeze that played in the tree.

 Yeseph raised his head, and she saw his eyes gradually take in his

 surroundings as awareness returned. She saw the deeply-etched lines of

 concern furrow his brow and crinkle around his eyes. He smiled when be

 saw her, and she noticed that it was a sad smile with no light in it.

 / 441 I

 "Husband, what is wrong?" She waited for him to tell her. "I have had

 a dream," Yeseph explained simply. "And your dream has troubled you,

 for it was a dream of darkness instead of light."

 "How much you women see. Yes, it was a dream of darkness a vision. I

 saw..." he began, and then stopped. "No, I must not tell what I have

 seen just yet. I must ponder it in my heart for a time."

 "Then you may eat while you ponder. Come, your supper will [ be

 getting cold."

 i: She turned and padded back into their dwelling. Yeseph watched her

 go, thinking how lucky he had been to find one so wise and

 understanding to share his old age. He breathed a prayer of

 thanksgiving to Whist On-en for his good fortune. Then be raised

 himself slowly and followed her in.

 As they lingered over their meal, Karyll watched her mate closely. He

 did not eat with his usual fresh appetite, but dawdled over his plate.

 In the lambent glow of the candles on the low table Yeseph sank further

 into pensive reflection. Twice he brought a morsel of food to his

 mouth only to return it to the plate absently.

 "Yeseph," Karyll murmured gently, "you have not eaten well tonight.

 Your dream has upset you. If you will not tell me, perhaps you will

 tell the Elders instead."

 "Yes, that is what I must do." He got up from his stool at once and

 went to the door where he paused and turned toward her, his form a dark

 silhouette against the evening sky. He seemed suddenly to come to

 himself once more. "I am going to call together the other Elders. We

 will meet tonight. Do not wait for me, my love. It may be very

 late."

 "I do not mind. I have some work with which to occupy myself while you

 are gone. Now, away with you. The quicker you go, the quicker I will

 have my Yeseph back."

  

 In an inner chamber of the great Ariga temple Yeseph waited for the

 Elders to join him. It would not be long, for he had sent runners,

 three of the young men who served in the temple, to fetch the other

 Curatak leaders. He had merely to wait for their arrival and the

 meeting could begin. Yeseph busied himself with lighting the many

 candles which stood on their long holders around the bare room.

 In the center of the room four straight, high-backed chairs sat in a

 circle facing each other. When the candles had been lit Yeseph took

 his place, folding his hands in his lap in quiet meditation. In a few

 moments the curtains which overhung the chamber's entrance parted and

 the familiar form of Jollen entered, smoothing his council robes.

 "Good evening. Elder Yeseph. Your summons saved me from quite a

 distasteful chore I had promised to begin translating a song for some

 of the children."

 "That distasteful? Surely, you do not mean it. If you do, perhaps it

 were better you went back and got right to work."

 "Oh, do not misunderstand. I love the children and would give them

 anything. But the song they have chosen is of the old Ariga dialect. A

 very dreary piece about an unhappy youngster who is changed into a

 willow because of his complaining. I tried to persuade them to choose

 something happier, but their hearts were set on this one and none

 other."

 "You will be the better for it in the end, I am sure," laughed Yeseph.

 "An excursion into the old dialect will sharpen your wits."

 Jollen made a wry face. "If I did not know better, I would suspect you

 of having put them up to it. It would be just like you."

 The next to enter was Patur, the unofficial leader of the group. It

 was he who most often took it upon himself to inform the Curatak of the

 Elders* decisions in matters of public import. He was a most able and

 influential orator and often led the worship in the temple. He was

 well-studied in the religion of the vanished Ariga.

 "Greetings, my learned friends," he said, adjusting the robe he had

 just donned upon entering the chamber. His eyes gleamed in

 anticipation of the evening's work, for, whatever it was, it would

 involve him in close communion with other sharp minds, a thing he

 dearly loved.

 "Greetings, Fatur. Thank you for coming along so quickly. We have

 only to await... ah! Here he comes now." Yeseph nodded to the curtain

 and Clemore, the most recent addition to the group upon the death of

 Asaph, the oldest member, entered, bowing low.

 / 443 I

 "Good evening, brothers. I pray you are well." The others nodded, and

 they all took their places.

 Yeseph looked from one to the other of their familiar faces. These

 were his most trusted friends; yes, Clemore was right, his brothers.

 He could tell them his dream and they would shoulder its burden, no

 matter how small or great it would prove in the end. He fell better

 just being in their presence and wondered if any of them ever felt the

 same way about him. He supposed they did, as often as they had sought

 his counsel singly or with the others. Now it was his turn to put a

 problem before them.

 "Good Yeseph, do not keep us in suspense any longer. Tell us what

 disturbs you, for I see in your eyes that your spirit is distressed by

 something," said Fatur.

 "You speak aright; I am troubled." He paused as he collected his

 thoughts and looked at each of them in turn. "This evening I had a

 dream. Very brief it was, and very strange."

 "You believe it to presage something of significance?" asked Clemore.

 "I do."

 "And have you an interpretation for us?" "No, that is why I have asked

 you to come here tonight. I thought perhaps together we might seek

 understanding."

 "Very well," said Jollen, "tell us your dream as it came to you. We

 will ask the Most High to enlighten us with its meaning."

 Yeseph nodded slowly and, closing his eyes, began to recite his

 dream.

 "I had just stepped into the courtyard when a great drowsiness came

 over roe, even though I had not eaten. I quickly fell asleep where I

 sat and began to dream. And the dream was this:

 "I saw a river running through the land, and wherever the river touched

 the land it sprang forth abundantly with green shoots and trees and

 food for all living things. And the water was clear and good; men came

 to the river's edge to drink, and the wild creatures drank and were

 satisfied.

 "But then a dark storm came out of the east and began to blow. The

 river still ran, but the water began to change, becoming the color of

 blood. At first Just a trace of red clouded the clean water, but it

 deepened until the water ran black and the river became fouL

 "Now no one could drink from the river and live, men who drank of it

 died, and animals loo. And all the trees and grass and flowers which

 had sprung up along the river's banks now withered and died. The land

 became desolate, for all things depended upon the river for their life.

 The winds came and blew away the dust and dust filled the air in great

 clouds covering the land, and the river dried up."

 Yeseph paused, drew breath and continued. In the silence of the inner

 chamber his words sounded like the toll of a bell.

 "Darkness fell upon the land, and I heard a voice crying out. It was

 the voice of a terrified child, saying, "Where is my father? I am

 afraid. Where is my protector?"

 "The darkness rolled up in answer to the child. It spoke with the

 voice of the night and said, "Your father's bones are dust and

 scattered to the winds. Your protector's sword is broken. You will

 live in darkness all your days, for now you are a child of the

 night."

 "I wept to hear those words. My tears fell like a mighty rain upon the

 earth. And the rain of tears washed over the land, which had become a

 bowl to catch the tears and hold them all.

 "Another voice, mightier than the first, called out and said, Where are

 my servants? What has become of those whom I call upon?"

 "I answered, saying, *I am here and only I all others have perished." I

 fell on my face in my grief.

 "The voice answered me and said, "Rise up and take the bowl and pour it

 out." I took the bowl in my hands and poured it out, and it became a

 sword of living light which flashed in the face of the darkness, and

 the darkness fled before it. "Take the swordi' the voice commanded.

 "I began to tremble all over because I knew I could not take up the

 sword. "I have never touched a sword and do not know how to use it," I

 argued.

 " "Then give it to the child," the great voice answered. "He will use

 it, and you will guide his hand

 "But when I looked for the child to give him the shining sword, he was

 gone. The night had swallowed him up, though I could hear him crying

 as the darkness carried him further and further away."

 / 445 I

 Yeseph opened his eyes once more and looked at his brothers in their

 council robes. They sat unmoving as they pondered his words. Their

 eyes were grave, and their faces reflected the concern they all felt at

 hearing Ycscph's dream.

 "Brothers," intoned Patur deeply, "this is a most unsettling dream. I

 hear in it a warning of some urgency. Let us now ask the Most High to

 guide us in our interpretation, for I believe it is given us this night

 to oppose the power of darkness bespoken in the dream."

 At that the Elders of Dekra joined hands and began to pray.

 FIFTEEN

 THE SLEEK black stallion seemed to flow down hills and through valleys

 like water. Esmc had only to presa with her knees or move a hand to

 the right or left and the horse responded, as if to her very thoughts.

 The animal was remarkably well-trained so much so that Esme began to

 fear for its welfare. Riv would run until his heart burst before

 slackening his pace in disobedience to his rider's command.

 The scene of the ill-fated fight lay far behind her now and still the

 horse flew on, the lather steaming off his neck and shoulders in flecks

 whipped away by the wind. Esme saw the dark line of a creek snaking

 through the lowland valley ahead. Where the creek rounded the grassy

 base of a bill there rose a stand of young birches, shimmering white in

 the morning light. That, she thought, would be a good place to rest.

 "Whoa, Riv!" she called, leaning forward in the saddle. She pulled

 the reins back with the lightest touch, and the horse slowed to a

 canter and then a trot. Esme let him cool down before reaching the

 quiet stream, knowing that it would not be good to let him drink his

 fill while still hot from the chase and winded. She would need this

 horse if she were to reach Asketon.

 The birches ringed a shady hollow where long grasses grew, fed by the

 stream. It was secluded and invisible to any who might come after her.

 The stony feet of the hill lay exposed at one side of the hollow where

 the stream formed a shallow pool.

 She slid from the saddle and led Riv into the shady grove walking him

 slowly. The hollow was cool and silent and full of golden spatters of

 sunlight and green shadow. Warily she advanced toward the running

 water heard spilling blithely over a rank of stones set in its course.

 She heard the call of a meadow bird above her on the hill and the swish

 of the horse's legs moving through the grass. That was all, apart from

 the bubbling water. Yes, she was safe.

 Esme led her mount to the edge of the pool and watched as he plunged

 his nose into the water. He drank deeply and pulled his head out of

 the stream to shake his gleaming mane in the sunlight Glistening pearls

 of water were flung into the air, then splashed back into the crystal

 pool. She watched as the horse repeated the procedure several more

 times, and each time she was a little closer to forgetting that she had

 Just barely escaped with her life.

 Riv snorted and turned away from the water to stand looking at her

 calmly, as if to say. "You may drink I will keep watch." Esme knelt

 in the long grass, cupped her hands and brought the clear water to her

 mouth. When she had finished, she led Riv to a patch of wild clover

 and let him eat his fill. She did not bother to tether him, knowing

 that a horse as well-trained as Riv would not abandon his rider to

 wander off.

 She left the horse to crop the clover and turned her attention to the

 hill nearby. It presented to her the highest vantage for viewing her

 surroundings. Having left the fray at the ravine with little more

 thought than to come away with her skin, she had almost no idea where

 she might be. As much as possible she had tried to hold to the

 direction whereby they had entered the ravine in the first place, her

 object being to regain the road they had been following. Once on the

 road she would turn north and then hurry to Askelon.

 Esme climbed the steep slope of the hill as it rose out of the vale and

 above the trees. Out of the shade, the air was warmer and alive

 I 447 I

 with bees and butterflies beginning their daily chores. A fresh wind

 blew ruffles along the tall grass; the sky billowed bright and blue,

 unconcerned with the darker deeds of night and desperate men. Here she

 could almost forget what had passed Just it few hours earlier.

 But she could not forget die two gallant men who had so courageously

 flown to the aid of the helpless townspeople and who had, without

 question, offered her protection as well. As she reached the crown of

 the hill she turned her eyes back toward Clem, now leagues behind her.

 There was nothing to be seen; not even it smudge of smoke on the

 horizon remained to mark the place.

 For a moment she stood in indecision should she return and try to

 discover what had become other friends? Or go on, to complete her

 charge and deliver her message to the King?

 It was an empty choice, she knew. The enemy which had overcome them in

 the ravine at Diem was the same which had surprised her and her

 companions on the road. Now the lives of two more had been added to

 the sum, for there was little doubt in her mind that by now Quentin and

 Toli were dead. And were it not for the importance other mission she

 would have stayed to share their fate.

 There was nothing to be done but to go on.

 ' She gazed out over the land, her dark eyes sweeping the horizon for

 any recognizable landmark,. Away to the south she saw a thin slice of

 spangled blue which merged with the sky. The sea, she thought, / have

 not gone far wrong. By squinting up her eyes she could almost see the

 road itself as it hugged the coastal hills. She cast one last look

 over her shoulder to see if the dark enemy had followed her, but saw

 nothing except the radiant sky and the hills of summer. So she turned

 with heavy heart to leave.

 Clambering back down the side of the hill Esme heard the excited whinny

 of a horse. Was it Riv or some other? She stopped, her bean now

 fluttering in panic. She listened.

 From beneath the leafy canopy directly below her she heard again the

 shrill scream of a horse in distress. In the tangle of leaves and

 branches she could not see the animal, nor its assailant. As quickly

 and as quietly as she could, she slipped the rest of the way down the

 bill, careful not to show herself openly.

 Once below the treetops she saw Riv, legs splayed, head down,

 backed against the rocks, shaking his mane and baring his teeth. But

 she could see nothing at all that should so upset him. All was as she

 had left it. Not a single intruder, man or beast, was in evidence.

 Esme dropped to the ground and crouched in the grass for a moment.

 Hearing nothing and seeing nothing disturbing, she rose and went to the

 frightened animal to comfort it.

 "There, Riv. Easy, boy." She patted his sleek jaw and curled a slim

 arm around his neck. "Easy now. What is it... huh? What has

 affrighted my brave one?"

 The horse canned under her touch and soothing voice. He nickered

 softly low in his throat and tossed his head. But he continued to look

 away across the creek at nothing Esme could see.

 "There, now. See? All is well. There is nothing "

 Before Esme could finish, Riv tossed his head, eyes rolling white in

 terror, and broke away from her. She snatched at the dangling reins,

 but the horse leaped away and ran through the long grass to stand

 whinnying across the hollow.

 "Riv!" Esme shouted impatiently. "You perverse creature! Come back

 here!" She stood with her hands on her hips as the horse bucked and

 shied, spinning in circles of fear as she watched- What has gotten into

 that animal? wondered Esme. She had seen nothing like it before.

 Away, foul beast! And take your rider Or be ye still, And stand beside

 her.

 At the strange, singsong words spoken in a rasping gabble of a voice,

 Esme whirled around. Her hand flew to the long dagger at her belt.

 Not hangman's knot, Nor blade of knife Prevail against This sibyl's

 life!

 I 449 I

 Esme could not believe her eyes. For there, in a huddle of rags on a

 rock in the middle of the creek, stood a humpbacked old woman. She

 held a long staff in one hand and waved the other before her as if

 warding off bees. As Esme watched in mute astonishment, the old woman

 hopped lightly as a cricket from stone to stone and so crossed the

 stream without so much as wetting a single taller.

 Upon landing on the bank the old women shook her rags in a flurry and

 stamped the ground three times with her staff. Then she proceeded to

 hobble toward the spot where Esme stood gaping in amazement. Where had

 she come from?

 "Who are you, old mother?" asked Esme warily.  The withered creature

 did not answer but drew closer in her peculiar hopping gait, swinging

 the staff and puffing mightily. Her hair hung in a mass of tangled

 gray snakes bedecked with bits of leaf and twig. The shriveled face

 looked like a dried apple, a mass of lines and creases browned by the

 wind and baked by the sun. When the woman moved, Esme imagined she

 could hear her brittle bones rattle; she appeared as old as the rocks

 under the hill.

 "Who are you?" Esme repeated her question.

 The hag made a pass in front of her with her wavering paw. Esme saw

 the rough hands and blackened nails and noticed, too, the scent of

 smoke and filth which billowed about the old woman.

 If rock and hill And laughing water Be hearth and home, I'm Orphe's

 daughter.

 She turned her weathered face slyly toward Esme and grinned a leering,

 toothless grin. It was then that Esme saw the sunken sockets where

 once eyes used to be. The old woman was utterly blind.

 "You live here ... in this hollow?"

 So ye say

 And speak ye true. And I would ask The same of you.

 "Me? I am Esmc. I did not mean to disturb your home. I heard the

 horse...." She turned and noticed Riv had calmed and now stood

 watching and cautiously nodding his head as if spellbound. "I will

 trouble you no further, but will leave at once

 Of leaving let No more he spoken, Till I have known You by your

 token.

 The ancient oracle held out her hand and propped her chin on her staff

 and waited. She looked like a bent and gnarled tree on a withered

 stump offering a lonely branch. Her ragged clothing fluttered in the

 breeze like leaves.

 "I do not have a token, old mother," said Esmc, thinking fast. It did

 not do to upset an oracle. Especially one of the caste woo called

 themselves the daughters of Orphe, for they were very powerful and

 wise. "But let me offer a blessing in your name when next I

 come to a shrine."

 The hag threw back her head and laughed, and Esmc saw two lonely brown

 teeth clinging like lichens to their place in the elderly law. The old

 seeress' laughter rang like the clatter of hail in an empty pot.

 Of blessings I

 Have little need.

 Bless me instead

 With a noble deed.

 Esmc started at the old woman's use of the word noble. She asked

 suspiciously, "What deed would you have me perform?"

 The rabbit caught Within yon frraar, Tastes the better When aroast with

 fire.

 The old woman crooked a knobby finger along the stream behind them.

 Esme followed it with her eyes and saw a hawthorn

 / 451 /

 thicket rustling vigorously as if something were Indeed caught within

 it.

 "You would have me cook you a meal? This is the deed you require?"

 Esme did not like the idea, she was anxious to resume her Journey. The

 country was not safe; the enemy prowled the hills at will. She had had

 two encounters already and did not welcome a third. She wished she had

 some item of value she could give the hag and be on her way. "Very

 well," she said slowly, and reluctantly went to retrieve the rabbit she

 knew she would find caught among the thorns.

 Orphe's daughter turned and followed her with sightless sockets. She

 smiled, and the wrinkled old face contorted in a shrewd, lipless

 grimace. She mumbled happily to herself and fluttered like a crippled

 bird to perch herself upon a nearby rock to wait.

 Esme had no difficulty catching the rabbit. She could see it

 struggling in the thicket. Reaching in carefully, she pulled it out by

 the scruff of the neck. She could feel its tiny heart beating madly as

 she held it close. It gave a terrified kick and leaped out other arms.

 Esme watched as it bounded away, afraid that she had lost it and would

 now be cursed by the oracle for failing in her deed.

 But the rabbit, a plump hare, gave two faltering jumps and then pitched

 forward dead. Esme ran to it and picked it up. The racing heart was

 still. She took her dagger and cut off its head to bleed it. She left

 it dangling by its hind legs from a branch while she went in search of

 wood to make a fire.

 When at last the fire was crackling and the skinned rabbit gutted and

 roasting on a spit, Esme went to the seeress and announced, "Your meal

 will be ready soon, old mother. And I have found you an apple to eat

 with your meat." The apple she had thoughtfully peeled and diced into

 a wooden bowl which she retrieved from Toll's pack behind the saddle.

 She then ground the large golden globe to mash with the handle of her

 dagger.

 The bag said nothing but hopped nearer the fire and seated herself.

 Esme went to the stream and filled a second bowl with water.

 "Perhaps Orphe's daughter would care to wash her hands before eating,"

 Esme said gently, holding the bowl before her.

 The old woman nodded regally and dipped her hands daintily into the

 bowl and rubbed them together. The water turned murky with dirt. The

 old woman then wiped her wet hands on her filthy clothes and smiled.

 Esmc fetched her another bowl of water, took the cooked meat from the

 spit and cut it into strips which she shredded and chopped. "Your

 meal, my lady," said Esme, for the oracle had assumed a queenly air as

 she was presented with the bowl of apple and rabbit, thoroughly

 minced.

 Esme withdrew to watch the old woman dine with obvious pleasure,

 licking her fingers and smacking her lips. When she had finished) she

 held out the bowl for more. Esme filled it again and sat down beside

 her to wait. The sun reached its zenith, dwindling the shadows in the

 glade to nothing, and still the old woman hunker cd over her bowl.

 Esme clasped her hand around her knees and forced herself to wait as

 patiently as possible.

 At last the old woman had eaten her fill. She placed the bowls on the

 ground beside her and rose up with much creaking and snapping of

 joints. She shook herself forward to stand before Esme and leaned once

 more on her staff. This she did with such surety of motion and without

 hesitation that Esme realized for the first time that the hag saw as

 much with her inner eye as others did with perfect vision. She

 shuddered to think that as a child the woman had probably had her eyes

 put out to further enhance her strange gift.

 The deed was done

 And with thoughtful art.

 As best befits

 A most noble heart.

 By this I know

 As by a gold rings

 Princess ye are

 And your father King.

 Esme gasped and Jumped to her feel The hag had spoken rightly, but it

 frightened her to have her secret so easily known.

 / 453 I

 "You see much that cannot be seen with eyes alone, priestess. Since I

 have served you as you asked, allow me to leave with your blessing."

 A blessing ye ask

 And this ye receive^

 Your secret safe

 If none you deceive.

 Full rare is she

 Whose safety would spend

 In risking death

 For love of a friend.

 But this ye do

 And this will be found:

 Your errand done When two are unbound.

 The old woman turned and scuttled away. Esme felt a nudge at her elbow

 and realized that Riv had come to her and was anxious to be off and

 away from the queer old woman.

 Esme climbed into the saddle and watched the shapeless bundle 01'rags

 hop from stone to stone back across the stream. "Thank you for the

 blessing, daughter ofOrphe. May your prophecy be true."

 At that the hag stopped and turned once more toward Esme. She raised

 her crooked staff overhead with both hands and turned around three

 times very fast. Esme wondered that she did not filll off her

 precarious perch in the middle of the stream.

 The old woman's rasping voice rose to fill all the hollow.

 / speak what is And not what may be. But since you ask, Hear my

 prophecy!

 The oracle raised her face toward the sky and muttered a long

 incantation while the staff waved back and forth over her head. Then

 she brought the knobby head of the rod down with a crack upon the stone

 where she stood. Her hand shot into the air, finger spread Like a

 claw. Her words echoed in the delL

 Seek ye the sword And do not yield ill If toe be slayed, A King must

 wield it.

 With a skip and a pimp the hag disappeared as quickly and as

 mysteriously as she had come. But long after she was gone her words

 rang in Esme's ears like the clear peal of a belL

 SIXTEEN

 QUENTIN HUNG limply from the wagon wheel, his mind benumbed with the

 pain drumming through every extremity of his broken body. He whimpered

 softly, unaware that he was making any sound at all unaware of anything

 but the throbbing, insistent agony.

 All day long the wheel had spun over rock and root, through dust and

 deep water. And Quentin, lashed to the wheel, had been slowly tortured

 into insensibUty. He did not notice when the wheel finally stopped,

 nor when the sun set, nor when night brought an end to his torture.

 He bung on the wheel and whimpered softly and pitifully as darkness

 deepened around him.

 Amidst the ordered confusion ofNin*s army making camp for the night,

 the moon rose fair and full, and with it the Wolf Star. Quentin gazed

 unblinking at the moon with unseeing eyes. Some small part of his mind

 watched it curiously, a frightened animal

 I 455 I

 peering out from the cave where, it had retreated to escape the

 hunters.

 After a long time it seemed to Quentin that the moon was coming toward

 him, leaving its course in the black dome of heaven to swim closer and

 closer. He could see it weaving over him, shining with a gentle light.

 It had two dark eyes that watched strangely. He wanted to reach out

 and place his hand against its smooth luminous surface, but his hands

 would not obey. Then the moon disappeared.

 Years passed, or were they moments? Quentin next felt something cool

 touch his forehead- He opened his eyes and saw that the moon had come

 back. It was looking at him and whispering to him, but he could not

 bear the words though they buzzed softly in his ears. He struggled to

 lift his head to speak, but lacked the strength, so simply allowed the

 moon to comfort him with its cool touch.

 "Kcnta, can you hear me? It is Toli. Kenta...."

 Quentin blinked his eyes and peered dully back at the round shining

 face of the moon. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not remember

 how to form the words.

 "Do not try to speak. Just listen to me. I have come to free you.

 Kenta, can you hear me?"

 Quentin moaned. Why was this moon so persistent? What did it want? He

 wanted only to drift back into the soothing void of unconsciousness.

 "Here is some water." He felt something press against his lips, and

 cool liquid spilt gently into his mouth. He swallowed feebly and then

 again. "Drink it slowly," came the whisper.

 Next Quentin felt something tugging at his hand- He felt it, though it

 seemed to him that his hand was faraway and no longer a part of him.

 When the hand was free, it fell limp and useless to dangle at his side.

 He watched as the moon stooped to slice through the cords which bound

 his feet. Then the other hand swung free, and he pitched forward onto

 his knees and into the solid arms of the moon who whispered in his ear,

 "Can you move?"

 Quentin made no answer. He felt himself rolled to the ground gently

 and then half-lifted, half-dragged under the shelter of the wagon. His

 head was raised, and the cool liquid poured into his mouth. Then he

 was laid back down, and Toli fell to rubbing some life bade into his

 friend's mangled limbs. He sank once more into peaceful oblivion.

 "Kenta, wake up." The voice was the barest of whispers. Warm breath

 tickled his ear. "It is time to go."

 "Toli?" The word was a slurred moan.

 "ShhI not so loud. I am here. Thank the god you are alive. I thought

 I had lost you."

 "What has happened? Ooohh .. ." His shoulder had begun throbbing

 again, and the pain and the night chill revived him somewhat. "Where

 ... where am I?**

 "There is no time, Kenta. It will be morning soon. We must get away

 now. Can you move?"

 "I I do not know. I do not think so."

 You must try. Come, I will help you." Toli gently lifted his master

 to a sitting position, but even this effort caused black waves of

 dizziness to wash over Quentin. He moaned again and could not restrain

 it.

 **I think your right arm is broken, Kenta. Hold it close to your side

 and try not to move it."

 "I cannot fed anything. But my shoulder ... ahhl" Toli had placed his

 hands under Quentin's arm to drag him from beneath the wagon.

 "The soldiers are asleep, but there are sentries around the perimeter.

 They are careless, for they are not expecting an encounter this night.

 We have a chance. Can you stand'

 "I..." With Toll's help be struggled to his feet, then swayed

 uncertainly. The pain took his breath away.

 "I will hold you, but we must move now." Toli guided his first

 fettering steps as Quentin stumbled helplessly forward, trying to make

 his legs move in harmony. It was no use he collapsed not two steps

 from where they had started.

 "Good," grunted Toli. "We try again. Lean on me." He raised Quentin

 back to his feet, and they started off again.

 Quentin tried to raise his head, but searing fireballs of pain burned

 through his brain at the effort. He let his head wobble upon

 / 457 /

 his chest as Toli propelled them forward- The earth felt queer beneath

 his feet, as if it were rolling away from him with every step. His

 legs kept entangling themselves and tripping him, but somehow Toli kept

 them both upright and moving.

 "Ahead is a gully maybe fifty paces. We will be hidden there. We can

 rest before moving again. But we must be as faraway from here as

 possible before daylight."

 They lurched through the darkness as ToH*s nighthawk vision kept watch

 for signs of discovery. They were moving away from camp, the wagons

 stood between them and the huddled masses of sleeping enemy soldiers.

 But ahead lay the circle of sentries at their posts.

 The gully, little more than a weedy depression carved in the ground,

 opened before them, and Quentin slid down the side to lay panting on

 his back when they reached it. His head ached and dark shapes, like

 the wings of ravens, swarmed before his eyes.

 "Listen," Toli said. He crawled to the rim of the gully to look back

 toward the wagons. "I think they may have discovered our escape.

 Someone is moving around the wagon. We must move on quickly."

 He lifted Quentin to his feet and, crouching as low as could be

 managed, they staggered off again.

 Quentin concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and

 staying upright; Toll bore the responsibility for keeping them moving.

 It was all Quentin could do not to cry out with pain when his shoulder

 was Joshed.

 "There are trees up ahead. If we can reach them, perhaps we can rest

 again."

 As Toli spoke they heard a shout behind them and the rattle of armed

 men running. "They knowl" cried Toli pulling them forward.

 The trees loomed up as a black mass hurled against a black sky. The

 moon had set long ago; Toli had chosen this, the darkest hour of the

 night, for their escape. Twice Quentin stumbled and fell full length

 to the ground, and Toli could not prevent it. Each time Quentin gamely

 hauled himself back to his feet, though the agony blinded him.

 Somehow they reached the trees. Toli propped Quentin up beside a

 formless trunk and left him there holding his arm with his good hand.

 Though the night was cool Quentin swam in his own sweat and tasted its

 salty tang on his lips. He fought to remain conscious when he saw the

 black wings fluttering closer. He felt as if he did not have a single

 bone that had not been wrenched out of joint.

 Toli was back beside him in an instant. "They are looking for us. They

 know you have escaped. They have not yet turned toward the trees, but

 it is only a matter of lime. They will find the gully, and they will

 follow it as we have. We cannot stop here."

 Quentin gasped and nodded. His temples pulsed with the pain as it

 twisted deeper and deeper into him. He could feel his strength

 slipping away. With Toli beside him he started off again, blindly, for

 between the sweat running in his eyes and the darkness of the wood he

 could see nothing.

 There were torches wavering over the landscape now. The soldiers were

 searching for them in knots of three or more, spreading out over the

 land. Soon Quentin could hear their voices echoing behind them as they

 dodged and floundered through the trees. Once he thought he saw the

 flare of a torch off to his right moving even with them. The voices of

 their pursuers, excited by the chase, sounded closer.

 "I have a horse waiting '* Toli said. "Down there."

 Quentin realized dimly that they were standing at the top of a low

 bluff whose slope was clothed in brambles. Before he could speak Toli

 had them plunging down the slope and into the thickets heedless of the

 barbs tearing at their flesh.

 Quentin fought his way through and, with Toli ever at his side, had

 almost reached the bottom when his foot struck against a root and he

 was flung headlong down the slope. He landed hard, unable to break his

 fall with his hands, and heard a sickening snap as he felt something

 give way in his injured shoulder. Daggers of pain stabbed into the

 wound. A startled scream tore from his throat before he could stifle

 it.

 Toli darted past him, and Quemm felt a rush of movement just in from of

 him and realized he had landed almost underneath the horse Toli had

 somehow acquired and hidden for their escape.

 I 459 I

 Then he felt Toll's strong hands jerking him once more to his feet. He

 was pushed into the saddle to hang like a sack of barley, head on one

 side and feet on the other. Toli was instantly behind him, holding him

 on with one hand and snapping the reins with the other.

 The horse jumped away, and Quentin saw the earth spin aside | in a

 jumble of confused shapes: branches, rocks, sky and ground. | He saw a

 light and then another. He heard a shout close at hand and an answer

 not far away. His teeth ground against each other as he clung

 helplessly to the saddle.

 Now the shouts of the enemy were all around. A dark shape rushed at

 them from out of the brush. Toli slashed down at it with the reins.

 Suddenly the copse was ablaze with torches. Toli jerked be reins hard

 and turned the horse toward the slope, but it was too teep for the

 frightened animal. The horse struggled, slid, pawed be air and then

 fell back, legs pumping furiously.

 Quentin was flung to the ground and Toli on top of him. In an nstant

 they were ringed in by soldiers and seized. Quentin saw the lash of a

 torch and the awful scowl of a face leering over him, then black hands

 grabbed him and began dragging him away. He beard a "wee shouting in

 desperation and realized it was his own. But he could not make out the

 words.

 "He jerked his head around to see what had become of Toll, but lid only

 see the swinging torches behind him. How bright the burning brands

 are, he thought. It hurt his eyes to look at them. un, get away!

 another voice told him, this one inside his head. Yes, -; must escape.

 If only they would release him, he would run and n and not stop

 running until he was far away.

 Where were they taking him? he wondered. What would hapn to him? The

 questions framed themselves in his mind, but no swers came. Very well,

 it did not matter. Nothing mattered anyaore. He had ceased to feel

 anything at all. Numb with pain, he was transported into a

 hallucinatory vision.

 There was a rush of black wings and suddenly he was soaring, il ling

 tumbling, floating high above the earth. Quentin looked down and saw a

 strange procession of torchbearers marching through a wooded dell. They

 carried with them the bodies of two unfortunates. Who could they be?

 Quentin was sorry for them.

 Sadly, he turned his eyes away and saw the dark edge of the night

 sweeping toward him.

 It was as if a silken veil had passed before his eyes removing all from

 view. He let it touch him and enfold him in its dark embrace. Quentin

 felt the last fine threads of strength and will leave him and he knew

 no more.

 SEVENTEEN

 THE CANDLES burned low in their tall holders; several had sputtered out

 and the inner chamber of the Elders smelled of hot beeswax and tallow.

 The Elders sat stone like each one hunched over, head bowed and hands

 clasped. All was silent, but for the rhythmic sigh of their

 breathing.

 The night had drawn full measure, and still they sat. Waiting,

 Listening. Searching within themselves for an answer to Yesepb's dream

 a most disturbing dream.

 Then at last the waiting was over, for Clemore raised his hands and

 began to sing. "Peran nim Panrai, rigelle des onus Whist Orren. Entona

 blesori ama till kor des yoel belforas." He sang in the ancient tongue

 of the Ariga. "King of Kings, whose name is Most High, your servant

 praises your name forever."

 The three others slowly raised their heads and looked at Cleroore. His

 eyes were closed and his hands raised to either side of his face.

 "Speak, Elder Clemore. Tell us what has been revealed to you," Patur

 said quietly. The others nodded and leaned back in their high-backed

 wooden chairs; the vigil was over.

 Clemore, eyes still closed, began to speak. "The river is Truth and

 the water Peace," he said. "And the river runs through the land giving

 life to all who seek it, for Truth is life.

 / 461 f

 "But the storm of war descends, and its evil defiles the water. Truth

 is poisoned by the lie and is choked off. When Truth perishes and

 Peace dries up, the land dies. And the gales of war blow over the land

 filling the sky with clouds of death, which is the dust. Then darkness

 Evil covers all, blotting out the light of Good.

 "The child who cries out in the darkness is a Child of the Light who

 has lost his father, the ways of righteousness. His father's sword is

 the knowledge of the Truth, which has been destroyed.

 "But there are some left who do not go down to death and darkness, who

 still remember the River and the Water and the Living Land. They are

 the man who weeps. The tears are the prayers of the Holy who mourn the

 coming of EviL

 "The prayers are poured out and become a Sword of Light which is Faith.

 The Sword flashes against the darkness of Evil because it is alive with

 the Spirit of the Most High. The Sword is to be given to the Child,

 but alas! the Child has been overcome by the Night and is carried

 off."

 When Clemore had finished his retelling of die dream they all spoke at

 once, joining in agreement with the interpretation. Yesepb's voice

 rang above the others. "Brothersi We must not forget that dreams may

 have several meanings and all of them true. I do not doubt that the

 interpretation we have just heard is truly of the Most High. But I am

 troubled by one thing'

 "What is that?" asked Jollen. He opened his hand toward Yeseph,

 inviting him to speak freely. "It was your dream, after all"

 "I feel as if there were some more present danger yet unspoken."

 "Certainly the dream is dire enough, Yeseph," said Patur.

 "And its interpretation is clear warning," added Clemore.

 "Yes, a warning of something to come said Yeseph slowly, "but also a

 reflection of something even now taking place."

 "Well said, Yeseph. I think so, too." Jollen reached across and

 touched his arm. "The interpretation was given to us that we might be

 ready for what is to come. The dream was given to us that we might

 know there is peril even now upon us

 Clemore nodded gravely, and Patur pulled on his gray beard.

 "What does your heart tell you, Yeseph? What are we to do?" asked the

 latter.

 "I hardly know, Patur. But I feel a great torment in my spirit. It

 has grown through the night as we have sat here." He glanced at the

 others. "I feel that we must even now pray for the Child of Light whom

 we have sent out from among us."

 "Who is that, Yeseph?" asked Clemore.

 "Quentin."

 "Quentin? But he is in Askelon."

 "Quentin, yes. And Toli, too. They are in desperate need; I fed

 it."

 "Then it may be," replied Jpllen/'that our prayers are needed at this

 moment if the dream is to have an ending." He turned to the others.

 "I. too, am troubled about Yeseph's dream. It docs not suggest an

 end, which means that the end is still in doubt. Therefore, we must

 unite our spirits, and those of our people, to bring about the ending

 which the Most High will show us."

 "Your thoughts are mine," said Yeseph.

 "Then let us not waste another moment. Our prayers must begin at

 once." Jollen raised his hands and closed his eyes. The others

 followed his example.

 In moments the temple chamber was filled with the murmur of the Elder's

 prayers ascending to the throne of Whist Orren. Outside the temple the

 silvery light of dawn was tinting the gray curtain of night in the

 east.

 Dawn brought with it a sullen chill. The horizon showed an angry red,

 dull and brooding, though the sky seemed clear enough overhead. The

 wind had changed with the coming of morning; Toli had noted it as he

 lay bound beside his master. Quentin hardly breathed at all. He clung

 to life with a tenuous grasp. Several times before dawn Toli had had

 to place his ear against Quentin's chest to see if he still lived.

 In the camp the soldiers were busy making ready for their day's march.

 Toli, whose eyes missed nothing, had a presentiment that he and Quentin

 would not be making the trip with them, for he had

 / 463 I

 seen a group of soldiers readying ropes and harness, and the three

 guards who now stood over them laughed and pointed at them. Toli knew

 that the means of their execution was being prepared.

 The cooking fires sent white smoke drifting through the camp. The

 guard was changed on the prisoners, so those who had watched through

 the night could be fed. When all the soldiers had eaten and were ready

 to march, reckoned Toli, they would be assembled to view the execution

 as an entertainment, something to dwell on as they marched that day.

 Toli spent his last moments of life praying for his master, who could

 not pray for himself.

 He was roused with a sharp kick to his back. The blow rolled him over,

 and Toli looked up into the hate-filled face of a giant who held a

 battle-axe with a head blade as wide as a man's waist.

 The giant, whose face was seamed with crisscrossing scan, pointed at

 the captives and growled. The guards seized them and dragged them out

 into the meadow where the army had camped, pushing through the mass of

 thronging soldiers who formed a solid wall around some object which

 held their attention.

 Toli and Quentin were pushed through the assembled host and thrown down

 at the edge of a wide ring formed by the shields of the soldiers. In

 the center of the ring stood two horses, one facing east and the other

 west. Between the horses lay a tangle of ropes and two heavy yoke like

 objects. At the farther side of the ring stood the warlord's black

 steed tossing his head and Jerking the arm of the soldier holding his

 bridle.

 As Toli watched, a ripple coursed through the ranks at the edge of the

 ring, and a wide avenue opened through which came a man wearing a

 breastplate of bronze and a helmet of bronze which had two great plumes

 like wings affixed to its crest. A cloak was clasped at one shoulder,

 beneath which protruded the thin blade of his cruelly curved sword.

 Toli had no doubt that he was seeing the warlord.

 The warlord approached his courser and paused momentarily while two of

 his men dashed forward and flung themselves at his feet. One lay

 prostrate and the other crouched next to him on hands and knees. The

 warlord proceeded to climb to his saddle upon the bodies of his men. He

 then raised his hand in signaL

 Toli swallowed hard, inwardly shuddering. He cast one last look at

 Quentin, unconscious on the ground beside him. "Stay asleep, Kenta,"

 he whispered to himself, "and fear nothing. I will go before you."

 But it was not to be. Two soldiers came forward at the warlord's

 signal, one carried a gourd full of water. They rolled Quentin over on

 his back none too gently; a moan escaped his Ups. Toli struggled

 against his bond and was struck on the head by a guard behind him.

 The soldier with the gourd knelt over Quentin and placed the vessel

 against his nose and poured.

 "You will drown him!" shouted Toli, receiving another blow on the head

 for his trouble. He lunged at the soldier and was kicked in the

 ribs.

 Quentin coughed violently and choked- Water spouted from his mouth and

 nostrils, and he awoke sputtering. His eyelids flickered, and he

 turned cloudy eyes upon Toli who now knelt over him. "My friend..."

 Quentin gasped, "I am sorry."

 Quentin seemed to know what was about to happen.

 Both prisoners were jerked to their feet, Quentin was made to stand

 supported between two scowling soldiers, one of whom grasped a handful

 of hair in order to keep the captive's head erect.

 The warlord gave a second signal, and there was a sudden scuffle behind

 the two captives. A third prisoner was flung forward into the ring. He

 was a soldier, bound hand and foot as Quentin and Toli were. "One of

 the sentries of last night," whispered Toll. He guessed the warlord

 would make him the first victim.

 The man's face was gray; he trembled all over. Sweat soaked his hair

 and ran down his face a hideous mass of ugly purple welts, for the man

 had already received a sound beating. The luckless trooper was quickly

 wrenched to his feet by two other guards who then stripped him naked,

 cutting away his clothing with their knives. The soldiers looking on

 laughed.

 The unfortunate was marched to the center of the ring, where

 / 465 I

 the giant with the broad axe waited between the two horses. He was

 pushed down to the ground where he writhed in anguish as his arms and

 legs were securely tied to the heavy wooden yokes. Then, upon signal,

 the two horses, harnessed to the yokes, were led slowly away in

 opposite directions.

 The ropes pulled taut. The giant stepped into place over his prey. The

 victim was lifted off the ground to hang in agony while his body

 stretched by slow degrees. The horses leaned into harness and the man

 screamed terribly. The awful popping sound of joints and ligaments

 giving way seemed to fill the ring. As the victim screamed his last,

 the giant, quick as lightning, spun the broad axe in a flashing circle

 about his head and with one hand brought the blade down with a mighty

 stroke.

 The jolt of the blow almost felled the horses, who stumbled to their

 knees as the ropes suddenly went slack. The poor wretch was hewn

 neatly in half as the host wildly clamored their approval, rattling

 their weapons and cheering.

 Toli glanced fearfully at Quentin, who stared emptily at the horrible

 spectacle, though his master's eyes were open, Toli could not tell if

 they saw what had been played out before them. His look was vague and

 faraway.

 iThe warlord ordered the corpse to be removed from the yokes and then

 led his steed across the ring to where Toli and Quentin waited. Toli

 gritted his teeth and stared stubbornly ahead. The warlord glared down

 at his prisoners for a moment. He spoke something in an unintelligible

 tongue. Toli raised his eyes, snapping with defiance, and for a brief

 instant their gazes met. The warlord grasped his reins and struck down

 at Toli and slashed him across the face once, twice, three times.

 Blood spurted from a gash over his eye and ran down his face. The

 warlord barked at him and shot a quick glance at Quentin, who still

 seemed not to know what was happening around him. Then the warrior

 chief swung his mount around and trotted back to the center of the

 ring.

 He looked slowly around the entire circle of faces in his army and then

 spat out a short speech to them which, from the somber mood which

 suddenly fell upon the host, Toli guessed to be on the order of an

 official reprimand. When he finished, the warlord nodded and soldiers

 began readjusting the yokes and harness. Toli believed the moment to

 be his last. He closed his eyes and sent aloft a prayer for strength

 and dignity in his moment of trial.

 Across the ring a blast of a horn sounded. Toll opened his eyes to the

 far hills and trees, intent that his last memory should not be of his

 executioner or the grotesque corpse lying in two pieces beside the

 wicked blade. He felt a twinge of regret that he would not be able to

 comfort his master in his last moment, nor even say his leave as a man

 would, but he doubted whether Quentin would know or understand

 anyway.

 The soldiers on either side of him tightened their grasp, and suddenly

 he was being dragged forward. His heart raced madly in his chest, and

 his vision suddenly became remarkably acute. He saw every blade of

 grass under his feet, and every leaf on every branch of nearby trees

 stood out in breathtaking clarity.

 Time seemed to swell, expanding to immeasurable dimensions. He moved

 step by step, wonderfully aware of each moment asit slid by; he held

 it, savored it. Now he was raising his foot, taking a step now long it

 took now the other foot swung up. There were twenty more steps to go

 before reaching the axe-man, and each step seemed to last forever.

 He was conscious of the air as it filled his lungs: me taste of it, the

 tingling freshness as it rushed in. He felt the sun on his neck and

 thought that if he tried he could count each single ray as it touched

 him. How strange, he thought, that every nerve and fiber of his being

 should be so fully alive this close to death.

 Then he was struck with a horrible thought. In this heightened state,

 he would be able to see the executioner's blade as it glittered in the

 air in its lazy arc. He would be able to feel each tiny fiber of

 muscle stretch and pull, he would feel his bones wrenched leisurely

 from their sockets; he would hear his own spine snap.

 He would see in that most hideous of moments stretched out far, far

 beyond its normal length the cruel blade bite deep into his flesh,

 cleaving bone from muscle. And he would see himself severed in half

 and feel the awful rush of his organs spilling out.

 / 467 /

 He would know his death in its most terrifying aspect. He would die

 not instantly, as it would seem to those who looked on. He would die

 with torturous slowness. Gradually. Bit by excruciating bit.

 EIGHTEEN

 "You LOOK better this morning than you have in weeks, Sire." Durwin

 had seen the King from across the garden and had watched him for some

 moments before approaching. Eskevar sat quietly on a small stone bench

 amidst a riotous splash of color from the flowers of every shade and

 description- Every variety of flowering plant and shrub from the

 furthest ends of the realm and beyond had a place in the Dragon King's

 garden.

 A shadow vanished from the King's brow as he looked up and saw his

 physician coming toward him. "Thanks to the ministrations of my good

 hermit, I think I will yet trouble this world with my existence."

 Durwin cocked a wary eye at Eskevar. "How strangely you put it. Sire.

 I would have thought that today, of all days, you would rejoice in your

 improved health and put gloomy thoughts far behind you."

 "Then little you know me, sir. I may not make merry when my when men

 of my bidding are still abroad."

 "It is Midsummer!" said Durwin. His gaiety was a little forced;

 he too felt uneasy about Quentin and Toli and the others being so long

 away. "I would not wonder if they were enjoying the hospitality of one

 of the happy villages by the sea."

 Eskevar shook his head gravely. "You contrive to cheer me, but your

 words fall far short of the mark, Durwin though I thank you for die

 attempt I know too well that something is wrong in Mensandor. Something

 is very wrong."

 Durwin stepped closer to his monarch and laid a hand on his shoulder.

 The King looked up into the hermit's eyes and smiled wanly. "Sire, I,

 too, feel a dread creeping over the land. Sometimes my heart flutters

 unexpectedly, or a chill falls upon me as I sit in my chamber before

 the fire, and I know something is loose in the land that does not love

 peace. Too soon, I fear, we will face a most loathsome enemy.

 "But I also know that we stand in the light of the god's pleasure, and

 no darkness can extinguish it

 "I wish I had faith enough to believe in your god. I have seen too

 much of religion to believe." Eskevar sighed and rose slowly to his

 feet. Durwin reached out a hand and steadied him.

 The two old friends walked the garden paths side by side in silence for

 a long time; Durwin kept his hand under the King's arm.

 "I do not think I could survive another campaign, another war' said

 Eskevar after they had walked the entire length and breadth of the

 garden.

 "You are tired. Sire. That is all You have been very ill. Take your

 time, and do not let such thoughts trouble you. When you have regained

 your strength you will feel differently, I assure you."

 "Perhaps." The King grew silent again.

 The sun shone down in a friendly way, and all the garden seemed to

 shout with the exuberance of life. A fountain splashed in a shady nook

 near a wall covered with white morning-glories. A delicate song

 floated on the perfumed air as the men strolled slowly by. They

 stopped to listen.

 "How sweetly your daughter sings. Sire."

 "She cannot do else." The King laughed gently, and the light seemed to

 rise in his eyes. "She is a woman, and she is in love."

 Seeing how his patient brightened at the thought of his daughter,

 Durwin turned aside and directed their steps toward the fountain and

 the young woman dressed all in white samite, glistening like a living

 ray of light.

 "My Lady sings most beautifully' said Durwin when they had drawn close.

 Bria, her hands busily plaiting a garland of ivy into which

 morning-glories were woven, raised her head and smiled.

 "I would have thought my lords too preoccupied for a maiden's vain

 utterings," Bria laughed. Music filled the air, and shadows raced

 away. Eskevar seemed suddenly to become young once again, remembering

 perhaps another whose laughter enchanted him. "Come, Father. And

 Durwin, too. Sit beside me, and tell me what you two have been talking

 about this morning."

 "We will sit with you, but it is you who must tell us what occupies

 your thoughts," said Durwin.

 They sat on stone benches near the fountain, Eskevar settled next to

 his lovely daughter and did not take his eyes from her. Bria began to

 relate the trivial commonplaces other day, and her excitement at the

 approach of the evening's Midsummer celebration. There was no hint in

 her voice of anything but the most joyful anticipation and delight.

 How very like her mother, Durwin thought. How wise and good. Her

 heart must have been filled with thoughts of Quentin and consumed with

 longing for his presence in this happy time; yet she did not let on

 that she felt anything but the most perfect contentiinent and

 happiness. She was doing it for her father, he knew. i After a little

 while, Durwin slipped quietly away and left his patient for the moment

 in the hands of an even more skillfril physician, one whose very

 presence was a healing balm.

 Arriving at the road, Esme had faced a hard decision. To the north lay

 Askelon and her goal; to the south, danger and the likelihood of being

 captured again. But she guessed that any help which she might bring

 must come out of the south, too. That was the way her protectors,

 Quentin and Toli, had been heading when they encountered her. That was

 the way their friends were expected to return.

 The choice had occupied her the greater pan of the afternoon ever since

 leaving the oracle. And upon reaching the seaside track she was no

 further decided in her mind. Very likely Quentin and Toli were dead.

 And it was almost certain that their friends who ever they were had

 been ambushed and killed, as had her own bodyguards. It seemed a

 futile gesture to rum away from Askelon now; there was nothing to be

 gained by wandering further afield.

 And yet, the words of0rphe*s daughter still whispered in her mind:

 But this ye do And this will be found:

 Your errand done When two an unbound.

 What else could those words mean but that Quentin and Toli the two were

 still alive but would not remain so unless she went to free them? If

 she believed the prophecy at all, it would mean that her errand would

 only be accomplished in securing their release.

 It made no sense. But when, thought Esme bitterly, did the gods ever

 make sense to mortals?

 So, against all reason, she had turned Riv to the south. As their

 shadow deepened and lengthened in the late afternoon, they set off in

 search of friends in a friendless land.

 A long night fraught with lingering chills had passed into a sullen

 morning in which an angry red sun glowered upon the horizon. Esme was

 up and shaking the leaves and dew from her cloak when she heard it: the

 crisp jingle of horses moving on the road. It was thin and faraway,

 but it was a sound she knew well the sound of men at arms moving with

 some speed and purpose, their weapons and tack clinking with every

 step.

 She slipped from the bower that had been her bed for the night,

 slightly below the road and down an incline so that it was well hidden,

 and crept to the road's edge to peer along its length. She could see

 no one coming, and for a moment the sound drifted away;

 she wondered if she had imagined it. But the road hereabouts ran over

 and around the many humps of this hilly region, and presently the sound

 came again.

 She ducked away again into her leafy refuge and led Riv out

 ! 471 I

 and along a route parallel to the road. They descended into a small

 valley and rose again to the top of a little, tree-lined knob. From

 there Esme judged she would have a clear view of the road below without

 fear of being seen.

 She waited. The resentful sun rose slowly, throwing off a sulky light;

 the air seemed dank and stale. The sky held the feel of a storm,

 though not a cloud was to be seen. Such days did often betoken ill,

 thought Esme, and hoped that its end would not leave her with cause for

 regret.

 Into the stillness of the morning came once more the jingling refrain

 she had heard before. This time it was closer and more distinct.

 Listening very hard, she thought she could hear the thump of the horses

 hooves as the party, not large, moved along. Presently Esme saw the

 ruddy glint of a blade or helm as it caught the sun for a brief

 instant. Then, jouncing into view below her came two knights, three

 more following close behind.

 Though she watched them for awhile as they jogged along, Esme knew at

 once that she had nothing to fear from these men. They were not of the

 destroying horde she had twice encountered. And from her secret perch

 she could barely make out the blazon of one knight's shield as it hung

 beside him on his horse's flank the twisting red dragon of the Dragon

 King.

 When the company of knights had drawn even with her hiding place, Esme

 urged Riv out gingerly and hastened down to meet them in the road. One

 of the knights saw her streaking toward them, said something to his

 companions and then broke away, galloping to intercept her. He did not

 speak as he Joined her, but eyed her cautiously as he conducted her to

 where the others had stopped and were now waiting to receive them.

 There was an awkward moment of silence when she finally reached them.

 The two foremost knights exchanged glances quickly. It was clear they

 did not know what to make of her, a young lady riding out of the hills

 alone.

 "I am Ronsard, Lord High Marshall of Mensandor. I am at your service,

 my lady." It was the knight whose blazon she had recognized.

 The young woman spoke up without hesitation. "I am

 Esmc " she began, but was interrupted by the second knight, a man of

 dark aspect whom she thought seemed somehow familiar.

 "I used to know an Esme," he said, "though she was but a slip of a girl

 and shy as a young deer

 "It is a common name, sir she said guardedly. Who was this man? She

 was certain she had seen him before.

 "Of course, you are right. This Esme I knew lived away in Elsendor and

 was never fond of horses, as I see you must be to ride as you do." A

 secretive smile played at the edges of the knight's mouth. Was he

 laughing at her, Esme wondered.

 "Elsendor is a realm of some size," she said. "Perhaps you would

 remember whose house it was wherein you saw the girl that bears my

 name

 "Well I remember it," laughed the knight. "Often it was that I found

 lodging there and hospitality of a most royal kind." He lingered on

 the word royal and gave it a peculiar emphasis.

 Ronsard looked from one to the other of them curiously. "It is well

 that we have naught to do but pass the time wagging our tongues. Or

 perhaps there is some hidden jest which this dull head does not

 apprehend."

 "Sir, if it is a jest, it is not mine she said, a little confused. "I

 am on an errand of some importance concerning friends of yours, I

 think."

 "Then, my lady, I suggest you tell us forthwith what you require of us.

 We are charged with an errand of importance welL"

 "Now, now, good Ronsard. Be not so hasty with this young lady. For

 though she is but stranger to you, I think her father is not

 "You you know my father?" She peered at him closely. "Your words

 addle me, sir. But there is something about you which seems not

 altogether unfamiliar."

 "Yes,"* said Ronard growing impatient. "If you think you know

 something, then out with it!"

 ^cry well," sighed Theido. "It may be that I am indeed mistaken. Yes,

 I certainly I am. For any of King Troen's offspring would know one

 whom they called Uncle."

 I 473 I

 The young lady's dark eyes opened wide in disbelief. Her head shook

 dubiously, wagging the sleek braid at the back of her head. "Theido?"

 A look of happy relief flooded her face as she saw the dark stranger

 throw back his head and laugh deeply.

 Ronsard clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "What a meeting is

 this. It is not to be believed."

 "Believe it, Ronsard. Allow me to present Princess Esme of Elsendor.

 Far from home she may be, but far from friendless she is."

 "Theido! I do not believe it either, sir," she said to Ronsard. "Upon

 my word, he is the last man I would have expected to meet this day."

 "Well might I say the same of you. Lady Esme. You see, Ronsard, I

 spent much time in the halls of King Troen when that craven Jaspin

 seized my lands. I was made an outlaw in my own country, but Queen

 Besmir took me in, though her husband was away in the wars with

 Eskevar."

 "However did you know me? I scarce but recognize you."

 "You have much of your mother's look about you, and much of your

 father's boldness. The name Esme is not so widely used as you would

 have us believe. When I saw you, I knew there could only be one.r

 The other knights murmured their surprise. Ronsard turned to them and

 said, "Why do you wonder at this, sirs? You well know that Theido is

 kith to every family in the realm, be they plowman or prince."

 They all laughed, including Theido who said, "Friends I have many, and

 it is true few men in Mensandor have not heard of Theido though that is

 more my father's doing than my own.

 "But let us be once more on our way. Join us, my Lady, and tell us of

 your errand while we ride. We are for Askelon at once."

 "That suits me well "

 "I believe you spoke Just now of friends of ours? What news would you

 bring us of them?" The party started off again.

 "Dreadful news, sir. I wish it were not mine to tell. If you be

 friend to one called Quentin and his servant friend Toli, then you must

 prepare for the worst She glanced fearfully at her two companions.

 Their faces clouded with worry when she pronounced the names.

 "I see I am right."

 "You are. Tell us then what you know."

 "We were riding in search of you, my lords, traveling by night. We saw

 a fire they said it was Illem, burning and we rode to give aid. We

 were met by a fierce enemy, and Quentin and Toti were taken. I

 escaped

 Tight lines appeared around Theido's mouth, and Ronsard's jaw bulged.

 "I marvel at your fortune," said Ronsard. "And more at the directness

 of your speech."

 "My father has often said that bitter news does not grow sweeter on the

 tongue, and 'twere better said quickly. If I thought that you would

 have been offended by my manner, I would have spared you."

 "Nay, spare us not. But tell us if we may hope for them."

 "Yesterday I thought not, but I chanced to meet an oracle by a pool.

 She gave me reason to hope, and reason to try to find you."

 "An oracle, you say?" Theido shrugged his shoulders. "Where need is

 great any hand will serve, I guess. But we must not linger one moment

 longer, I fear my idle jesting has caused too much delay already. We

 will pick up the trail at Illem. We will have to wait for the rest of

 your story, my Lady. I do not wonder but that it is most

 remarkable."

 "We ride for Illem!" shouted Ronsard to his knights. Reins snapped

 and spurs bit into flanks, and the horses raced off into the hills

 toward the burned and blackened ring that had once been Illem.

 NINETEEN

 EVENING LIGHT lingered golden in the trees as Durwin stood out on the

 great bartizan overlooking the King's magnificent garden, now ablaze

 with a thousand lanterns. The music of the assembled minstrels floated

 over all, a delicate tapestry of melody woven as if from the petals of

 summer flowers.

 Nervous young men escorted radiant young ladies along the garden paths.

 Children frolicked among leafy bowers, their laughter clean and clear,

 sounding like music played on silver instruments. Fine lords and

 ladies in gay costume moved gracefully among blue and-yellow striped

 pavilions wherein dan ties were served. The Midsummer celebration at

 Askelon Castle was a feast for the senses, thought Durwin, sniffing the

 fragrant flower-scented air. A thing of rare beauty.

 "Why so heavy-hearted, good hermit?" The voice was as light as the

 breeze which gently lifted the leaves in the garden. Durwin turned and

 bowed to his Queen.

 "My Lady, your eyes are as sharp as they arc beautiful," he sighed.

 "What can trouble your thoughts on an evening such as this? It is the

 night when all good things are dreamed and you know that dreams may

 sometimes come true."

 "I wonder. Good does often seem so fragile against evil, the light so

 powerless against the darkness.. .." His voice trailed off without

 finishing the thought.

 "That is not the Durwin I know. You sound as if you have been taking

 the King's counsel"

 "Ah, so it is! How fickle a man's mind, ever prey to his emotions. A

 weathercock for whatever winds may blow." He laughed suddenly,

 recovering something of the mirth lacking before. "Yes, yes. How

 silly I am. What good is a physician who does not take his own

 cure?"

 Alinea smoothly linked her arm in his and turned him toward the

 sweeping steps to the garden below. "Walk with me, kind friend. For

 I, too, have need of some good word." A shadow moved across her lovely

 face. Durwin felt it like a pang.

 "If words can help, then rely on it that I will say them."

 "I have been troubled today myself. A subtle unease disquiets my

 inmost soul, and most illusive it is. No cause seems readily apparent.

 Often I discover myself to be thinking of Quentin."

 "I would calm you if I could, but these are not the words for it. I,

 too, have been thinking of Quentin this day and of little else. When

 you came to me just now I was thinking again of him, and of Ton, though

 even then I did not know it."

 "Do you think they may be in some trouble? It seems silly, I know-'*

 "Not at all, my Lady, not at all. The Most High does often join our

 hearts with our loved ones in times of distress as well as Joy. I have

 been praying for them all this day, though my prayers are

 uninformed."

 "I would that I had the knowledge of the Most High that you possess.

 Then I would not feel so disposed to the foolishness of a woman's

 fears."

 "But you have something which does serve as well. You have the ability

 to believe without the need for reasons, or for great signs and

 wonders. Yours is a faith to endure."

 "And yours?"

 "Mine will endure, but it is born of years of struggling and vain

 striving. I have come to my belief over a most circuitous and rocky

 path, and I cannot say which is the better. I think the god gives each

 soul what it requires, and there is the difference."

 "Still, I would know more of what you have learned in your quest. It

 cannot hurt to be informed."

 "Aye, my Lady. You speak aright. I will gladly teach you what

 / 477 /

 little I know. But do not be surprised if in your heart you already

 know the truth of what I would instruct. It is often thus."

 They were silent as they reached the last step and entered the Ifestive

 world of the Midsummer revelers. Alinea turned and looked amestly into

 Durwin's broad and weathered face. "What can be lone for Quentin and

 Toli?"

 "Nothing that has not already been done. Pray. It is no little

 "Let me come to you when the celebration is over. We will pray

 together. If one heart alone may have effect, then two will speed the

 remedy. And your sure prayers will guide my own more directly to the

 mark."

 "As you wish, my Queen. I will await you."

 Just then the blast of trumpets rang out above them from the bartizan

 they had just quitted. They turned to see the Ring's pages, their long

 trumpets in hand, snap to attention. Then King Eskevar himself was

 leaning on the stone balustrade looking down upon the merrymaking.

 Silence descended slowly over the garden as all eyes turned toward him.

 Even the giggling children grew quiet as they teen sed something

 important was about to happen, though they |regarded it as more of an

 interruption in their fan than an occasion |of state. Their elders

 exchanged puzzled glances it was not usual for the King to address his

 guests like this. But all waited to hear what he had to say.

 "Citizens of Mensandor, my friends. I will not keep you long from your

 merrymaking, and I will join you soon. But I would tell you some

 things which have been on your King's heart of late."

 There was a murmur of concern: some for the words, and some for the

 appearance of the King, whose haggard features were not at all

 disguised by his festive apparel.

 "What I am about to tell you may cause you some concern. Please know

 that it is not my intention to worry you, nor cause you needless

 alarm."

 "What is he doing?" whispered Durwin.

 "I do not know." Queen Alinea shook her head. A line of concern

 appeared on her brow. "He discussed nothing like this with

 "But as your King," Eskevar continued, his solemn tones descending like

 a leaden rain into the garden, "I would be less than just if knowing of

 danger to our realm I did not at once warn my people to look to their

 safety."

 Now there was a general clamor and a voice called out, "This is a poor

 jest for Midsummeri" Another said, "Let the King speak! I would hear

 him out in peace!"

 "It is no Jest, my loyal friends. But my heart can no longer abide

 rejoicing while across fair Mensandor the wild, angry clouds of war are

 gathering." He held up a hand to silence the outburst which followed

 this revelation. "Even now my marshalls scour the land to bring me

 word of our enemy, that we might know his strength and so arm against

 him. We shall fight for our land against any foe, and we shall win!"

 The King's voice had risen to a rant; he sounded like a madman, though

 his words were sane enough. A stunned silence fell upon the Midsummer

 revelers. Eskevar seemed to come to himself again and realized what he

 had done. His hand trembled slightly as he said, "Return now to your

 pleasure- It may be the last we will know for many dark days." He

 turned and walked away from the balustrade and disappeared into the

 castle, leaving his guests to mumble in confused alarm.

 "What can he mean by this? Oh, Durwin..." Alinea turned to the

 hermit, eyes filling with tears. "Is he ... ?"

 No, no. Do not be alarmed. He is as sane as you or I, perhaps the

 more. I believe that his great heart feels more deeply for this land

 than any other person's. Somehow it is part of him, when it hurts, he

 hurts. I am certain that I am telling you nothing you do not already

 know."

 "That may be, but it is good to hear another say it. I have long known

 him to be unable to enter into gaiety when there is any unhappiness

 that he may cure. But he has never taken to this extreme."

 "Pray that I am wrong, my Lady. But it may be that we will have cause

 ere long to look upon Eskevar's ill-timed warning as the act of a most

 brave and noble soul. I think he senses something that

 I 479-f is not yet apparent to us. I fear we will share his

 forebodings too soon."

 "You will excuse me, Durwin. I must hurry to attend him hist now. He

 will be wroth with himself for his outburst. He will want a cool hand

 to soothe his brow."

 Durwin bowed, and the beautiful Alinea hurried away with a rustle other

 silken skirts. He turned and saw that all eyes had been upon the Queen

 in the moments following Eskevar's strange address. Durwin smiled as

 broadly as he knew how, held up his hands and shouted, with as much

 cheer as he could command, "Friends, let us enjoy our celebration!

 There may be trouble enough to come so be it! But it is a good day,

 and we may have need of such joy ere long. So let us fill our hearts

 with happiness and let care belong to the morrowi"

 His hand flourished in the air and, as if waiting for his cue, the

 music swelled and filled the garden as the minstrels began to play once

 more. The children, sensing the momentary ban on their fun had been

 lifted, burst forth with pent-up high spirits, and their laughter

 sounded from every corner. In a short while the garden was transformed

 into a scene of mirth and merriment. The ominous cloud, so sudden and

 unexpected in its appearance, had just as suddenly passed.

 Night came on like a dream. Quentin had some vague recollection of a

 day that seemed to stretch out forever without end. He and Toli had

 been thrown into the back of one of the wagons to wonder at their fate.

 There was not a heartbeat throughout the interminable day that he did

 not relive the horror of their sunrise ordeal.

 He had been pulled across the execution ring at the signal of the

 warlord. Halfway to the bloody spot he had seen the death-man turn

 away. He looked around as the warlord was riding through the

 scattering throng of his soldiers, the ring was melting away. Suddenly

 he understood that the warlord's order had been one of dismissal. The

 executions were over. For some reason, which he would not know until

 later, he and Toli had been spared. Relief, however, was slow in

 coming as he watched the giant axe-man walk way rubbing the cruel head

 of his broadaxc with shreds of the dead man's clothes.

 Shortly after the wagon had begun to rumble and Jostle away Quentin had

 slumped into a deep sleep, broken only by Toli's persistent nudging and

 admonitions to eat. They had, by some chance, been bundled into a

 wagon bearing provisions taken from UIem. Toll, after managing to

 loosen his bonds somewhat, had gathered a few foods for them. He was

 adamant that Quentin eat and regain some small part of his strength for

 whatever lay ahead.

 After a meal of dry grain, strong goat cheese, and hard bread, Quentin

 had fallen asleep again. It was nearly sunset on Midsummer's Day

 before he stirred.

 "You have decided to remain a little longer in this world?" Toli asked

 as his eyes opened. They were now sitting amidst a careless jumble of

 food stores in the half-light of the covered wagon.

 "We have stopped!" Quentin struggled to sit up, but hot knives stabbed

 into his shoulder and arm. He ached all over. "Owl"

 "Rest while you may, Kenta. Yes, we stopped some time ago. I think

 they are making camp for the night. Soon they will come for

 provisions."

 "What will happen to us then, I wonder?" He shook his head as he

 looked across at his ever-resourceful servant. "I thought you were

 dead. You should have escaped while you could."

 Toli smiled brightly back at him. "You know that was impossible. There

 could be no escape without my Kenta. It is fiyanash unthinkable."

 "Well, we may both pay with our lives tomorrow, but I am glad you are

 here with me, Toli. At least Esme escaped."

 "Yes," Toli said flatly, and Quentin felt as if he had touched an open

 wound.

 "I thought ahhl" Quentin's face contorted into a grimace.

 "Is there much pain?"

 "It comes and goes. I feel as if my bones had been taken out, tumbled

 together and replaced one at a time whichever came to hand."

 "I feared you dead when I saw you lashed to the wagon wheel He smiled

 again, and Quentin wondered how he could be cheerful

 / 481 I

 at such a time. "But you were displaying more wisdom and restraint

 than you usually do. I should have had us free and away from here if

 not for that wretch of a guard."

 "His life was forfeit for his error." Quentin paused, thinking again

 of the hideous spectacle he had witnessed, and only narrowly avoided

 taking part in. "Perhaps it was only meant to be a warning to us;

 perhaps he did not intend to put us to death just yet anyway."

 "What is important now is that we have time to try again to escape.

 Tonight will be an excellent opportunity."

 "Tonight?"

 Toli nodded. "Midsummer they will occupy themselves with their

 revelry. The watch will be relaxed and inattentive. We may have a

 chance."

 Quentin's head ached remembering their previous attempt at escape. He

 seemed to remember something else about Midsummer, something which

 stirred a brief flutter of pleasure, but it faded even as he struggled

 to grasp it. "Midsummer. Do you think these..." he did not know what

 to call them "these barbarians mark such occasions?"

 "There is a fair chance, I would say. Even the Jher observe the Day of

 the Long Sun. It is so with most peoples; these would be no

 different."

 "Who are they? Why have they come to Mensandor?"

 Before they could ponder the question further, two soldiers appeared at

 the back of the wagon and pulled out the gate board The prisoners were

 yanked out of their nest and each one dragged to a wheel and there

 lashed securely in place, arms outstretched, legs straight out in front

 of them and bound to the knee. They could not move, except to turn

 their heads and look at one another helplessly.

 The two guards then took up a position close by to enable a tight watch

 to be kept on their charges. The guards sat a little way off upon a

 log and stared at them with cool malevolence. It was plain that

 neither of the guards relished the duty; possibly it was too risky,

 considering what had happened to one of their own that very morning.

 With both soldiers watching them so closely, Quentin decided that no

 movements to free themselves could take place; so he ignored the guards

 and tried to make sense out of the frantic activity taking place around

 them.

 The army had chosen a flat lea overlooked by a long, low bluff of

 poplars and beeches on which to camp. Soldiers were busily dragging

 fallen trees down from the bluff and pitching them into a great heap in

 the center of the meadow. Small fires for cooking had already been

 lit, and the silvery smoke hung in the umnoving evening air. Other

 soldiers led horses away to a stream somewhere out of sight. Twice

 Quentin caught a glimpse of the warlord as he rode through the camp

 directing the work of his men. He did not so much as glance toward his

 prisoners.

 Soon the bustle throughout the camp decreased as the smell of cooking

 food wafted from the fires. Soldiers grouped around the fires in tight

 knots which slowly broke apart into smaller groups. The men sat on the

 ground with trenchers of wood and dipped their hands into their meal.

 Quentin and Toll could hear their smacking Ups and noisy slurping as

 they licked their platters.

 Quentin decided to try to count the number of soldiers in the party.

 There were twenty cooking fires scattered across the lea, and by his

 best estimation each served a hundred or more men. There were more

 moving about the perimeter, employed in tending horses, gathering

 firewood and various other chores. In this body there were at least

 two thousand soldiers, possibly many more.

 He also noted that the warlord maintained a special bodyguard of fifty

 or so men who occupied themselves near his circular, dome shaped tent.

 They ate apart from the others and did none of the menial duties of the

 rest of the soldiers.

 As Quentin watched, a man emerged from the tunnel-like opening of the

 tent and came toward them. Bven from a distance Quentin could see that

 there was something different about the man; he was vaguely unlike the

 other soldiers thronging the wide meadow. There was something in his

 bearing, something in his appearance which set him apart.

 The man, tall and dressed in a loose garment of deepest indigo bedecked

 with chains of gold, wore an unusual soft, flat hat of a

 I 483 I

 kind which Quentin had never seen before. Beneath the hat a long face

 protruded which was rimmed by a short, bristling beard. The beard was

 black as pitch, contrasting boldly with the lighter, somewhat sallow

 complexion of the emissary.

 He strode with purpose directly to the wagon to stand with hands on

 hips glaring down upon the two prisoners. Quentin stared boldly back

 into the snapping black eyes as the warlord's chief emissary for so

 Quentin now considered him spoke quickly to the two guards. He did not

 turn his head to speak to them, but kept his eyes on the captives

 alone.

 The guards grumbled back an answer to the bearded officer. He barked

 at them once more and tossed them a hasty look over his shoulder. At

 once they jumped to their feet and, still mumbling, began to untie the

 prisoners from the wheels of the wagon. Then he turned and began

 walking back to the tent.

 Quentin and Toli were jerked to their feet and pushed forward to follow

 him. Their guards seemed none too pleased to be about this duty.

 Quentin wondered what this summons could mean. Toli returned his

 questioning glance with one of his own as they marched through the

 camp. Quentin noticed that the eyes of the soldiers they passed

 followed them with looks of mingled fear and awe.

 At the warlord's tent the approach of the emissary and prisoners

 brought two soldiers to their feet to hold back the entrance flap. The

 tall man stooped and entered without a word, Quentin and Toli were

 pushed forward to follow him. Their guards, glad to be done with the

 detail, hurried away to find their supper.

 Stooping so low brought a gasp of pain from Quentin, who stumbled and

 caught himself uncertainly. His hands had grown stiff and numb from

 his bonds. When he picked himself up he saw that the inside of the

 domed tent was like the canopy of the night sky and just as dark. Tiny

 golden lamps suspended from golden chains burned brightly, each one a

 flaming star in the vault of the heavens. The robed emissary turned to

 them and held up his hand, indicating they were to remain where they

 were. He turned and disappeared behind a richly embroidered hanging

 curtain.

 "This is like no commander's pavilion that I have ever seen said

 Quentin as his eyes took in the strange, slightly fantastic furnishings

 of the abode. Everywhere he looked, the soft glisten of gold and

 silver met his gaze.

 "It is a king's palace made to travel." Toll, too, registered surprise

 at the contrast of the fierce warlord and his men, and the surroundings

 of his tent.

 Just then the bearded emissary stepped back through the curtain and

 motioned them forward, drawing aside the curtain. Quentin stepped

 forward, and as he did so the warlord's seneschal cuffed him sharply on

 the neck as an indication that he was to bow in the warlord's

 presence.

 Quentin entered the inner sanctum with eyes lowered. He and Toll stood

 side by side for some time in silence. No one moved or spoke. Before

 them and a Hide above they could bear the slow, even breathing of the

 warlord, and Quentin imagined he could feel his cool gaze upon them as

 be pondered their fate.

 The warlord grunted a command, and his servant came forward and bowed

 before him. The warlord spoke a tow rumble in his unfathomable tongue.

 The seneschal bowed again and said, his voice smooth and cultured, "My

 Lord had decided that you may sit in his presence. He wishes you to

 eat with him, but you are not to speak unless he asks you a question,

 and then you are to answer without hestitation. If either of you do

 not answer at once, he will know that you are contemplating a lie and

 will have your tongue cut out that your friend may eat it and remember

 not to follow your example."

 He clapped his hands, and two servants came bringing cushions and

 placed them at the prisoners' feet. "Sit," came the order.

 When they had seated themselves, with some difficulty in Quentin*s

 case, the bearded emissary said, "You may raise your eyes."

 When they had done so he cried, "Look upon the immortal Gurd, Commander

 of the Ningaal, Warlord ofNin the Destroyeri"

 Quentin was not prepared for the sight which met his eyes.

 TWENTY

 "THEY CAMPED here last night by the look of it." said Ronsard, rising

 from the cold ashes he had been examining.

 "And by Ac look of it there must have been close to 3,000 men with

 wagons and horses." Theido's eyes swept the wide meadow where the army

 had camped. All that was left now were the scattered traces they had

 left behind: matted grass where men had slept, charred patches where

 fires had burned, broken turf where wagons had passed, and the crescent

 indentations in the earth where horses had walked. But the army had

 moved on.

 "It will not be difficult to follow them. The signs arc clear enough,"

 said Ronsard. He cast an eye toward the westering sun. "How far do

 you think an army that size could travel in a day? Four leagues?

 Five?"

 "Four leagues, perhaps. Not more. They do not seem to be in any great

 hurry. It is strange ..."

 "What is?"

 "That a force of such size should move through the land, driving all

 before them and yet..." He paused, seeking the words.

 "Not appear afraid of being met and challenged." The voice was Esme's,

 who sat on her mount watching the two knights and following their

 conversation.

 "Yes, that's it. If I were invading a strange country," said Theido,

 "I would have a thought for the resistance which must surely come

 sooner or later. There is an arrogance here which chills my marrow

 One ofRonsard*s knights bailed them from across the meadow. "He has

 found something," replied Ronsard. He led them to where the man knelt.

 Drawing closer, they soon noticed the look of frank disgust which

 contorted the soldier's features.

 "What is it, Tarkio? What have you found

 "Lord Ronsard .. . I someone has been killed on this spot,

 sir."

 The soldier was right. The deep red-black stain upon the earth could

 have been made in only one way.

 Theido eyed the evidence, his lips pressed into a thin, colorless

 Hoe.

 "It could have been a stag," suggested Esme. Her words lacked

 conviction; she, too, feared the worst.

 "What would they do with the body?" Ronsard's voice was strained and

 tight. He turned away from the ugly splotch in the grass, and Esmc

 noticed the dark flame of anger which leapt into his eyes.

 "I think I know what they did with the body," said Tarkio in a tone

 devoid of all expression. He spoke so oddly the others looked at him

 and then followed his gaze to the nearby trees.

 "By AzraeU"

 "The fiends."

 "Avert your eyes, my Lady. It is no sight for a woman," said Ronsard.

 He glanced at Theido, and his look was one of keen distress. For two

 heartbeats a question hung unspoken between them. "We must," he

 uttered softly. "For I would know."

 " I will go with you said Theido quietly. "Stay here with Tarkio,

 Esme. We shall return at once."

 Theido dismounted and started off with Ronsard toward the tree, a

 great, spreading oak wherein hung the dangling corpse of the

 unfortunate soldier.

 It did not so much resemble a human body as it did that of some animal

 carcass hung up to age. The birds had been all day at its face, and

 the entrails were but ragged shreds. It was hung from a low branch,

 both halves side by side, twisting slowly on the cord which passed

 through the bound hands and feet.

 "One of their own?" Theido's voice was thick and his features a tight

 grimace.

 Ronsard nodded. "This one was never born in Mcnsandor."

 / 457 /

 He turned away from the gruesome token. "I am satisfied. Quentin and

 Toli may still be alive, though I am not overconfident of such

 possibility."

 "Nor am I. But it is enough, I think, to continue the chase." Theido

 cast his eyes to the sky, now radiant with the gold of the lowering

 sun. "We still have a few hours of daylight, we can go far."

 "And we will ride tonight. We should catch them before morning."

 Without another word they walked back to where the others were now

 waiting, Esme and Tarkio having been Joined by the two remaining

 knights. "Be assured, my Lady. Yonder wretch was never friend to us.

 One of their own, most likely." Ronsard shot a questioning glance at

 the two who had, like Tarkio, been scouring the area for any signs as

 to the fate of the captives. Both knights merely shook their heads

 from side to side, they had seen nothing.

 "Then we ride on. The trail is an easy one to follow. We shall stop

 at next water to rest the horses. Nobren and Kenby, go ahead, and then

 Tarkio and Esme. Theido and I will follow." As the others took their

 mounts he said to Theido, "We must have a plan before we reach the

 camp'

  

 1 Theido offered a nod. "We will pray that something presents itself

 along the way. I know not what we shall do else."

 Two human skulls stared vacantly back at Quentin from where they stood

 affixed to long poles on either side of Gurd's low dais. The warlord

 himself seemed only a slightly more animated skulL He sat unmoving, the

 soft lamplight filling the hollows of his lean face with shadow. That

 he was aware at all of their presence was shown by the two glinting

 orbs of his black eyes.

 The warlord was seated, as were his reluctant guests, upon a cushion.

 His chest was bare, for he wore a short jacket open to the waist. It

 was of a very ornate pattern, brocaded in delicate figures foreign to

 Quentin's eye. But it was the man's chest which caught and held

 Quentin's attention. For even in the glimmering light of the oil lamps

 he could see that it was a mass of scars long, jagged, nasty-looking

 scars. No accident or wound of battle could have produced them in such

 profusion; some were obviously more recent, for they overlaid others,

 and some were only freshly healed.

 Quentin realized with a start that the wounds, these horrible

 mutilations, were self-inflicted.

 The seneschal, now seated at the warlord's right hand between the

 prisoners and his master, clapped his hands, and slaves bearing large

 bowls of food came hurrying in. Another slave set down smaller bowls

 which the food-bearers proceeded to fill from the larger bowls. When

 this was completed the bowls were left before the diners, and the

 slaves withdrew hastily.

 The warlord picked up his bowl and fell to eating at once, without

 another glance at his guests.

 The food, an ^nf^miliflr kind of boiled grain heavily spiced with

 chunks of meat in a thick sauce, was steaming hot. It tasted exotic

 and otherworldly to Quentin's uninitated palate, and once swallowed it

 left a lingering warmth on the tongue. They ate with fingers, bowls

 held to their lips. Quentin contrived to balance his bowl on the inner

 pan of his knee, dipping with his left hand, his useless right arm

 cradled in his lap.

 Midway through the meal a slave appeared with a jar and began to pour

 out an amber liquid into golden cannikins. These, too, were placed

 before each one and the slave departed. The beverage was a wine of

 some kind. Quentin recognized the slight metallic tang, but it was of

 a kind he had never encountered: smooth, almost thick, and wonderfully

 sweet. He found that a sip banished the warm tingle on his tongue

 produced by the spice of the food.

 The warlord ate two bowls greedily without looking up. When he had

 finished, he lay down his bowl and placed his hands upon his knees. He

 belched once and then said something very quickly.

 The meal is over," the seneschal informed the prisoners. And though

 Quentin's bowl was still half fall, he put it down and rested his hand

 upon his knee in imitation of his host.

 "Lord Gurd wishes you to know that he only eats in the presence of

 those he respects, and that he will only share food with those he

 admires." The emissary nodded to them, indicating that some response

 of like nature was intended.

 "Who are we that he should respect or admire us, his enemies?"

 / 489 I

 The emissary translated Quentin's question, and the warlord chuckled

 deeply and made a short reply.

 "Lord Gurd says that your spirit has ennobled you. You, fair skinned

 one, have survived the ordeal of the wheel. Had you been a coward, you

 would have died. You," he addressed Toli, "risked death to rescue your

 friend. This deed has value, even though it is the act of a fool. The

 Lord Gurd admires such courage. He will be sorry to kill you when the

 time comes, but your blood will How for him as a most satisfying

 oblation for his immortality. This pleases him."

 This answer mystified and angered Quentin, he started to make a reply,

 but felt Toll's light touch on his arm. Instead he said, "Why do you

 invade our land? Who are you?"

 The seneschal spoke to the warlord who smiled thinly, like a serpent.

 "I informed Lord Gurd that you were honored that he should deem you

 worthy for such service." To Quentin's sharply angry look he added,

 "It would not serve to anger him just now. He would have you

 disemboweled to return the food you have eaten with him."

 "What does he want with us?" asked Toli.

 "He alone knows."

 \ Gurd picked up his goblet and drank deeply of the sweet liquor. When

 he had done, he rumbled a long discourse to his emissary, who

 interpreted. "Lord Gurd wishes to know how far is the great city this

 Askelon and how is it fortified and by how many soldiers it is

 guarded."

 "How is it that he believes I know the answers to such questions?"

 Quentin replied.

 After a brief consultation with his lord, the man replied, "Lord Gurd

 knows that you have horses and therefore are not unsubstantial men. He

 has seen your weapons and clothing and believes that you are of favored

 rank. The fact that you attacked his soldiers, the two of you alone,

 tells him you are not unfamiliar with military matters and are in fact

 well-trained for such purposes."

 Quentin hesitated. Toll's thoughts could not be discerned.

 "If you are pondering whether to answer or not, please allow me to

 remind you that X-ord Gurd perceives any answers following such

 reluctance to be a lie, as I have already told you. Give me your

 answer at once, and he will be appeased

 "Askelon is a far distance from here, many leagues. And he is right to

 call it a great city, for so it is. There is none like it. No host

 has ever conquered Castle Askelon, and none ever will."

 "And how many soldiers defend this place

 "Tell your lord Gurd that the Dragon King's army is sufficient to any

 need."

 The warlord watched this exchange closely, not entirely pleased with

 Quentin's reponse. But he nodded with satisfaction when his

 interpreter had finished his reply. Gurd beamed at Quentin and Toll

 and in his thick, incomprehensible speech addressed them both.

 "The Lord Gurd is pleased with your answers. He has decided to allow

 you to live until we reach Askelon, where you will be sacrificed in

 order that he might win the city more quickly. He wishes to assure you

 that your blood will flow for him alone. This is a very high honor."

 "It is an honor we would rather forgo," Quentin said in a voice edged

 with subtle sarcasm, "but perhaps we may reciprocate the distinction at

 some future time."

 The emissary smiled slyly and began to offer Quentin's remarks to his

 master, who bowed faintly and then yawned. He waved his hand toward

 his servant who stood, saying, "The audience is now at an end. Bow to

 him and retreat; do not show your back to him."

 They all backed away from the warlord's presence, through the curtain.

 They crossed the tent and stepped once more outside. The evening was

 deepening, and Quentin felt the atmosphere in the camp pulsing with a

 barely contained excitement. The soldiers clustered together in knots,

 and coarse laughter could be heard on every side. The sun was well

 down, and the sky blushed crimson in the west. When the light finally

 disappears^ thought Quentin, these barbarians will deliver themselves

 to frenzy.

 As if reading his thoughts, the seneschal said, "This night there will

 be wild celebration, for it is Ifegnrutha the Night of Animal

 Spirits."

 "You speak our language well, sir," said Quentin cautiously.

 / 491 l

 A sly look came into the dark eyes. "I speak eleven languages very

 well"

 "What did you say in there?" asked Quentin as his form r guards

 hurried up to take them away.

 The warlord's personal servant smiled, revealing a row of fine white

 teeth that seemed to glow in the fading light. "I told him that it was

 an honor you would gladly repay in kind. He was flattered."

 "Why should you protect us?" asked Toll as the guards relied their

 hands. "What is it to you if we live or die?"

 "There is no time to explain. I will come to you tonight when the

 chaos is at its peak." The emissary spun on his heel and went back

 into the tent. Quentin and Toli were marched away to the wagons once

 more, but this time Quentin fell as if they moved in an aura of

 increased respect. The looks they received from the soldiers they

 passed were frankly awed to the point of reverence. He guessed that

 most who were summoned to the tent did not walk out, but they had.

 TWENTY-ONE

 DUR WING REMAINED long enough with the guests to case their fears over

 the King's odd behavior. He had walked about and greeted all, as if he

 were king himself, and his presence seemed to calm any feelings of

 disquiet created by the King's speech. The music trilled and eddied, a

 rippling river to carry away the concerns of the moment.

 The minstrel master called a cotillion, and the couples began choosing

 the leaders from among the best dancers present. Durwin chose this

 time to sneak quietly away, as neither Eskevar nor Alinea had returned.

 He was vaguely worried that something more serious might have

 transpired.

 The WarhrdiofNut

 He hurried up the stone steps and fled into the castle's gallery

 entrance; the wide wooden doors were thrown open and rows of bright

 torches illuminated the broad corridor. A few curious guests strolled

 the gallery to marvel at the interior of Castle Askelon. Without

 appearing to be in haste, Durwin nevertheless hurried along to the

 King's apartment. He had little doubt he would find Bskevar there.

 Oswald was at the door when Durwin came bustling along. "Oswald, is

 all well?"

 Oswald ducked his head in a shallow bow and said, "Aye, m'lord. The

 King is inside and the Queen with him. He has a messenger."

 Durwin's eyebrows arched. "Who?"

 "I know not. I did not sec him arrive. The warder brought him hither

 at once."

 "Very well. Let us see, then, what is afoot."

 Oswald opened the door and went in. As Durwin made to rid low the old

 chamberlain, he felt a light touch on his arm.

 "Bria, I thought you were in the garden."

 "I followed you." Her smooth brow furrowed with worry. "What is

 it?"

 "A messenger has come, that is all. Wait here but a little, and I will

 come and tell you all I can."

 "No, I would go with you." So saying, she stepped through the doorway

 and pulled Durwin with her.

 "Ah, Durwin! I was about to send for you." Eskevar sat in a great

 carved chair; Alinea stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder.

 Both were looking intently at the knight, bedraggled and exhausted, his

 clothing and light armor grimed over with the dust of the road. The

 soldier stood swaying with fatigue before them.

 "It is Martran," Eskevar indicated with an open hand, "one of Ronsard's

 knights. He was just about to tell us his message."

 The knight bowed and said, his voice rough from the dust he had

 swallowed, "Lord Ronsard says, "We are continuing on our mission and

 are sorry for the delay in returning lo Askelon. We will come hence as

 soon as we are satisfied that we have obtained that which we seek, or

 have some better report to bring.""

  

 "Is that all, sir knight? You may speak freely."

 I 493 I

 "That is all. Sire. That is my message." Eskevar, his eyes

 displaying sad concern, stroked his chin with his hand.

 "Why did he send you with such a message, brave knight "I believe that

 he was worried that his long absence would cause you alarm. Theido it

 was suggested a message be carried back that they might continue their

 errand."

 "Why was that had you seen nothing to render an account "No, Sire. We

 saw nothing out of the ordinary. But " He hesitated as if unsure of

 his place to speak further.

 "But what, good fellow?" asked Durwin drawing closer. "Have no Seas.

 There is nothing you can say that will incur your King's displeasure.

 Withholding your thoughts, however, could be a mistake. Please speak

 and allow us to fudge."

 "Yes, sir." The knight bowed to Durwin. "It is this. I sensed that

 something was bothering my lords. They were looking for something and

 finding it not. This upset Theido greatly. He pushed a furious pace;

 he wanted to ride all night on occasion. But Ronsard would not let

 him. They often had words with one another over it.

 "But I saw something which puzzled me on the way back. I think that if

 Theido had seen it, he would have been even more adamant in his

 ways."

 "And what did you see?" Eskevar asked softly. His eyes were eagle's

 eyes as he watched the messenger.

 "One of the villages we had passed through only a day or BO before was

 empty when I rode back through. I thought it strange that I did not

 see anyone, though I did not stop to look further into the matter."

 "Empty?"

 "Yes, Sire. It was completely abandoned."

 "Anything else? Anything to indicate why that should be so?"

 "Not at all. It seemed as if it had been deserted very quickly, though

 no cause could I see. But, like I say, I did not stop to wonder at it.

 I came on."

 "I see. Very well, Martran; you may go to your bed. You have well

 earned your rest.

 "Oswald, take Sir Martran to the kitchen and feed him, and then Find

 him a bed in the castle where he will not be disturbed." To the knight

 he added, "Stay close about; I may wish to question you further. Now

 go and take your ease."

 Oswald led the knight away, the man reeled on his feet. "Just one more

 thing, sir," said Durwin as Oswald swung open the door. "You did not

 say that you met Quentin and Toll on the road. Yet you must have

 passed them at some point. They left here in search of your party a

 fortnight ago."

 The knight shook his head. "I passed no one at all. And I thought

 that strange as well, for until I reached Hinsenby the roads were mine

 alone."

 "Thank you, Martran. Sleep well."

 Durwin fixed a wondering look at the King. "His tale is queer indeed.

 I do not know what to make of it."

 "It is as I have said there are strange happenings in the land. An

 evil grows, but we see it not."

 "But what has happened to Quentin?" Bria was suddenly concerned.

 "We do not know, my Lady," answered Durwin. "But the land is great.

 They may have traveled by another route." His tone was not as

 reassuring as he would have liked.

 "At any rate we will soon know," Eskevar offered. "I propose to go

 myself in search of them." The Dragon King was on his feet, striding

 forth as if he would leave at once.

 "Say not so, my Lord!" pleaded Alinca. You have not yet recovered

 enough strength to abide the saddle."

 "Go if you would. Sire. It is your pleasure. But in going you risk

 missing the return of your envoy. And where would you begin searching

 for them?"

 Eskevar threw a wounded look at the hermit. "What am I to do? I

 cannot remain here forever, waiting while the enemy grows stronger."

 "No one has seen an enemy," pointed out the Queen.

 Eskevar turned on her with a growl. "You think he docs not ca dst He

 does!" He thumped his chest. "I can feel him here. He is coming I

 can feel it."

 "All the more reason to wait. Gain your strength. The action you seek

 will come soon enough if you are right."

 / 495 I

 King Eskevar fell back into his chair in frustration. His noble

 countenance seethed with dark despair. He thrust his hands through his

 hair. "Mensandor cries out for her protector, but he sits abed and

 quakes with fear. Who will save us from our weakness?"

 "Leave him now," said Alinca, taking Durwin and Bria aside. *1 will

 tend him. This is the duty of a wife and Queen."

 "By your leave, my Lady. I will withdraw to my chambers. Send for me

 should you need anything." Durwin took Bria by the arm and drew her

 from the room.

 "I have never seen him thus," said Bria, her voice quivering on the

 edge of tears.

 "It is a most difficult time for him, and he is not a man much

 accustomed to difficulty. But worry not on it. For I saw signs of his

 spirit returning. He will be the Rragon King once more."

 The great hand closed over the small white body of the bird. There was

 a flutter ofdny wings and a surprised chirp as the hand withdrew from

 the cage. The dove struggled weakly, its head poking through the

 circle formed by the giant thumb and forefinger. A small red-ringed

 eye stared in terror at the contorted face of the mighty Nin.

 Nin the Immortal felt the swift beating of the tiny heart and the

 dove's soft warm body filling his hand. Then he squeezed. The bird

 squirmed and cried out. Nin squeezed harder. The yellow beak opened

 wide; the tiny head rolled to the side. Nin, whose fleets stretched

 the breadth of Gerfallon, opened his hand slowly. The bundle of

 feathers in his hand shivered and lay still.

 With a cry of delight, Nin the Destroyer flung the dead bird across the

 room where it landed with a soft plop near the door of his chamber. A

 flurry of white down floated gently to the floor to settle like

 snowflakes around the lifeless body.

 As Nin sat gazing at his handiwork a chime sounded in the passageway

 beyond, followed by the ludicrous sight of Uzla's head peering around

 the edge of the door.

 "Immortal One, I bring news." The minister's eyes strayed to the small

 white lump of feathers on the floor before him.

 "Enter and speak." Nin's great voice rumbled.

 Uzia tiptoed quietly in and prostrated himself before his master.

 "Rise. Your god commands you. Speak, Uzia; let your voice utter

 pleasing words of worship to the Eternal One."

 "Who is like our Nin? How shall I describe his greatness? For it is

 more brilliant than the shining deeds of men, and his wisdom endures

 forever." Uzia lifted his hands to his face as if to shade his eyes

 from the piercing rays of the sun.

 "Your words please me. Tell me now, what is your news? Has Askeloo

 been taken? I am becoming impatient with this waiting. Tell me what I

 wish to hear, Uzla."

 "My news is perhaps better suited to a different time and place, Most

 Noble Nin. I know not ofAskelon, but may it be as you say."

 "What, then? Tell me quickly I grow tired of your foolishness."

 "The commander of your fleet below Elsendor sends word of victory. The

 ships of King Troen have been destroyed, and the battle on land is

 begun."

 The great hairless face split into a wide smile of satisfaction, the

 flesh of his cheeks rolled away on either side like mountains forming

 alongside a deep chasm. His dark baleful eyes shrank away to tiny

 black pits, and his chin sank into the folds on his neck. "It is well!

 How many prisoners were sacrificed to me?" The room shook with the

 ringing Joy of the thunderous voice.

 Uzla's look transformed itself momentarily into one of dismay. "I know

 not. Infinite Majesty. The commander did not say, but we may deduce,

 I think, that it was a very great number. It is ever thus."

 "True, true. I am pleased. I will have a feast to celebrate!"

 "May I dare to remind the Supreme Light of the Universe that it is

 Hegnrutha? There is already a feast tonight, it is being prepared even

 now."

 "Ahh. yes. How suitable. Go then and bring me word when all is in

 readiness. And command the slaves to ready my oil bath; I will be

 anointed before the celebration begins. My subjects will fill their

 eyes with my splendor tonight. It is my will for them. Hear and

 obey."

 / 497 /

 Uzla fell on his face once more and then backed out of the room. His

 brittle cadence could be beard moments later calling the slaves

 together to prepare the fragrant oils in which to bathe their

 sovereign.

 Nin raised his round moon of a face and laughed; the deep notes tumbled

 from his throat to reverberate to the furthest corners of the enormous

 palace ship. Those who heard it shuddered. Who among them would be

 asked to provide for the Immortal One's amusement tonight? Whoever

 chanced to serve that honor on the night ofHegnrutha likely would not

 see another morning.

 TWENTY-TWO

  

 ,; THE TOWER of flames leapt high into the night, pouring |i itself

 into the vast darkness above, blotting out the stars in the scarlet

 glow. Quentin and Toli. tethered to the wagon's wheels, could feel

 the heat of the enormous bonfire on their faces, though they were well

 removed from the blaze. As the flames soared skyward, the wild revel

 rose on its own wicked wings, taking the form of a thing fevered and

 inflamed.

 The tumult had grown steadily through the evening hours, and now the

 surrounding woods echoed with the crazed ravings of the celebrants. The

 raging mass seethed about the fire in gyrations of ever increasing

 frenzy. To Quentin and Toli, looking on in mute wonder, it seemed as

 if something had taken control of their spirits and played them as a

 maddened minstrel striking his instrument in tortured ecstasy.

 Quentin saw, in the glare thrown out by the fire, something moving in

 the darkness beyond the perimeter. Through the shimmering sheets of

 heat loosed by the fire he could see it lumbering

 The WaMscfNm slowly like a colossal beast, a dark shape which seemed to

 form itself out of the darkness surrounding it.

 "Look yonder there across the way," he whispered to Toli. Quentin did

 not know why he had bothered to whisper their guards were not even

 making a show of watching them. They had given themselves over to the

 festivities of their comrades, though they still sat at their posts,

 longing to join in the turmoil.

 "What is it? I cannot make it out."

 Wait, it is coming closer." No sooner had Quentin finished speaking

 than the creature emerged from its dark captivity into the roiling

 circle of light. It loomed large in (he dancing light, the glow of the

 flames glittering on its hideous black skin. It was a creature of

 terrible beauty, awful and tremendous; it looked a very denizen of

 Heoth's forsaken underworld, a thing distilled out of a thousand

 nightmares. And it came lurching out of the forest into the midst of

 the celebrants, as if it had been called up from the depths of its

 underworld home to reign as lord over the foul Hegnrutha.

 At first Quentin believed it to be alive, but as the thing moved closer

 he saw that it was in fact pulled along with ropes by a hundred or so

 of its keepers, who clustered about its feet. At last they brought it

 to the fire's brink, where it stood with hands outstretched in a

 perpetual blessing or curse.

 It was a statue an immense carven image of a beast with the legs and

 torso of a man, the head of a lion and the maw of a jackal. Two great

 curving horns swept out from either side of its head, and its mouth was

 open in a snarl of rage.

 "It is their idol," said Toll, his eyes filled with the sight before

 him. He fairly shouted, for at the sight of the towering idol the

 frenzied scene below had erupted in a climax of insane exuberance. The

 ground fairly trembled with the pandemonium. Their two guards Jumped

 up and began dancing where they stood, waving their arms and screaming

 with en ravished abandon.

 Now more wood was being thrown around the base of the statue, and it

 was being induced into the flames. As Quentin and Toli watched the

 flames encircle the monstrous idol, a shadow detached itself from among

 the myriad flickering projections and

 / 499 /

 crept toward them along the perimeter. In a moment, without sensing

 anyone was there at all, Quentin heard a rasping whisper in his ear.

 "I am going to cut your hands free. Do not move."

 Quentin did as instructed and felt his bonds fall away. His right arm

 swung limply down; he gathered it up with his left hand and held it

 close to his chest. Without waiting for further instruction, he rolled

 to cover beneath the wagon.

 The three met, heads together, under the shelter of the wagon box. Toli

 rubbed his wrists and asked, "Why are you doing this?"

 There was a brief flash of white in the darkness as the warlord's

 emissary smiled. "They are my captors, too. I have long planned to

 escape, but if I am to survive I will need the help of those who know

 this country." He looked at both of them, his eyes glinting in the

 firelight. "Time is short. We must go."

 Away from the wagons there was little chance of discovery. There were

 no sentries on this night, but there were several smaller groups of

 revelers gathered around smaller fires at the edges of the camp, and

 others could be heard crashing through the woods in hysterical rapture.

 Their screams tore through the night, leaving little doubt in Quentin's

 mind of the reality of the animal spirits to (which this night was

 devoted.

 The three crouching figures worked their way around the rim of the

 camp, darting furtively through the mingling expanses of light and

 darkness. In the trees around them, the huge elongated shadows

 cavorted in grotesque mummery as the savage rites progressed

 unabated.

 It was slow work threading through the circle's outer ring, but at last

 they managed to reach the shelter of the wood where the shadows

 gathered over them like a cloak. "I have hidden our horses just

 there." The seneschal nodded into the further darkness beyond. "I was

 able to retrieve your steed " he looked at Quentin "but yours could not

 be found."

 Toli grinned and replied, "It was not my horse I took it from among the

 others at tether."

 Even in the dark Quentin could see their guide's eyebrows arch upward

 in surprise and his eyes shine in amused disbelief. "Then I was right

 about you two after all. You are not without considerable resource

 yourselves. I have chosen my partners well."

 The air seemed cooler in the woods and they moved with increased

 confidence, though the dell rang on every hand with the howls and

 shrieks of the celebrants of Hegnrutha. The familiar woodland seemed

 now a desolate place given to the homeless shades who wandered the

 night lands

 Quentin shivered inwardly and fought to keep pace with the others. By

 the time they reached the horses, waiting patiently in a small

 gorse-covered draw, Quentin was panting and weak. The modicum of

 strength he had been able to scrape together was nearly exhausted.

 "I know a way out of the wood, if you will follow me," said the

 emissary. "Then it is I who will follow you."

 "Very well," said Toli. "Lead on."

 The two mounted quickly and wheeled their horses to the north and away

 from the camp behind them. Toll cast a quick look over his shoulder

 and saw Quentin hanging from the saddle with one hand, too weak to

 climb onto his horse.

 "Wait!" shouted Toll, slipping from his mount. "My master, I am sorry

 ... I should have realized...."

 "No I will be all right. Just help me into the saddle."

 In the moonlight softly filling the draw Toll saw the film of sweat

 glistening on Quentin's brow. "Ride with me; I can take us both."

 "Once we are away from here I will be all right," insisted Quentin.

 "Hurry, now. Help me into the saddle. There is no time to argue."

 Toli caught his master's foot and hoisted him onto the mount. He could

 see that Quentin's right arm dangled uselessly from his shoulder.

 Quentin grabbed the reins with his left hand and drew his right across

 his lap to tuck it beneath his cloak.

 "Let us away," be said hoarsely.

 Toli sprang to his mount and they were off, the horses clipping over

 the furze and beading into the wood. Blazer seemed none the worse for

 his adventure, thought Quentin, relieved to be in his own

 / 501 I

 saddle once again. At least with Blazer he did not need two hands to

 ride the horse would anticipate the commands of his master. Quentin

 had only to bang on, that was something he desperately hoped he would

 be able to do.

 In a moment they were in the deep wood where the thick columns of trees

 broke the silver moonlight and scattered it in slivers all around.

 Behind them, like the voices heard in dreams, the cries of the revelers

 wailed on, diminishing rapidly as distance and the thick growth of the

 wood cut them off. It is a dream, Quentin imagined as he chased the

 elusive shapes before him, flitting in and out of shadow and light an

 awful dream that will be forgotten upon making. But the sting of the

 occasional whipping branch and the bracing freshness of the night air

 on his face was only too real. He knew this was one dream that could

 not be shaken off in daylight. The nightmare was real, and it had come

 in force to Mensandor.

 TWENTY-THREE

 "IT B TIME something is done," the High Priest of Ariel said to himself

 as he paced his bare cell. "It is time to act." The thick candle

 guttered in the swirls stirred up by Biorkis' passing to and fro. A

 stack of parchment scrolls teetered precariously upon the table,

 clustered and rustling like autumn leaves in the breeze.

 "It is time... it is time," be said, heaving himself through the door

 of his cell and into the darkened passageway beyond. He ran through

 the empty temple and passed through a side entrance used only by the

 priests. He hopped across a moonlit courtyard and through a narrow

 portal in the wall, then stood alone on the edge of the plateau and

 looked out across the silent valley below. He turned and cast his old

 eyes, still sharp as blades, toward the eastern sky.

 The moon was overhead, but in the east a star blazed brightly more

 brilliant than any of its sisters. And round the glowing star a film

 of light seemed to gather) streaming out from the star's core. The

 portion of the night where that star was fixed shone with pale

 radiance, and wherever the eye roamed in examination of night's black

 dome it was drawn back to that star the Wolf Star.

 "Yes! Yea, it is time to act," shouted Biorkis. His voice echoed back

 to him from the empty courtyard and the temple colonnade beyond the

 wall. He turned, fled over the jumble of rocks and swept back through

 the courtyard and into the temple once more. He made his way, puffing

 along on short, stout legs, to one of the temple's many summons gongs.

 He picked up the striker and pausing one final instant for reflection,

 banged it into the gong several times in quick succession.

 "That will bring them running," he said, and he was right.

 In a moment the vestibule was filled with sleepy priests who rubbed

 their eyes and groaned at the disturbance to their slumbers.

 ^Fellow-pricstsl" Biorkis' voice sounded loudly in their sleep dulled

 ears. He shouted on purpose to bring them fully awake. "My bed has

 remained empty these two nights running; you can bear with me fast this

 little while. I wish to speak to you." There were groans among the

 general body of priests.

 "What is this, Biorkis? Why have you called us from our devotions?"

 Your snoring vespers arc not important," Biorkis snapped at his

 insolent questioner. "It is time to acti The star which shines

 without, growing bigger with each passing night I know now what it

 means."

 "And this could not wait until morning?" The speaker was Pluell, the

 under-high priest, his own assistant. He at least had the privilege,

 as Biorkis had once had, of questioning the High Priest.

 "I think not. It has waited too long already. While we have blindly

 contemplated its meaning at our leisure, the star has grown large, and

 with it the strength of the evil it betokens. Mcnsandor is under siege

 by forces from far countries. The world we know is trembling on the

 brink of destruction."

 There was a murmur among the priests. Pluell bent to confer with

 several of his brothers. "I am surprised to hear that you are so

 / 503 I

 concerned, Biorkis. It is not like you at all. You are the one who

 has ever instructed us of the folly of considering the commerce of

 mortal kings and their petty concerns.

 "It does alarm me to hear you speak so now. Should we not draw aside,

 you and I, and discuss this together?"

 Biorkis bridled at the suggestion. "Why, Pluell, do I sense in your

 tone the shriek of ambition? Why should not our brothers hear what I

 have to say?"

 The under-high priest stepped toward his mentor, placing a hand on his

 arm as if he would lead him aside. "This is not the time to display

 such ill-founded airs before our assembled brothers. Come aside. You

 are tired and your vigil has made you somewhat shall we say,

 irrational."

 "Irrational, indeed! I have never been so lucid in my long and

 eventful life. But I do not understand your manner at all. Why do you

 look at me so?"

 "It is late, brothers. Return to your cells and to your rest. We will

 no doubt have a more fruitful discussion tomorrow."

 Some of the priests made as if to leave; others stood hesitantly,

 uncertain whether to stay or go as instructed.

 "I am High Priest!" shouted Biorkis angrily. "Have you 'forgotten?

 All of you stay where you are and hear me! I propose to send King

 Eskevar word of our discovery."

 "Your discovery, Biorkis. You cannot expect us to endorse it, surely."

 Pluell's voice was smooth, and there was not a trace of sleep or

 fatigue in it.

 Suddenly Biorkis realized what was happening: Pluell's overreaching

 ambition, long held in check, was now released. He was making his move

 to take over the High Priesthood. Biorkis trembled with rage as the

 realization knifed through him. What a fool I have been, he thought.

 While I have lain awake seeking an answer to the riddle of yonder star,

 he has been scheming or my rod.

 "It shall not be, viper!" Biorkis shouted. His unexplained outburst

 brought wondering stares from the assembled priests. "Take your hand

 from me! Hear me, brothers. I am High Priest, and long have you known

 me. When have I ever proposed a thing unwisely, or brought dishonor to

 the god whom we serve?"

 There were doleful looks all around and much fool shuffling.

 No one ventured to apeak. Pluell fumed silently at Biorkis' right

 hand, his eyes narrowed with hate.

 "Why should my suggestion of a message to the King cause such concern

 for some of our brothers' As he spoke, the High Priest gazed about him

 and recognized some who must belong to PluelTs faction. He knew he was

 fighting now at a great disadvantage, but his heart warmed with anger

 and his thoughts became crystalline.

 "What does anyone have to fear of my sending word to our monarch?

 Unless there is a reason why they would keep all knowledge of the

 events to come to themselves. Unless they would remove the High Temple

 from its place as servant to the subjects of the realm."

 Pluell laughed, but there was no mirth in his voice. "How you do go

 on, Biorkis. There is nothing at all to prevent your communicating

 with the Ring if you like."

 "Of course not. I am High Priest. A journey to Askelon is within the

 authority of my sacred vows, for I will it so to be. I would grant

 this same authority to any who served me in the matter."

 "Why not go then and make the trip yourself?" Pluell hissed.

 "I? I am old, and a younger man could travel the Sister. I will set

 my seal to a tetter to be carried by one whom I will choose."

 "I do not think you would find any who would as eagerly cast aside

 their vows as you would have them."

 "They would not violate their vows. I have already said as much why do

 you persist in this?" Biorkis felt suddenly weak and sick. Somewhere

 though Biorkis had not seen it the crafty Pluell had turned the

 discourse to his advantage. The High Priest knew he was doomed, though

 he could not see how.

 "Who better than the High Priest should go and speak to a Ring? Let

 your own Ups bear your tidings."

 "Very well," said Biorkis angrily. "I will go. Who will come with

 me?" He glared around the circle of bewildered faces.

 No one volunteered.

 "What? Will no one accompany the High Priest on this arduous tourney?

 I could order all of you to go!"

 "Maybe now we should come aside and talk," suggested Pluell once more.

 He seemed to glow with satisfaction.

 / 505 I

 "I have nothing more to say to you Biorkis raised his rod and brought

 it down with a crash upon the stone floor at his feet.

 "As you will, brother. Then I have no other choice but to inform the

 priests of Ariel of the transgressions committed by the High Priest and

 ask for their recommendation."

 "What transgressions? Name them I am not afraid. In all my life as a

 priest I have ever been faithful to my vows and to the god."

 "You force my hand. Hear then, all priests, " Pluell said, nodding to

 a priest who had drawn close. The priest handed over a scroll which

 Pluell took and made a great show of unrolling. In a strident,

 accusing voice the under-high priest began reading off a list of

 imaginary crimes which Biorkis was alleged to have committed against

 the temple and his vows. The priests looking on appeared divided; some

 nodded their agreement of the charges, others wore looks of

 astonishment and disbelief.

 When Fluell was finished he turned to Biorkis. "What do you have to

 say to these indictments?"

 "Azrael take your indictments! There is no truth in them. Any who

 know me can tell you that. But I do not think it matters at all what I

 say. You have already made up your mind how this will end. J Get on

 with it."

 ' Pluell turned to the assembly and with his easy and unperturbed

 manner said, "You have heard with your own ears that he does not deny

 the charges. There is but one recommendation we can bring: Biorkis is

 to be stripped of his priesthood and a new High Priest assume his

 duties. Biorkis is to be cast out from among us. Are there any who

 would gainsay these recommendations?" The room was silent as a grave.

 No one moved a muscle. The moment passed and Pluell, speaking with

 calm assurance in a voice tinged with false sadness, turned to Biorkis.

 "I am sorry it had to end this way. It would have been better for you

 to have gone away alone while you had the chance. I would nave spared

 you this indignity."

 "Spare me not, foul friend! I will go at once, but hear me ere I

 leave, all you priests of Ariel." He gazed at each man, many of them

 close friends who turned away from his burning stare in shame for their

 silence. "Evil has this night entered this temple. It will destroy

 each one of you if you do not pluck it out and cast it aside at

 once."

 In response to a signal from Pluell four temple guards came forward

 with torches. They took Biorkis by the arms.

 "I am going," the High Priest shouted. "But remember my words, all of

 you. The land is fallen under a shadow. Soon no place will be safe

 not even the High Temple of Ariel. If you will not follow me and do

 what must be done, at least look upon the one whom you have chosen and

 know him for what he is.

 "The people of the realm will seek your protection and bid the god to

 defend them. You will not be able to do it, for your prayers will not

 be heard."

 "Take him away!" shouted Pluell. "He is raving again."

 The guards moved to take Biorkis out; the great wooden doors of the

 temple were already swinging open. The night air blew in among the

 assembled priests as a sudden chilling reminder of Biorkis' dire

 predictions.

 The temple guards hauled-their former leader down the long stone steps

 of the temple and pushed him into the courtyard. Biorkis stumbled a

 few steps away and then turned toward his accusers, who had spilled out

 upon the steps to watch him go. The white-haired old man raised his

 rod of office, which the guards had neglected to wrest from him, and

 said in a voice strong as cutting steel, "The end of the age is upon

 us. Look to yourselves for your salvation; the gods will not help you.

 This temple will not stand!"

 So saying, he threw the rod to the ground where it burst into a

 thousand pieces. Then he turned and hobbled off into the night.

 TWENTY-FOUR

 "IF EYES AND ears do not deceive, the enemy lies encamped in yonder

 wood." Ronsard leaned heavily on the pommel of his saddle, staring

 down onto the wooded plain below them, black and forbidding in the

 moonlight.

 "It would stand a fair wager, I will warrant," replied Theido, he too

 was tired and arched his back to stretch weary muscles. Ronsard's

 knights had dismounted and now walked to draw me stiffness from their

 legs. Only Esme seemed as fresh as when they had begun so early that

 morning.

 "What rites require such observance?" wondered Esme as she listened to

 the horrific din emanating from the wood. The rattling screams pierced

 the waning night like the cries of the tortured and dying.

 "We can but guess, my Lady. But perhaps it is the better for vs. We

 may creep in closer while they spend themselves in their savage

 revel."

 "IfQuendn and Toli are down there, we will find them," said Ronsard

 resolutely. "We may as well make a start." He tried his sword in its

 scabbard, the blade slid easily, flashing a glint of silver in the

 moonlight. He turned to Esme. "My Lady, if you would care to remain

 here until we return for you, it would fair ease my mind."

 "Have no fear for me, brave sir, I will do my part. Perchance you will

 need what little service I can render. My arm is not as strong as

 yours, but my blade is sharp as a serpent's tooth and quicker still."

 "As you wish; I shall not discourage you. It does seem most apparent

 that you can take care of yourself. Follow then and do what I direct."

 Ronsard flicked the reins and called to his knights, "Be mounted. We

 will approach the wood single-file. Keep blades and shield covered. We

 will leave our horses in the wood and come to the camp on foot. If all

 goes well with us, we may escape undetected

 "Lord Ronsard," said one of the knights. "Someone flees the wood as

 you speak. See there. Along that gully beyond those trees."

 "I see it!" replied Theido. "There are three of them. Do you think

 ... ?" He looked at Ronsard hopefully.

 "It would do to find out who they are at least." He watched the three

 figures riding away from the wood with some speed, they were pale

 shapes floating over the gray sea of long grass just above the black

 line of a dry water-course some distance away. "I think we may meet

 them just there" he pointed with a gloved hand toward a bend where the

 gully swerved around the base of a hill. "Come, let us see who it is

 that flees the foul host by night.

 Quentin clung to the saddle by force of will. He felt drained and used

 up. All strength had been wrung out of him in the escape. Now he let

 Blazer have his head and concentrated merely on keeping himself upright

 in the saddle, knowing he could not go on much longer; soon he would

 have to stop and rest. But he thought if he could last until daylight,

 they would be far enough away that stopping would not endanger them.

 So he clutched at the horn of his saddle and bung on as Blazer jounced

 and jostled along. To his dazed mind it seemed as if he had entered a

 dream in which hills and sky and woods became his pursuers, crying

 after him with shrieks of rage and fury. He fled them through gray

 mists on a horse that flew like the wind, but could not outpace the

 pursuit.

 In his waking dream he saw an army emerge from the hills above them to

 come sweeping down upon their flank. The dream knights came thundering

 down to intercept them; he could see their faces hard in the moonlight,

 and could feel the hot breath of the horses on his face as they drew

 nearer as if by magic.

 But there was something odd about the dream. He shook his

 / 509 /

 head to clear it and looked again the dream remained. Quentin peered

 intently, forcing himself to see clearly. But again he saw the force

 of knights moving down the hillside toward them.

 "Toll!" he cried, lurching in the saddle as he flung his good arm out

 to his side. The Jher glanced quickly over his shoulder and dropped

 back to Quentin's side. "They have found us!" he shouted. Toli

 jerked his head to where Quentin was pointing, and his startled look

 confirmed at once that it was not a dream. They were being chased.

 He gave a shrill whistle which brought the seneschal around, and at

 once all three riders turned their horses to the shoulder of the hill

 beside them.

 Blazer's hooves bit into the soft earth and flung it skyward as his

 powerful legs churned. The horse stretched its neck and fought its way

 up the slope of the hill. Quentin threw himself down along the horse's

 neck in an effort to maintain his precarious balance.

 Now he could hear the hooves of the strange knights' horses thundering

 closer, and he thought he heard a shout. Bending low, he looked along

 Blazer's flank behind him and saw that two riders descended into the

 shallow gully. Another leaped it and came on.

 In that moment of inattention Quentin's mount spurted ahead and

 stumbled over a rock protruding from the hill, throwing his rider

 sideways as he fought to regain his feet. Quentin's fingers, so

 tightly wrapped around the pommel, were wrenched free, and he felt

 himself sliding backward over the rump of his mount. His injured arm

 flailed uselessly as his good hand grabbed for the bridle strap. He

 was not quick enough. Almost before he knew what was happening, he

 tumbled out of the saddle and landed sprawling on the hillside.

 On impact the air rushed out of his lungs and the night suddenly

 flashed in a blaze of brilliant stars, their scintillating rays

 stabbing through his brain. He rolled over, breathless, fighting to

 force air back into his lungs. He pushed himself up on one knee and

 threw aside his cloak which had wrapped itself around his arm. With a

 shock be realized that he did not have a sword or a poniard with which

 to defend himself.

 He beard someone shout and looked up the hill to see Toll wheeling

 around to come after him. But it was too late. When he turned again,

 the first of their pursuers came pounding up. The horse reared, and

 the knight looked down on him. In the pale moonlight Quentin thought

 he knew the face that sought his, there was something familiar about

 it, but he could not be sure. He shook his throbbing head slowly, and

 he heard the whinny of his own mount behind him.

 "Are you hurt?" said the knight towering over him. Quentin could not

 believe his ears here was a tongue he recognized. The knight leaned

 down to look at him closely.

 Yes, the face seemed familiar, like one he had seen in a dream long

 ago. But it was real, and it peered down on him intently, eyes shining

 in the soft light.

 "Quentin? By the god's beards! Quentin!" the knight shouted, jumping

 from his horse.

 Quentin shook his head dazedly- He passed his hand in front of his

 eyes. "Who is it?"

 There was a shout behind him. "Theido! Is it true?" The voice was

 Ton's and in an instant the Jher was beside him, tugging at him.

 "Theido? How ... ?" Quentin could speak no more. He sank back as

 heavy vapors of darkness covered him, his consciousness receding

 swiftly. He heard many shouts and voices close at hand and the sound

 of horses galloping in. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but his

 lids had grown leaden and there was no fight left in him- It seemed

 that he had grown light as down, for he felt himself borne up as on a

 sudden gust to ride on the 'wings of the wind, which now roared in his

 ears.

 TWENTY-FIVE

 THE TOUCH of a cool hand on his brow brought Quentin out of the deepest

 sleep he had ever known. He heard a voice somewhere above him say,

 "See there! He has come back. Heoth would not have him!"

 He opened his eyes to see a ring effaces grinning down on him. Esme*s

 pretty brow wrinkled in concern quickly giving place to relief.

 "There seems to be no escaping you," remarked Quentin as he strained to

 sit up. There was laughter all around, and hands reached out to clap

 him on the back.

 We knew you could not long elude us," said Ronsard. "By Ariel, it is

 good to see you."

 "Ronsard, Theido ... I must be dreaming still. How did you find us?"

 "It is no dream, young sir. You must know that if not for this young

 woman" Ronsard nodded to Esme sitting next to him "we would have passed

 by on our way to Askelon and never known you were there. And if we

 hadn't found you, you may not have escaped considering your weakened

 condition."

 "You came back," Quentin said.

 "I had to protect my protectors, did I not?" Esme answered. Her

 sudden smile seemed to warm him from within. "Besides, I had already

 lost one escort, and I was determined not to lose another." Her dark

 eyes suddenly welled with tears. "Forgive me for leaving you, sir.

 When I saw you pulled from your horse I wanted to help you, but I could

 think only of my errand. I am sorry."

 Toll thrust his head in among those gathered around him. The

 The Warlords of NIB

 nne ll of food that he brought with him reminded Quentin how hungry be

 was.

 "Eat, Kenta. We have already done so. We will talk while you break

 fast." Toli set a steaming bowl before him, and Quentin fell to with a

 ready appetite.

 "Myrmior has been telling us of your captivity. You have much to thank

 him for," said Theido.

 "Myrmior?" The name was strange to Quentin.

 "You mean he has risked his life to bring you out of the enemy's camp

 and you do not know his name?"

 "There was not time enough for such pleasantries. We were quite busy

 with staying alive. And only half-succeeding at that."

 "This one has a strong will to survive." The deep rolling voice was

 the seneschal's. "I am glad to know you. Lord Quentin."

 "I am no lord, Myrmior."

 "Better than that," said Ronsard. "He is the King's own son."

  

 "His ward," Quentin corrected.

 "Ward or son, I see I have chosen well the man to save. From now on,

 my lords, I am at your service. It will be an insult if you do not

 allow me to serve you in whatever ways you will." Myrmior bowed low

 and touched his forehead with his fingertips.

 "You have done service enough for the Dragon King.  Your reward is

 yours to name once we reach Askelon and King Eskevar hears how you have

 rescued his own from certain death."

 "I was looking out for myself, sir. I, too, was held against my will

 by the terrible Ningaal. The risk was but a small one for me, even at

 that." Myrmior beamed at Quentin and added, "Whatever gods rule this

 land, they have poured out their favor upon this one. I have never

 seen a man survive the wheel, and it was that which allowed me to

 convince Gurd to spare your life.

 "And you" he turned to Toli "your failed attempt at rescue nearly cost

 my head as well as your own. But Myrmior is nothing if not

 resourceful. I turned it to advantage, though you had to endure the

 anguish of seeing the guard's execution and fearing the imminence of

 your own."

 "It was at least less severe than the execution itself would have

 been," replied Toli.

 / 513 I

 "How did you come to be in the company of the what did you call them?

 the Ningaal?"

 "The name Ningaal means the Terror ofNin, his army. It is no secret

 how I came to be among them, but it is a story I would rather tell to

 your Dragon King."

 "There is much that you might tell, I would wager," Ronsard put in.

 "But the sun is well up, and I think we must put as many leagues

 between us and the Ningaal as may be. The Dragon King awaits in

 Askelon, and we must not forget the fearful tidings we bring. There

 will be much to discuss when we sit down together. For now, it is

 enough that we reach the King as quickly as possible."

 "My thoughts exactly, fair friend."

 "Quentin cannot ride in his condition, surely. If you like I will

 remain with him and come hence on the morrow when he is more able to

 withstand the journey," Esme offered.

 Ronsard pulled on his chin. "I did not think that he would be unable

 to "

 "I can ride; I am well enough." To show he meant what he was saying,

 Quentin fought to his feet where he swayed uncertainly. He

 (took two steps and pitched forward. Theido reached out a hand to

 catch him, but Quentin collapsed on the ground.

 "It is your arm, is it? You cannot move it."

 Quentin rose to his knees, cradling his arm. "It will be all right.

 It is nothing."

 "It is enough. Why did you not say something?" Theido bent to examine

 the injured limb; it was swollen and discolored and hot to the touch.

 "Well, we can do nothing for it here, but I like not the look of it.

 Perhaps Toli and Esme should remain behind with you, though I must

 confess I like that even less."

 "No one will remain behind, and my master will not ride," said Toli.

 "Ronsard, send two knights to bring me two young birches. I will

 fashion a derail for him."

 "Excellent!" cried Ronsard. "I might have known you would have a

 solution a litter. My knights will fetch you whatever you need."

 Despite Quentin's protests, which grew feebler with time, the litter

 was constructed after the style used by the nomadic Jher. The finished

 derail was strapped to Blazer, and before the sun had traveled an

 hour's time the party set off once more toward Askelon. Esme rode

 Blazer.

 Quentin fumed at being trundled off like so much baggage, but his

 fussing was mostly for show. Inwardly, he was grateful to Toli for

 providing him with a means to rest along the way. For despite his

 assurance to Theido, Quentin was deeply worried about his arm. He

 could not move it at all; in fact, he could not feel it. When he had

 fallen in the underbrush on the night of their unsuccessful escape

 something had snapped he remembered it vividly and all feeling had

 fled, and with it the ability to move the limb. The arm was numb from

 shoulder to fingertips.

 The weary party quilted the forest they had been traveling through all

 day. The sun was lowering in a scarlet haze among flaming clouds as

 they stepped out of the sheltering boughs upon the hard-packed trail

 which would lead them to Askelon's gates.

 "Tonight we will sleep in proper beds with fresh linen," said Ronsard.

 "And we will dine in the hall of the Dragon King."

 "I would that it were with lighter hearts than our own that we came

 hence," Theido sighed. "Alas, I rue the tidings we must lay upon his

 shoulders. It is a burden I would not wish on any man."

 "There will be burden for all of us, I think," mused Ronsard.

 Presently the travelers rounded a bend in the road and came to the edge

 of a broad, shallow valley. Across the valley rose the great dome of

 rock upon which stood the Castle Askelon, transformed in the gloaming

 into a city of light. The long shadow stretching across the length of

 the valley had not reached the foundation rock of Askelon; the castle

 rose out of the purple shadow and glinted in the ruby light, a jewel

 with soaring spires and towers and graceful barti/zans perched upon

 high walls.

 "Oh, it is beautiful," said Esme, her voice awed and breathless with

 admiration. "I never dreamed .. ."

 "A god's very palace! It is a wonder mortals dare intrude," said

 Myrmior. "It far outshines even its own legends."

 /5/5 /

 Quentin, sprawled on the derail, craned his neck around to see the

 familiar shape of his beloved Askelon a sight he never quite got used

 to, and one that always moved him strangely. "Yes, it is greater than

 the stories men tell of it, for what words can describe it fully?" He

 gazed proudly upon the magnificent structure, rosy in the deepening

 blue of the twilight sky.

 Toli, riding beside his master all the way, sat on his horse unmoved

 and stared at the twinkling jewel across the fair valley.

 "What do you say, Toli? We are nearly home."

 Toli did not look at Quentin when he answered, and when he finally

 spoke his voice was faraway. "It does appear now to be as far as ever

 it was when we began this journey."

 As usual, Toli was seeing something very different than the others. And

 Quentin had learned it was no use trying to find out what the Jher

 meant by these mystical pronouncements.

 Ronsard, at the head of the party, urged his mount forward. The others

 followed him down the gentle slope as the feathery wisps of evening

 mist began rising in the cool valley. The air was still and silent, a

 soft sigh upon the land. No one could have described a more perfect

 picture of peace as they gazed down into the valley growing green with

 the crops of the peasants, and to the east1 along the broad expanse of

 plain already falling into dusk.

 From somewhere in the stillness a bird trilled a poignant farewell as

 it winged homeward to the nest, and all at once a sadness came over the

 party. To Quentin, it seemed that some final word had been spoken and

 he was indeed seeing Askelon as it would never appear again.

 / 517 I

 TWENTY-SIX

 "You HAVE returned none too soon, my young man." Durwin scowled as he

 examined Quentin's swollen arm. "It appears your arm has been broken

 and has begun to set."

 "That is good, is it not?" asked Bria anxiously. She held Quentin's

 left hand and snuggled close to him as the hermit poked and prodded

 Quentin's injured right arm. Quentin's filthy tunic had been removed

 and a soft robe draped across his chest. His arm rested on a cushion

 on a low table which had been pushed up to his couch.

 "It will be all right won't it, Durwin? Quentin forced himself to ask

 the question he feared asking the most. Durwin ignored it and answered

 Bria's instead.

 "I feel it is not good, my Lady. Ordinarily, yes. But not this time.

 As it is, the arm will never heal properly

 "Oh!"

 Durwin hastened to reassure them both. "But I have seen this before.

 The arm will be healed..." he paused to assess the effect his next

 words would have "but I must break it again and reset it correctly."

 Quentin winced, and a tear formed in the corner of Bria's eye. "It

 hurts me so to see you in pain, my love," she said.

 "There is but little pain. At first, yes, but not now. I can bear

 it."

 Durwin bent once more to his examination of the arm and shoulder. "That

 is what worries me, Quentin. There should be pain a great deal of

 pain. I have never known it otherwise. I fear something of greater

 consequence than a broken bone is involved here. But what it is I

 cannot say."

 A knock sounded on the chamber door, and Theido stepped into the room,

 "What say you, Durwin? Will our young warrior's wing heal to fly

 again?" Catching Durwin's troubled frown he added, "If I have mis

 spoken I beg you pardon, sir."

 "No, no. You arc right," Durwin blustered. "I am being a silly old

 man. Of course the arm will heal. We will reset it at once."

 "At once?" Quentin closed his eyes.

 "It would be best."

 "After we dine, at least?" offered Theido. "In the hall the meal is

 being laid. Better to face it on a full stomach, eh?"

 "There is no harm. I had forgotten you all have ridden very far. Yes,

 there is to be a wonderful meal in honor of your safe return. We can

 attend to our business after we have eaten."

 "Then let us go directly," said Theido. "I, for one, stand in need of

 some rejoicing this night. There will be little enough in the days to

 come."

 "Meaning what?" asked Durwin. ; "Eskevar has announced a Council of

 War. It begins tomorrOW

 ^"So soon?"

 Theido only nodded gravely and left.

 Durwin and Bria helped Quentin to his feet and pulled the robe around

 him after putting his injured arm in a sling. Then they all made their

 way to the Dragon King's Great Hall.

 The hall, shimmering in the light of a hundred golden torches, was even

 larger and more splendid than Quentin remembered. It seemed as if it

 had been many years since he had been in the hall. Steeped in its own

 kind of emotion and majestic drama, it was his favorite place in all

 the castle, and had deeply intrigued him since he had first seen it as

 a boy.

 A crackling fire roared in the massive hearth, and the flames shone on

 the ranks of black stone columns which marched the entire length of the

 hall. Long tables had been set down the center of the hall, and these

 terminated at the dais where the King's table stood. A royal blue

 baldachin edged in silver and bearing the King's blazon arched

 gracefully above his table.

 The Great Hall was filled with people. Servants rushed here and there

 carrying huge planers of meat fish, fowl, venison, pork and dozens of

 roasts on spits. Knights and lords, some with their falcons on their

 arms, strolled with their ladies. Minstrels wandered through the crowd

 or played for smaller groups upon request. Maidens with flowers in

 their hair flirted coyly with passing youths- The hall was a riot of

 color, a meandering current of gaiety.

 Quentin's heart swelled within him as he beheld the splendor of the

 Dragon King's hall.

 Two servants carrying a basin came hurrying up as the three entered.

 The basin was in the shape of a dragon and contained warm water scented

 with roses. Quentin dipped his good hand, while Bria washed it for him

 and then dried it on a soft linen cloth offered by one of the servants.

 Durwin dipped his hands, and the two young servants dashed away to

 offer the courtesy to other newly-arrived guests.

 As they moved into the stream of the jovial guests, trumpets sounded

 from the far end of the hall.

 "Ah," said Durwin, "we are precisely on time. Let us take our

 seats."

 He moved at once to the high table, and Quentin and Bria followed. Toli

 and Esme met them as they ascended the dais to find their places while

 servants scurrried around filling goblets of onyx with wine and ale.

 Esme fairly glowed in her bejewded gown. For once, thought Quentin,

 she looked the Princess she really was.

 "This is most wonderful," she cooed. "You are so kind, Bria, to lend

 me one of your beautiful gowns. I feel like a woman again, after all

 those days on the back of a horse." The two young women laughed;

 Quentin and Toli looked on smiling.

 "Toli has been showing me all over the castle, and I am much impressed.

 I have long heard stones ofAskelon's wealth, but the stories do not

 tell half."

 "You are a most welcome guest, Esme," said Bria warmly, ^e must have a

 talk together soon. I think we may become very good friends."

 / 519 I

 "I would like that. I have grown up among my brothers, and my father's

 house lacks a woman's touch. When my business here is at an end,

 perhaps I will tarry here with you."

 "Please, I can think of nothing better."

 "It seems our two young women are cut of the same cloth, eh Toli?"

 Quentin had stepped close to his servant while the ladies chattered on

 happily.

 "Our women?" Toli suddenly blushed.

 "Bria and Esme, of course. Do you think I do not see the way you look

 at Esme? I saw that look once before on your silly face the day we

 fished her from the sea."

 "It is not your arm that is ailing; it is your head. You begin talking

 strangely; perhaps I should call Durwin to take you away. This

 atmosphere has addled your mind."

 "My head is whole, and my eyes are not deceived, my good friend."

 Toli blushed again. The trumpets sounded a final call and Bria said,

 "Let us all be seated. Toli and Esme, you must sit near us. I will

 arrange it."

 After a bit of fuss they sat down together. Quentin looked down the

 table past the platters of meat and pastries, trenchers of pewter and

 silver, baskets of breads, and tureens of vegetables to examine the

 guests who shared the high table. Ronsard, who sat with Myrmior on one

 side and Theido on the other, caught his eye and waved, an instant

 later he was once again deep in conversation with the lanky knight at

 his side. Durwin sat to the left of Toli and on the right of the King,

 whose exquisitely carved chair remained empty. The Queen's chair,

 smaller but equally handsome, was next to it and empty too.

 Quentin peeped behind the trailing baldachin, expecting the King to

 emerge from behind it at any moment. But even as he did so a hush fell

 over the the nosiy hall. The trumpets sounded a ringing flourish and

 in swept King Eskevar and Queen Alinea-They moved slowly through the

 hall toward the high table, stopping to offer a greeting to their

 guests along the way.

 Quentin was much relieved to see that Eskevar, though grave and gaunt,

 moved with a spring in his step and with head erect, the crown

 encircled his head with a ring of fiery red gold. If anything, the

 King's recent illness had given him an aspect of determined strength,

 of invincibility.

 The royal couple moved to the dais, stopping at Quentin's place at the

 far end of the table before moving on to their own chairs. "I am glad

 to see you safely under my roof again, my son." The King placed his

 hands on Quentin's shoulders. "Let me say again that I am sorry for

 your hurl."

 "It is ever my joy to sit at table with you, my Lord. And we have said

 enough already of Toll's and my trials. I am assured that my arm will

 be as fit as ever in no time."

 That is good news, Quentin," said Allnca. She smiled with a warmth

 which made all feel welcome and at ease.

 "Come to me tonight after the games and we will sit together and talk,"

 said Eskevar. Quentin was about to speak, but Alinea broke in

 quickly.

 "My Lord, you have forgotten that young people have more amusing

 pursuits than to sit in chamber on a pleasant summer's eve."

 "Of course!" Eskevar laughed. "Forgive me. Yes, I had forgotten.

 There will be time enough for talking. Enjoy your evening, my young

 friends. I will see you on the morrow."

 They moved off, and Bria leaned near to Quentin and whispered, "Your

 first night back and I was afraid you would be my father's captive."

 Her green eyes held his for a moment. "Oh, do not ever leave again."

 "There is no place I would rather be than right here with you. But I

 think Durwin has plans for me this night, even if Eskevar does not. You

 have forgotten so quickly?"

 "My poor darling, forgive me. I am a selfish woman. I would have you

 all to myself always. But may we not walk once around the garden? It

 is so lovely, and I have missed you so

 One turn around the garden gave way to another, and then another. The

 two young couples had started off together, but Quentin soon lost sight

 of Toll and Esme among the winding paths.

 The air was soft and warm and full of the perfume of the flora

 I 521 I

 glowing softly in the moonlight in pale pastel hues. They had spoken

 of nothing and of nonsense and had laughed at their intimate jests, but

 now strolled in silence.

 "Was it very bad for you?" asked Bria suddenly, but in an abstract way

 which made Queniin wonder what she meant.

 "Being captured? Yes. I hope never to endure it again."

 "There is another kind of captivity which is terrible."

 "And that is?"

 "Not knowing. When someone you love is faraway and you cannot go to

 him, be with him, when you do not know what may happen to him... I was

 wonted about you. I knew something horrible had happened."

 They walked along without speaking again for a long time. Bria sighed

 heavily, and Quentin murmured, "There is more on your mind, my love.

 What is it? Tell me."

 "I am ashamed of myself for thinking it," Bria admitted reluctantly. "I

 know there is going to be a war "

 "Who has told you that?"

 "No one, and no one need tell me. I just know it. Ever since you got

 back I have seen nothing but Theido's dark looks, and Ronsard has been

 sending messengers far and wide. You do not deny it, so it must be."

 "Yes, war is a fair possibility," agreed Quentin.

 "A fair certainty," she corrected him. "I do not want you to go. You

 are injured. You would not have to go. You could stay here with

 me."

 "You know as well as I that would not be possible."

 "Too well I know it. The women of my family have long sent their men

 into battle some have even ridden by their side. That is what makes me

 so ashamed. I do not care about any of that; I only want you safe."

 "Ah, Bria. How little I know you. You are possessed of an iron will

 and a spirit that shrinks from nothing under the heavens, I do not

 doubt that you could launch a thousand ships and send whole legions

 into battle; yet you tremble at the thought of Just one soldier going

 away."

 "Yes, how little you know me if you think you are nothing more to me

 than just one soldier." She sounded hurt and angry. Quentin,

 disappointed at his bungling comment, was about to make another attempt

 at soothing her when Durwin's bellow boomed out behind them.

 "There you are! I thought I would find you here in the only place

 lovers may be alone respectfully- I do not blame you for wishing to put

 off the ordeal at hand, but the sooner it is over the sooner healing

 can begin."

 "You are right, Durwin, though I little welcome your remedy. Let us

 go." He turned to Bria to take his leave.

 "I am going, too. You may need a woman's touch. Besides, if someone

 does not watch you very closely, Durwin, you may break the wrong

 arm."

 "Please!" shouted Quentin in mock horror. "It is my arm you are

 talking about. Have a care!" Bria laughed, Quentin set his Jaw and

 the three marched off.

 TWENTY-SEVEN

 "QUENTIN) ARE you sleeping?" Toli crept to the high, wide bed on which

 his master rested. Quentin opened his eyes when Toli came near.

 "No, only resting." Both looked at his freshly bandaged arm, set with

 splints of bone and wrapped in new linen. A sling of forest green to

 match his cloak was bound around his arm which rested on his chest. "Is

 it time?"

 "Yes. The council will sit within the hour. You wish me to go in your

 stead?"

 "No, I feel much better. We will both go. Has everyone arrived?"

 Quentin raised himself up off the bed and swung his legs over the edge.

 Toli placed a hand under his arm and helped him.

 / 523 I

 "The lords of the flatlands have not arrived, but are expected to be

 late. Theirs is a far journey. But Eskevar thinks it best not to put

 off beginning.

 "The others are here, or will arrive shortly. Rudd, Dilg, Benniot and

 Fincher, Wertwin, Ameronis and Lupollen those I have already seen."

 "Those are enough to ratify any decision the King might make, though I

 do not believe there will be dissent."

 "Do not be too certain of that. Mensandor has been long at peace, and

 men grow soft. Some will wish to avoid conflict at any price."

 "Then we must make them see that is impossible." He looked at his

 friend sadly. "Toli, I do not love war, you know that. But I have

 seen enough to know that it has come to us whether we will or no. We

 have no choice if this land is to remain free."

 They walked from Quentin's apartment to the round, high domed council

 chamber in the north tower, passing through the walled courtyard where

 the King sometimes held vigil when weighty matters were bearing on his

 mind. The courtyard was clean and fresh and the sun directly

 overhead.

 As they entered the yard Theido and Ronsard, deep in discussidn with

 another, waved them over. "Ah, Quentin! It looks as though Durwin has

 done his worst on you. How do you feel?"

 "Fit enough. He wanted to keep me abed with a potion of his, but I

 declined. Time is elixir enough."

 "Do you know Lord Wertwin?"  Theido introduced the man standing with

 them.

 "He has some interesting tales to tell in council," added Ronsard.

 "Yes, your lands lie to the south of here, do they not?" inquired

 Quentin.

 "That is correct. Just beyond Pelgrin, above Persch." The man smiled

 warmly, and Quentin noticed he was missing a tooth in his lower jaw,

 but that and his leathery, weather-beaten visage gave the lord the

 rugged appearance of a tenacious fighter.

 "Sir, if you do not mind my asking, however did you come so soon? It

 would take a messenger two days to reach you."

 "Ordinarily, yes. But I was already on my way here as I was telling

 Theido and Ronsard just now."

 Quentin did not need to ask what had prompted Lord Wertwin's trip, but

 he did note its timeliness. They talked a bit longer until a page came

 out from the tower entrance across the courtyard to ask them to come in

 and take their places.

 They filed into the tower and up a short flight of spiraled stairs to

 an upper floor. Thin arrow loops cast a dim light in the narrow

 passage, which gave out onto a great round chamber with a polished

 wooden floor. Shuttered windows were thrown wide to let in the sunlight

 giving the chamber an open, airy feeling, though it was hollowed out of

 massive tower walls sixteen feet thick.

 In the center of the room a ring of chairs had been established, one

 for each member of the council. But there were others among them, and

 Quenlin wondered who would occupy them. Behind each chair a stanchion

 raised a banner bearing the device and blazon of each participant. Some

 of the council members were already seated, and behind their chairs

 stood a squire or page ready to do his lord's bidding. Other council

 members stood apart with heads together and talked in low tones; the

 room buzzed with the murmur of their conversation.

 Quentin found his chair, marked by his own blazon: a flaming sword over

 a small dragon emblem. He smiled to himself when he saw it. The only

 time he ever saw his device was when in Askelon. Next to his chair sat

 Toll's, whose device was a white stag running on a field of forest

 green. He identified Ronsard's, a mace and a flail crossed and raised

 in a gauntleted hand. Theido's was the readily recognizable black hawk

 with wings outstretched. There were others he had never seen before,

 and several chairs had no banners.

 In all there were fifteen chairs in the ring, but a few more stood

 along the wall to be added if the need arose. One by one the remaining

 council members took their places, and the room fell silent in

 expectation of the King's entrance.

 Presently a side door opening into a private chamber creaked on its

 iron hinges, and Durwin stepped in without ceremony, followed by the

 King. Horn tired he looks, thought Quentin. Not a king to inspire his

 nobles with a stirring caS to arms.

 I 525 I

 Eskevar took his chair and Durwin the chair beside him, which was

 unmarked by a banner. The King began at once.

 "My noble friends, thank you for coming." He looked at each one around

 the circle. "My heart is heavy with the thought of what must be

 accomplished this day. I am no stranger to war and no coward. Some of

 you have stood with me in many glorious campaigns, and some where there

 was no glory for either side.

 "Prudent men do not seek war, for it brings nothing good. But men of

 valor do not shrink from it if called to defend their homeland against

 a rapacious foe.

 "Such is now the case. Mensandor is under invasion. At this moment

 foreign armies are burning our cities on the southern coast. The

 people there have no lords to protect them, so they flee to the hills

 and to the mountains."

 This last statement sent a ripple of surprise and outrage coursing

 through the assembled nobles. Lord Lupollen, whose lands were in the

 north, below Woodsend, raised his voice above the others and asked,

 "What enemy is this? I have heard nothing of an invasion."

 The King answered when all had quieted down once more. "As I bore

 certain suspicions regarding such activity I sent the Lord High

 Marshall and the noble Theido, a trusted friend of the crown, to

 discover the source of my unease. I will let them tell you what they

 have found."

 Ronsard spoke first, "My lords, with an accompaniment of four knights

 Theido and I rode out, striking first to the south. We saw nothing

 unusual until we reached the sea pass below Persch, where we met a band

 of villagers fleeing to the north by night.

 "These villagers told us of an enemy moving northward along the coast.

 They also said that Halidom had been destroyed completely. We proposed

 to ride to Halidom to sec with our own eyes the veracity of this

 report. The villagers seemed frightened and given to exaggeration."

 "Was Halidom destroyed?" asked one of the lords.

 "Yes, sir. There was nothing left of it but a charred spot on the

 earth."

 "What? Surely you jest."

 The Warbrds of Nm

 "Not at all, sir." The voice was Theido's. "It is as he said. And

 not only Halidom. Ulem is gone as well."

 "But did you not see this enemy?"

 "We saw no enemy, and only one survivor of the destruction, who died as

 we stood over him."

 "This is ridiculous! You ask us to believe " sputtered Lupollen.

 "Believe what you will, sir," snapped Ronsard. "We say only what our

 eyes have seen."

 "I must voice my dismay at this news. Sire," said Lord Ameronis. "It

 does seem most unlikely. We have been at peace for over ten years, and

 it has been far longer since an enemy dared set foot on the soil

 ofMensandor. Are we to think that a raiding party has landed and

 terrorized the villages? That surely can be dealt with forthrightly,

 and no Council of War need stand to ratify such a move."

 "Yes," agreed Lord Rudd, "it sounds very like the time when the

 Vrothgar came up the Lower Plinn into the Wilderlands. Once opposed,

 they left readily enough."

 Eskevar held up his hands for silence. "Please, my countrymen, if I

 thought a stout body of knights would serve against this new menace, I

 would have dispatched them at once. But I have reason to believe the

 danger we now face is greater than that of a handful of barbarians

 raiding our cattle and crops." He nodded to Lord Wertwin.

 "Noble friends, I came here today of my own volition, meeting the

 King's courier on the road. I agree with Eskevar there is something

 here deserving more serious consideration. For the past half-month or

 more I have been receiving a steady traffic of refugees into my

 defenses. Some from as close as Persch and some from as faraway as

 Dom: villagers, merchants, peasants. They have come begging protection

 and refuge from a terrible foe which has come against them though 'tis

 true few of them have ever seen him."

 Lord Rudd loudly challenged him. "It is not so strange an occurrence

 to have a few peasants stirred up over nothing at all. That no one

 seems to have seen this awesome and mysterious enemy is proof enough

 for me that if he exists at all, he is no more than a

 / 527 /

 band of ruffians to be crushed with a single blow." When Rudd had

 finished speaking, there were murmurs of approval and nods of

 agreement.

 "/ have seen this enemy!" said Quentin boldly. All eyes turned toward

 him. "And I can say he is no mere band of ruffians or barbarians

 seeking meat and seed. Toll and I were captured at Illem on the night

 that town was sacked and burned."

 He waited for his words to sink in.

 "For two days we were held prisoner, escaping only with the help of one

 of the enemy's own officials." He paused to measure his words

 carefully.

 "What we saw in that camp gave us to know that the army of Nin is no

 thieving tribe of barbarians, nor raiders after spoil. The Ningaal are

 a -highly trained and disciplined army, and they are moving against all

 Mensandor."

 "I do not believe it!" shouted Lupollen angrily. "If such foe exists

 we would know it."

 "Obviously he is cunning beyond belief!" snapped Ameronis with cold

 sarcasm.

 "Believe it!" The high-pitched, cutting tone was a woman's. The

 assembly turned in their chairs as one to see who dared invade the

 King's council chambers.

 Quentin saw Esme standing before the door to the inner chamber. She

 had entered undetected and had heard what had been said.

 "Who is this woman. Sire? Send her away! The Council of War is no

 place for a female." There were other complaints of a similar

 nature.

 "My lords, she will be heard. I have asked her to Join us, and it

 seems that now we may hear her story. Continue, my Lady, but let me

 inform this assembly that before them stands Princess Esme, daughter of

 King Troen ofElsendor."

 Esme, looking every inch the princess that she was, with a thin circlet

 of silver on her brow and sheathed in a gown of deepest vermilion

 Bria's, no doubt approached the King's chair to stand before the

 council. Her dark hair bung in rings to her shoulders, her black eyes

 sparked with an intense flame.

 "I have come to Askelon at the behest of my father to deliver a message

 of warning and a plea for help. What I have heard this day makes me

 fear for both our lands.

 "Late this spring one of my father's ships was attacked at sea, but

 managed to fight off the attacker and return to port. Troen sent to

 discover who this enemy might be and ordered the commander of his

 personal vessel to search out and engage the pirateer. The ship never

 returned, but an answer came for two days later, five score enemy ships

 were sighted off our southern coast by a fishing boat. My father

 issued forth the fleet to engage them, my brothers took command of our

 ships. I was dispatched here with the warning that a very great and

 powerful enemy has risen and would sieze our lands. I have also come

 to ask King Eskevar to send help in our time of need."

 Nothing was said following Esme's account until Eskevar asked, "Have

 you then nothing to say regarding these tidings?"

 They must believe her, thought Quentin, even if they do not believe my

 own story.  Esme had spoken with such strength and asurance.

 "As you tell it, my Lady, it makes a very convincing tale. But are we

 to understand that you believe the supposed enemy within our borders is

 the same that engages your father's fleet? I find that quite

 unlikely." With that speech Ameronis gained a few more nods of

 assent.

 Eskevar exploded angrily. "You seem bent upon disavowing any evidence

 we bring before you. Why is that. Lord Ameronis?"

 Ameronis was cool in his reply. "The realm has been at peace for many

 years. I do not wish to see this hard-won peace so easily discarded.

 I, for one, do not see cause for mustering troops to oppose an enemy

 which no one has seen and whose intentions are inexplicable."

 "Ah, we strike to the heart of the matter at last!" said the Dragon

 King. A high color had risen to his cheeks and brow. His eyes, sunken

 and dark-rimmed from his long illness, blazed brightly. He nodded to

 one of the pages who disappeared into the inner chamber to reappear a

 moment later with a tall stranger. The stranger, swathed in a

 loose-fitting blue garment with chains of gold

 / 529 /

 around his neck, entered and bowed low before the assembled lords. His

 black beard bristled like the quills of a hedgehog, and his eyes were

 sharp and direct.

 "I present to you Myrmior, Prime Minister to the High Suzerain

 ofKhai-I-Quair. He it was who made possible the escape of my ward and

 his servant. Tell us what you have to say, brave sir."

 Myrmior bowed again and touched his fingertips to his forehead. "It is

 not my intention to come before you in this way, but the King has

 willed it so and I obey." He spoke smoothly, and his words had an edge

 which cut at the pride of the assembled lords who glared at him.

 "I was captured four years ago when the home of my people was brought

 under subjection to Nin, called the Destroyer. The High Suzerain was

 beheaded like a thief in the village square after a long and bloody war

 that lasted five years. I, his trusted minister, became a slave to one

 ofNin's warlords.

 "I have seen much in the years since my captivity began. Nation after

 nation has fallen; the realm of the mighty have been crushed; lands

 have been laid waste before Nin and his horde. Each victory makes the

 Ningaal stronger and pricks their leader's insa^tibable hunger for

 greater conquest. He has extended his empire from Sanarrath to

 Pelagia, and from Haldorland to Artasia. He will not stop until he

 rules the world, until all lands are his and all men his slaves.

 "Now he has turned his eyes upon the west and the nations of the mighty

 kings. If he succeeds here, as he has in every other land where he has

 loosed his warlords, there will be no stopping him. He will achieve

 what his evil heart contemplates: Nin will be the god before whom all

 men bow and worship."

 Myrmior's voice had risen steadily throughout his speech, and now the

 last words rang in the council chamber. No one moved or breathed. All

 eyes were on this mysterious messenger of doom.

 "Do not deceive yourselves, lords of Mensandor. You cannot hide in

 your castles behind your strong walls. He will search you out and

 destroy you as surely as the snake catches the rat.

 "Hear my words and beware! He has turned his eyes upon your kingdom

 and will have it for his own. There is nothing he cannot do and

 nothing he does not dare, for his star is growing in the east and soon

 all men will know the terror of his name

 TWENTY-EIGHT

 "THERE is naught to your discredit. Sire. You have done what a man

 can do. We will try again," Theido said soothingly.

 They all sat gloomily around a large oaken table in the King'1 private

 chamber. Eskevar stared dully at his hands clasped before him. He had

 raged and fumed and threatened to no avail. The Council of War had

 ended in a deadlock. Lords LupoUen and Ameronis openly stood against

 raising an army, Wertwin and Fincner pledged their support, and the

 rest were undecided.

 "I should have waited for the others to come; they could have made the

 difference. I was too hasty ... loo hasty."

 "No," objected Durwin. "You did the right thing. The othen will not

 arrive until tomorrow or the next day. We need to move at once. Who

 knows what a delay of two days might mean? Kingdoms have fallen in

 less time."

 "Meanwhile, Lupollen and Ameronis have ample time to sway the others to

 their side." Eskevar sighed, and the room seemed to grow darker.

 "They will all come around when they see the danger," offered

 Ronsard.

 "But will it be too late?" wondered Theido. "I say we should send the

 King's knights out now to engage the invaders and hold them until an

 army can be raised. We must not let them reach Askelon

 unchallenged."

 "Noble sirs, may I offer an observation?" It was Myrmior, who had been

 sitting in silence since the private council had begun. His

 / 531 I

 impassioned appeal before the council had been to no avail and he had

 retreated into a sullen mood, as had most everyone else.

 "Nothing short of total strength will dismay them. Nin's armies are

 well-trained and battle-ready. And there are more of them than you

 know. The force which Quentin and Toli met with was only one of four

 which are within Mensandor's borders. They are all moving toward

 Askeion by various routes."

 "Why would they?" asked Ronsard. "Why not come en masse?"

 "Nin long ago learned it was best when invading a strange land whose

 strengths were unknown to move in smaller forces, thus dividing the

 defense.

 "A few valiant men may stand against many given a tactical advantage is

 this not so?" Nods around the table affirmed that it was. "But it is

 almost impossible to defend on four fronts at the same time. That is

 what you propose to do."

 "And with few enough knights to do it," noted the King sourly. "Our

 cause is lost before trumpet has been blown or blade drawn."

 "Say not so. Sire. There is much we may do with the men we have. The

 others will fall in line when they learn the threat is real and not

 imagined." Ronsard struck the table with his fist. He looked around

 to the others for support of his view.

 "Ronsard is right," said Durwin slowly. "There is much we may do. And

 the sooner we begin, the better. It would be to our interest to "

 Just then there came a rap on the chamber door. A sentry stepped in

 and bowing low said, "Sire, there is a priest without who would speak

 to you without delay. He has been told you are in council, but will

 not be put off."

 "Will he identify himself?" asked the King.

 "He is Biorkis, as he says," offered the sentry.

 "The High Priest? Here?" Quentin looked at Toli, who only nodded

 mysteriously.

 "Allow the High Priest to enter. We will admit him."

 The door was thrown wide and an instant later Biorkis, dressed in his

 coarse brown robes, swept in to stand before them, a rueful smile upon

 his wrinkled, white face.

 "I see Ariel has not deserted his servant. All is as I would have

 wished." Durwin leapt up from the table, his stool crashing to the

 floor. "Biorkis! Have you given up your vows at last?" The hermit

 dashed to his old friend's side and clasped him by the arms.

 The priest shook his head sadly; his white braided beard wagged from

 side to side. "It seems as if I have been released from my vows

 whether I would or no." Durwin's eyebrows arched upward. "I mean,"

 said the priest, "that I have been expelled from the temple."

 "But why? Certainly it cannot be for any but a most serious offense

 and what that would be from you I cannot imagine."

 The former High Priest turned to the others as Durwin drew him to the

 table, giving Quentin a special greeting. "It was for the most serious

 oflense, my lords. I have been guilty of standing in the way of gross

 ambition. The charges were but trifling ones, I persisted in seeing

 danger where none could be seen, in reading omens in the stars which

 threatened the security of the temple."

 Durwin nodded knowingly. "We have been cast out this day for roughly

 the same reasons. But more of that later. I know that what you have

 come to tell us has not been watered down by your troubles. High

 Priest or no, your heart will remain steadfast once it has decided on a

 course."

 "Well you remember me, Durwin. You were ever one who could read a

 man's inmost soul. Yes, I have come with a message, but seeing you all

 here leads me to believe that I have come too late for my message to be

 of any great service to you."

 "Say it, by all means," said Eskevar, "and let us judge its worth. That

 it has cost you your place in the temple is no small thing, but we will

 speak of that later. What would you say to us?"

 Biorkis bowed to them all, Durwin righted his stool, offered it to the

 priest and went himself in search of another. When he had been seated,

 Biorkis spread his hands on the table and began.

 "My lords, in my position of High Priest I worked tirelessly in the

 sifting of elements to discover the destinies of men and nations. It

 is my belief that religion should serve man in this way.

 "When an omen presents itself, it is studied most carefully to

 determine its import and consequence. I say that to say this: an

 / 533 I

 omen has arisen the like of which has never been seen in our time. It

 is a star, known to all by its common name the Wolf Star. Unchanged

 since time began, it has recently begun to wax with unaccustomed

 brilliance. It has grown so quickly as not to be believed by any who

 have not followed its course as closely as have I."

 "This is the star you spoke of, is it not?" Eskevar turned toward

 Myrmior, who merely dipped his head in assent.

 "I see you know of it. Then I need not tell you how curious a thing it

 is. I have searched through the records of the temple. Back and back

 as far back as records have been kept thousands of years and more."

 Biorkis smiled and inclined his white head toward Quentin.

 "This I did after your visit to me that night. Your curiosity about

 the star proved to me that there was something beyond its novelty that

 study might reveal."

 Quentin answered, "As I remember, you were very gloomy in your

 predictions even then. It was evil, you said, and more."

 "Ah, that I was. Now I know I was right to believe as I did. The

 sacred records of the temple reveal that such a sign is not unknown.

 Twice before, long ages ago, such stars have been seen to grow in the

 sky. And though the old writing is hard to discern and the meanings of

 the words is now unclear, it may be said with certainty that such omens

 betokened the very worst catastrophes for mankind."

 "The end of the age!" said Durwin.

 "The end of the age," agreed Biorkis, "In chaos and death. Destruction

 such as no man nor beast can survive. Nations arc swept away, kingdoms

 vanish in a single hour, never to return. The face of the earth is

 changed forever. Lands rise up out of the sea, and continents

 submerge. All that was shall be changed in the mighty roar of the

 heavens rending apart. The stars fall from their courses, and the seas

 rise up. The rivers burn, and the earth crumbles away.

 "Thus is the end of the age, and it is at hand."

 The midnight conversation which he and Toli had had in Durwin's chamber

 when they had first come to Askelon leapt vividly to Quentin's mind,

 inspired by Biorkis' pronouncement. Conversation continued around the

 table; the voices of Ronsard, Theido^ Eskevar and Durwin sounded in his

 ears, but Quentin did not attend to them. They receded further and

 further from him, and he heard them no more.

 It seemed to him that he now entered a waking dream.

 A dark limitless horizon stretched before him, the darkness brooding

 and seething as a beast hungering and lying in wait for its prey-

 Quentin saw a small bright figure laboring up a rocky slope to stand at

 last on the top of a hill.

 It was a knight in armor, and as he looked more closely he saw that the

 armor shone with a cold fire as if made from a single diamond; he

 carried a shield which shone with a cool radiance, scattering light

 like a prism. The knight faced the brooding darkness and placed his

 hand to the hilt of his sword. He drew forth his sword, and it flashed

 with a burning white fire.

 The knight raised his sword, and the darkness retreated before him.

 Then, with a mighty heave, the knight flung the sword into the air

 where it spun, throwing off tongues of fire which filled the sky. As

 he did so, the knight shouted in a resounding voice, which seemed to

 echo in Quentin's ears,

 "The sword shall burn with flames of fire. Darkness shall die

 conquered, it flees on falcon's wings."

 The talking at the table ceased. All eyes turned toward Quenlin who

 stood before them, shaking his head and blinking as one awaking from a

 dream. The surprise in their faces, their open mouths, let Quentin

 know that he had not heard those words only; he had spoken them aloud

 before everyone there. The voice echoing in his ears was his own.

 "What was that he said?" someone whispered in the awestruck silence

 that had fallen upon the room.

 "I I am sorry, good sirs." stammered Quentin. Toli peered at him

 through squinted eyes. There were stares all around,

 "Where did you hear that?" demanded Durwin, jumping up.

 "I do not know, sir, I heard it just now... in a dream. I seem to have

 had a dream while everyone was talking. I do not know why."

 "I do!" Biorkis fairly shouted. "It is from the Chronicles of the

 Northern Kings.*'

 "Yes, it is. The Prophecy of the Priest King." Durwin towered

 / 535 I

 over Quentin, staring down upon him, eyes sparkling with a fierceness

 Quentin had never seen. He squirmed uncomfortably on his stool,

 feeling foolish and light-headed.

 "Tell me that you have never read that anywhere, nor heard it spoken in

 your presence and I shall believe you."

 "I tell you the truth, Durwin, I never have. The words mean nothing to

 me, wherever you say they be from. I know them not."

 "It is possible that you may have heard them in Dekra," mused Durwin.

 "But I think not. You would remember if you had."

 "What is this?" asked Eskevar, his voice brittle with amazement.

 Theido and Ronsard merely gazed in surprise at what was happening

 before them; Myrmior rubbed his hand absently over his bearded chin,

 eyes narrowed to slits.

 "My Lord, it is a wonder! A most powerful sign." Biorkis closed his

 eyes. His head began to weave with the cadence, and the old priest's

 voice swelled to fill the room as he began to recite the ancient

 prophecy.

 "The stars shall look upon the acts of men. They shall bring forth

 signs and wonders.

 "Cities of old are still to be seen; the cunning work of giants, the

 skillfril shaping of stone.

 "Wind is the swiftest messenger. The clouds shall fly free forever.

 "Thunder speaks with a mighty voice; the temples quake upon their

 foundations. The sacred rock shall be cloven.

 "The spear struck upon shield shall make war.

 "The eagle shall ascend on wings of strength, his offspring shall be

 honored among men.

 "Courage shall be in the warrior. The jewel in the ring shall sit high

 and broad.

 "The good man in his country shall do deeds of glory. The snake in his

 chamber shall be pierced.

 "The valor of the knight shall be strong iron; his name is sung in the

 halls of his fathers.

 "The wolf in the forest shall be craven. The boar in the wood is bold

 in the strength of his tusks.

 "The King shall have a throne. The priest shall wear a crown.

 "The sword shall burn with flames of fire. Darkness shall die;

 conquered, it flees on falcon's wings.

 "The dragon under the hill shall be ancient; lordly, bold and

 unafraid.

 "The gods of high places shall be thrown down; theirs shall be die rage

 of death. The Most High shall suffer them no more.

 "From out of the temple he has called his servant, his ways shall be

 exalted."

 TWENTY-NINE

 ESME AND BRIA were waiting for them as they emerged from the council

 chambers. Quentin smiled when he saw them, though he did not feel like

 smiling. The two young women had become such fast friends they were

 seen together everywhere, and it pleased Quentin to think that though

 very different in many ways, they snared much in common, especially the

 same iron resolve in matters that touched them deeply. They were, he

 reflected, the living ideal of the word princess.

 Quentin had not spoken upon emerging from the chamber. He felt weak

 and a little frightened of what he might say next. The vision and

 prophecy had unnerved him, making him feel he could no longer trust

 himself to behave normally. Toll had ushered them all away to a quiet

 spot in the kitchen where they could sit and munch apples and be

 alone.

 After awhile Quentin recovered some of his usual good humor and began

 to talk about what had happened. He told of the talk around the table,

 and of his dream, and the prophecy he had uttered, and how excited

 Durwin and Biorkis had become after hearing it. It was then that Esme

 related her own experience with

 ! 537 I

 the daughter ofOrphe, and of the prophecy that had been given her in

 exchange for the meal she had cooked for the oracle.

 Esme recited the strange prophecy, and Quentin was struck with how

 similar it was to the one he had himself spoken. Both spoke of a sword

 of power that would vanquish the invaders with a stroke. When Esme had

 finished her story they had all fallen silent for a long time, not

 daring to break the spell mat descended upon the little group.

 For Quentin the time of silence was welcome. He turned the words over

 in his mind, sifting them, holding them as they tumbled through his

 consciousness. His vision, so long ago received in his Blessing of the

 Ariga at the temple in Dekra, seemed now to be taking form, unfolding

 before him and pulling him along. His vision. Long had he pondered it

 and held it in his heart. Part of him wanted to run to it, to embrace

 whatever lay ahead, knowing that he would never know true peace unless

 he did. Another pan of him wanted to hold it off, to turn away from

 its terrible, fierce glory. And Quentin was torn between the two.

 Quentin and Toli stood in the night-darkened passageway and knocked.

 They heard a shuffle on the other side of the heavy door, and it was

 drawn open slowly. Ronsard's broad handsome face grinned back at

 them.

 "Enter, friends," he said. "We have been waiting for you."

 "What is this summons which draws us from our beds, good sirs? Or

 rather, keeps us from them. Ronsard, Theido what is this secrecy?"

 Quentin stepped into the tower chamber of Durwin, made rosy by the

 light of tall candles placed around the room on their tall holders.

 "You will regret those harsh words soon, sir," said Theido quietly.

 Quentin had spoken in fun, but though Theido smiled Quentin could tell

 there was an uneasiness in the knight's manner.

 "You are going away!" said Quentin in dismay. He glanced quickly at

 their faces and knew that he had guessed correctly.

 "Yes," said Ronsard gently. "Before sunrise."

 "But I do not understand. Why so soon?"

 "It must be," explained Tbeido. "We are leading the King's own knights

 against the Ningaal. We must move at once before they have time to

 draw their strength together."

 "Come in and sit down. We have a little time to pan as friends ought,"

 said Durwin warmly.

 Quentin moved woodenly to a chair in front of the empty hearth. Toli

 settled on the arm of the chair beside him. What the dark-eyed Jher

 was feeling could not be read upon his face, though his eyes had gone

 hard.

 "I know it comes as a shock to you, Quentin. But this is the way it

 must be." Theido's tone was smooth and assured. "I know you had your

 heart set on coming with us, but I assume you know also that cannot be.

 With your arm, you would not last the first clash of battle."

 Quentin was mildly flattered to think that Theido had so high an

 estimation of his courage. Actually, he had no wish to encounter the

 brutal Ningaal again.

 "That is not the cause of my misgiving, though you do me honor. You

 cannot go against the Ningaal with the King's retinue alone, it would

 be disastrous! There are too many, and they are disciplined soldiers

 every one. I have seen them."

 "We dare not wait any longer," said Ronsard. "Every day we delay may

 mean much in time to come. But do not worry overmuch; we do not go

 entirely alone. Lord Wertwin will meet us with his troops he will

 raise a hundred sturdy knights and arms for all

 "But 400 or 500 what is that against Gurd's thousands? And he is but

 one of four, if Myrmior speaks true."

 "I think we may say that Myrmior speaks true," laughed Ronsard. "He is

 going with us. He will help us to plan our strategy against the

 warlords."

 "It is no small thing," agreed Theido. "His help shall prove

 invaluable, I have no doubt of it." He learned forward and searched.

 Quentin's face with earnest dark eyes. "We must go, Quentin. We must

 gain time for Eskevar to bring the other lords around.

 "We did not expect such a poor show among our peers. But that is the

 way of it. They will see that war has come, and they will join us in

 the end. Of that I have no fear."

 "But in the meantime, while they are making up their minds, you will

 all be lulled!" said Quentin bitterly. "I do not like it."

 / 539 I

 "This is how it will be," said Ronsard. He stood and walked to Quentin

 and put his hand upon his shoulder. "Do not fear for us, for we do not

 fear for ourselves. A knight can have but one death, and that one with

 honor or he is no true knight. I have seen enough of battle that it

 holds no terror for me. I am content."

 "We have no intention of moving foolishly. In truth, you will not see

 two more cautious and prudent men as we. But we must give the King

 time to pull the lords together, or our cause is lost before it is

 begun. Myrmior has shown us that, at least.

 "Besides, I do not think you will be idle yourself. If I understand

 Durwin aright, he means to employ you most strenuously. You will have

 no time to think about us."

 Quentin threw himself out of his chair and grabbed Ronsard by the arm

 with his good hand, "I will always think about you! Both of you have

 been more than comrades to me. I wish I could go with you and share

 your portion. It would make my heart glad to stand on the Held with

 you once again."

 "And so you shall. There will be enough of battle for all of us, I'll

 wager." Theido came to stand beside a tearful Quentin.

 "I shall miss you very much. Both of you." Quentin threw his , arm

 around Ronsard and clapped him on the back. Then he hugged 1 Theido,

 burying his face in the knight's shoulder. His tears now streamed down

 his face, but they were manly tears and he was not ashamed.

 "The blow that keeps me here was more hurtful than first I imagined.

 Go, then, and the Most High grant you his protection."

 "And you," the two knights said in unison.

 They moved reluctantly toward the door. Toli, coming up behind

 Quentin, shook both their hands and wished them, in his native tongue,

 singing blades and shields that never fall. And turning to Durwin he

 said, "Good hermit, will you say a prayer to the Most High for our

 brothers?"

 "Of course I was about to suggest it myself." The hermit of Pelgrin

 came forward and raised his hands before the two knights. Ronsard sank

 to one knee, and Theido knelt down beside him.

 "God Most High, who ever guides our steps and hears our prayers," he

 said softly, "hear us now. Be to these our stout companions the sharp

 edge of their blade, the strength of their arm and the protection of

 their shield. Show them mighty among the enemy;

 show them dauntless and unafraid Go before them into battle as a lance

 to drive the evil from our shores. Be to them a comfort and a guide;

 refresh them when they arc weary, and bear them up when they can stand

 no more.

 "Banish fear from their hearts, and give them wisdom to lead their men

 to victory. Be to them the glory which will shine through the

 darkness, and bring them home to us once more."

 The knights rose slowly. "This god of yours, Durwin, can he do so

 much?" asked Ronsard softly.

 "He can do all things, my friend. Do not fear to call upon him in any

 need. He is ever quick to aid his servants."

 "Then from now on I will serve him this God Most High." He grinned at

 Quentin. "See, you are not the only one who listens to this prattling

 hermit. I have a care for my spirit, too."

 "Then have a care to keep it intact until we meet again, brave knight."

 Quentin advanced and offered his hand to them. "Farewell, my

 friends,"

 "Farewell, Quentin. Farewell."

 THIRTY

 As TEARFUL as the parting with Theido and Ronsard had been, it was a

 poor showing compared to the sorrow of Quentin and Toll's leave taking

 from Askelon. They had spent two days following the departure of the

 knights in gathering supplies and making ready. Then early, before the

 sun had risen above the long dark line ofFelgrin, Toli led the horses

 and pack animals out across the inner ward, through the inner curtain

 and into the outer ward where'Durwin and Quentin waited.

 / 541 I

 There they had been met by Alinea, Bria and Esme. The women pressed

 gifts of food into their hands and exchanged kisses all around.

 "Eskevar wished me to bid you farewell," Alinea said. "He would have

 come to see you away, but a King does not say goodbye. So, for him and

 for myself, farewell. Travel swiftly and return safely. Our hearts go

 with you."

 Then Bria and Quentin had removed a little apart to speak the special

 feelings between them. Esme, with flowers in her hair, took one and

 gave it to Toll, who carried it over his heart beneath his baldric.

 The three women had accompanied them across the drawbridge and stood

 there, tears splashing to the ground in a gentle rain, waving them

 good-bye until the narrow streets of Askelon had taken them from

 view.

 The sadness of that parting settled heavy on Quentin's spirit. It

 brooded over his waking hours for the better part of three days

 following. He spoke but little and moved about as one asleep. He did

 not notice that Toli, and to some extent Durwin, behaved in exactly the

 same way.

 In his lonely meditation Quentin turned again and again to the events

 of the hurried last days in Askelon, and especially the meeting in

 Durwin's chambers that had lasted far into the night. It now seemed

 shadowy and indistinct, as if he were watching smoke trails curling and

 rising in the night air. But it seemed real enough then, and it was

 that particular event which was now speeding them on their way.

 As they moved through the darkened pathways of Pelgrin Forest, now

 heavy with verdure, summer sitting full on every bough, Quentin

 rehearsed once more the happenings of that night.

 After Theido and Ronsard left Durwin's apartment, almost before their

 footsteps had diminished in the corridor, Biorkis had swept in with an

 armful of scrolls and parchments and map skins Since the private

 council with Eskevar the day before, he had disappeared; Quentin had

 not seen him since he heard the old priest recite the ancient prophecy

 which still rang in his ears.

 Biorkis, they were soon to discover, had busily buried himself in the

 castle's atheneum and there, stopping neither to eat nor sleep,

 scratched together the odd assemblage of material be now carried with

 him.

 "I have found what we need, Durwin. It was not easy the King's library

 is not at all as orderly as the temple's, but that is to be expected.

 Some of these writings are barely discernible even to a knowing eye and

 quite incomplete. But my memory, and yours of course, Durwin, will

 serve where the parchments fail us."

 The old priest bustled and fretted so prodigiously in getting his texts

 arranged that Quentin laughed out loud. "Do not tell me we are about

 to endure one of your interminable lessons! Spare us!"

 Biorkis cocked his head to one side. "Do not think that it would harm

 you, sir. You have probably forgotten all I ever taught you."

 "Biorkis and I put our heads together upon leaving the King's council,"

 Durwin explained. "I think you will be interested to hear what we have

 learned." Although Durwin did not say it, Quentin knew by the glint of

 the hermit's eye and the mood of high excitement that suddenly bristled

 in the room that the subject of the meeting had something to do with

 the prophecy and his strange utterance of it the day previous.

 "Yes, it is all here. Enough at any rate to allow us to act, I think,

 though I wish I had access to my books at the temple." Biorkis sighed

 sadly.

 "And I my own at the cottage," agreed Durwin. "Still, I have read them

 enough to know them from memory, I dare say."

 "Are we to understand," said Quentin indicating Toli and himself, "that

 you believe this ... Prophecy of the Priest King, or whatever this has

 something to do with us?"

 "Not us, sir," said Biorkis blithely. "You!"

 Quentin had almost succeeded in putting off the feeling of awesome

 responsibility that went along with the thought that he might be chosen

 for some great task. He had almost settled into feeling his normal

 self again almost, but not entirely. For the inexpressible notion that

 he was caught up in the swiftly running stream of history, that he was

 moved by an unseen hand toward an unknown destiny, and that all this

 had something to do with his vision

 / 543 I

 of the flaming sword this notion haunted him, lurking behind his

 thoughts like a shadow, or the lingering presence of a dream.

 "There are many signs by which these things can be judged, as you well

 know," the priest bur bled on. "Let us just say that I have spent a

 day and a night in sifting through all that is known about the prophecy

 and the events surrounding it, and that I have no good reason to doubt

 that the signs point to you."

 "There are also very good reasons to believe that now is the time in

 which this prophecy will be fulfilled," added Durwin.

 Toli spoke up. "Though I have never heard of this prophecy before it

 was spoken in the King's chamber, that is the Jher, too, have a legend

 that a king of the white race will arise who will usher in the age of

 light. He is to be called Lotheneil, the Waymaker. That is because he

 will lead men's minds toward Winoek, the God Most High." Toli fixed

 his master with a knowing look and crossed his arms upon his chest, as

 if satisfied the matter was settled.

 "Do not think that I am unwilling," said Quentin. "But you must show

 me how these things pertain to me. I know nothing of this prophecy "

 "And yet you quoted it word for word, or nearly. In the original it

 goes something like this:

 ! Thee sweord sceal byrnan with fyrflaume.

 Deorcin sceal dhy; deffetyn hitfleon voingefakho.

 "I should really have been surprised if you had spoken it in the old

 tongue. Still, I was shocked beyond belief. There are not four men in

 all of Mensandor who know and can quote that obscure prophecy. That

 two of them should be in the same room together at an utterance well,

 it is quite remarkable. Incredible."

 "I did not tell the whole prophecy, only part of it." Quentin fidgeted

 in his high-backed chair, while Toli perched like a bird of prey beside

 him. "It might have been a coincidence."

 "Quentin," Durwin reproached softly, "you know as well as I that for

 the servants of the Most High there are no coincidences. And for a

 prophet to quote the merest portion of a prophecy is the same as to

 invoke the whole. The Elders at Dekra should have given ample

 instruction in that."

 It was true, he had often heard and understood the Elders to make

 reference to various events and happenings in the sacred texts, quoting

 portions of the text and implying the rest. He knew Durwin could see

 through any attempt on his part to distance himself from the events

 which were forming on all sides. It seemed to Quentin that a web of

 circumstance was weaving itself around him, pulling tighter and

 tighter. Soon he would be trapped by a destiny he had not foreseen and

 was not certain he could fulfill.

 But he also felt that aside from his personal reluctance, which sat

 like a lintel stone upon his back, if what Biorkis and Durwin said was

 true he had a responsibility to follow wherever the trail would lead.

 If he did have some pan to play in saving the realm, he had to accept

 it and do whatever was required, aside from how be felt about it.

 It was this other, more rational Quentin who answered, "Very well. Let

 us see what you two rumor mongers have schemed up for us. There seems

 to be no denying you."

 "You arc beginning to think beyond yourself, eh, Quentin? That is

 good. Yes, very good." Biorkis pulled on his long white braided beard.

 "Now here is what I have found."

 The hours that followed had seemed but the flicker of a candle flame. A

 wink, a nod and they were gone. From the moment his old teacher had

 begun to speak, Quentin was gripped in a spell of enchantment,

 transfixed by the unutterable mystery of the story of strange events,

 long forgotten, having passed from the minds and hearts of men long

 ages past. It was remembered only by a few learned men, and now it was

 revived in his presence. He listened intently, seizing every word as a

 thirsty man opening his parched throat to the sky to drink in the drops

 of rain.

 They told of the sword, a sword unlike any other and possessed of holy

 power; of secret mines beneath hidden mountains in half-remembered

 lands; and of the forging of the mighty weapon upon an anvil of gold.

 Biorkis and Durwin, their round faces flushed with the excitement of

 their tale, spoke of the ache of the people who for generation upon

 generation had waited, believing that they would see the coming of the

 sword and he who would carry it. They told of the songs sung and

 prayers prayed in all the dark, hopeless times for the hand worthy to

 possess the sword to arise and deal deliverance at its point.

 / 545 I

 Zhahgkeer that was the name the ancients had given the sword. The

 Shining One.

 Quentin rolled the old-sounding name on his tongue. Knowing the name

 linked him to those who had lived and died waiting to see it. He

 wondered how many men had breathed that name in their hour of need; he

 wondered how many had despaired of ever seeing it and had given up hope

 and turned away.

 When at last the story was told, Quentin rose to stretch and pace the

 room in quick, restless strides. "Are you suggesting that we just go

 and find this sword? That it lies hidden in some cave in the high

 Fiskills?"

 Biorkis shook his head wearily. "Not/imf it; the sword does not exist.

 You must make it. Zhaligkeer must be forged of the hand that will

 wield it."

 Quentin sighed hopelessly. "I do not understand. Forgive me. What

 was all that about anvils of gold and secret mines and all? I thought

 it was all part of the legend.

 Oh, it is, it is," said Durwin. "But it is our belief that the legends

 indicate the manner in which the sword must be made, not how it was

 made. I do not think that anyone ever actually made the sword."

 "Well, why not? It does not seem at all clear why they would hesitate.

 What was to stop them from trying?"

 Durwin cocked his head to one side and smiled smugly. "Nothing .. .

 and everything. Undoubtedly many tried. They applied the prophecy to

 themselves and their own times. But two things are needed for the

 sword to become Zhaligkeer, the Shining One: the ore from the secret

 mines, and the hand of him whom the prophecy names. Even if they had

 found the ore, which perhaps some of them by some means accomplished,

 they still lacked the thing that would make the sword the Zhaligkeer:

 the hand of the chosen one. You see, it is not the blade alone but the

 hand of the Most High which endows the sword with its power."

 "If, as you say, men have long sought the Shining One, why have I not

 heard tell of it before now?"

 "There is nothing unusual there, sir!" laughed Biorkis. "It is ever

 thus. In good days men think not of the hand that helps them. But

 when evil days come upon them, they cry out for the deliverer.

 The Warlords of Ni

 In Mensandor, the years have brought prosperity and peace to the people

 as often as not. Men have forgotten much of the old times when their

 fathers struggled in the land. They have forgotten the sword, but for

 a few the prophecy would have been lost completely."

 Quentin brushed his good hand through his hair. His eyes burned in his

 head. He was tired. The night was old, and he needed sleep.

 "I know nothing of making swords. Neither do I know the way to secret

 mines in the high wastelands of the Fiskills. And even if I already

 possessed such a sword, I do not know what I should do with it; I do

 not even have the arm to raise it."

 Durwin crossed the room and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You

 are tired. You should take your rest like Toli there." Durwin nodded

 toward the Jher, who had curled himself up in an empty seat and was now

 sleeping soundly. "Go to bed now. We have talked enough for one

 night. We will talk again tomorrow. Believe me, there is much more to

 discuss before we set off."

 Quentin believed him. There were a thousand questions flapping around

 in his head like blackbirds over a new-plowed field. But he was

 exhausted and could think of nothing but sleep.

 "Does anyone else know about all this .. . this ..." Words felled him;

 he could think no more.

 "No, not as yet though Ronsard and Theido know we will be busy while

 they are away. To Eskevar I have mentioned my suspicions regarding the

 events before us, but he knows nothing of the sword. No one beyond we

 four knows anything about what we have talked of this night.

 "Good night, Quentin. Go find your bed. We will talk again in the

 morning."

 As if on signal, Toli rose and slipped to the door to lead his master

 away. In a few moments Quentin felt himself sink deeply into bed; he

 did not bother to remove his clothes, but collapsed full length upon

 the bed. To Quentin it seemed as if he had plunged into a warm, silent

 sea. He was asleep as the waves closed over him.

 The next day had been a blur of maps and scrolls so dusty and brittle

 with age one scarcely dared breathe on them and dizzying

 / 547 /

 conversation. Toli, sensing that the time for riding was drawing

 swiftly nearer, had begun selecting animals and provisions for the

 journey. Several times he saw Durwin and Toli head to head in a corner

 as Toli checked some detail of his plan with Durwin.

 Quentin wondered why he was not consulted about the preparations, but

 at the same time he was glad not have to think about them. His mind

 had more than enough with which to occupy itselfi his head fairly

 throbbed with the things he was taking in. Also, he missed Bria. He

 had not seen her but for fleeting moments over hurried meals.

 He could tell that she knew he was going away soon. Her silent gazes,

 her bittersweet smiles and furtive gestures told him she knew. But she

 did not mention it to him; she did not cling. It was a mark other high

 character that she, as much as was humanly possible, put her own

 feelings aside and tried to make his last days easier. And Quentin

 loved her for it.

 When he had finally mustered enough courage to face breaking the awful

 announcement of their departure, Bria had placed her fingers to his

 lips saying, "Do not say it. I know you must leave me now. I knew the

 moment I saw you emerge from the council chamber. You have much to do,

 great deeds to perform, and I will not bind your heart with promises.

 "Go, my love. And when you return you will find me waiting at the

 gate. The women of my kindred are accustomed to waiting. Do not worry

 after me, my darling. I will pass the time the better knowing your

 mind is settled."

 Despite his broken arm, Quentin had hugged her to him for a long time,

 wondering whether he would ever see her again.

 In the haste which overtook them there was little time for brooding or

 sadness that would come later. There was simply too much to be done.

 In two days they accomplished what would normally have taken a week.

 Long hours had been spent in consultation with the King. Their plan

 had won his approval outright, although not without certain misgivings.

 With the hills and countryside becoming harborage for the Ningaal no

 one knew precisely where they were Eskevar was loath to allow the party

 to leave without an armed escort.

 They had at last convinced him that such would only make their errand

 more difficult. It would be better to pass unheralded through the

 world and unencumbered by the chores of moving many men and horses

 overland in secret.

 Quentin, Toll and Durwin would go. Biorkis, too old to withstand the

 rigors of such a journey, would stay behind in Askelon to give aid and

 counsel where he could. If battle drew near, he would be needed to

 attend as physician to any wounded. Also in Durwin's mind, though he

 did not voice it aloud to anyone, was his apprehension that Eskevar,

 not wholly recovered from his mysterious malady, would require

 competent care in his absence. Were it not for that, Durwin would have

 taken his leave of the castle with a tighter heart.

 The dark cool pathways ofPelgrin, overhung with leafy boughs which

 blotted out all but the most determined of the sun's rays, soothed

 Quentin's mind as he rode along. His sorrow gradually left him, and he

 became filled with the excitement of the quest. Though it was still

 hard for him to accept the fact that he seemed to have a central part

 in it he fell the same old Quentin, after all he allowed himself to

 linger long in a kind of rapture over the tale of the mighty

 Zhaligkeer, the Sword of Holy Fire.

 THIRTY-ONE

 "WHERE WILL we find a master armorer to help in forging the sword? I

 do not recall your having mentioned that. Surely, you do not

 contemplate that we shall undertake that task without guidance?"

 Quentin rested with his back against a mossy log in a green clearing

 deep in Pelgrin's wooded heart. Toll was busily poking among the

 bundles of the pack ponies to assemble a bite for them to eat. They

 had been riding since sunrise, and this was the first time they had

 stopped.

 "I have an idea where we may find someone suited to the task," said

 Durwin. His hands were clasped behind his head, and his eyes were

 gazing skyward faraway. "Does the name Inchkeith mean anything to

 you?"

 "Inchkeith! Why he is said to be the most skilled armorer who ever

 lived. He fashioned the armor for the first Dragon King, and he it was

 who designed Eskevar's battle dress which he wore in the wars against

 Goliah. Everyone knows that name! But is he still alive?"

 "Oh, very much alive, though you make him older than he really is. It

 was his father, Inchkeith the Red, who made the armor for the first

 Dragon King, and for several kings before that. He is many long years

 in his grave.

 "But his son has continued the work begun by his fathers, and has

 increased the renown of the name. It is no wonder legends abound

 wherever men strap on greaves and gorget. The armor of Inchkeith is

 known as the finest made by human hands."

 Durwin smiled and winked at Quentin's look of unalloyed amazement.

 "Well, what say you? Will he do to make us a sword?"

 '"A slingshot fashioned by master Inchkeith would do as well. Of

 course he will do!"

 They ate their meal and talked of the trail. Toll said little, and

 Quentin guessed his servant was concentrating upon reviving his dormant

 trail craft it had been a long time since the wily Jher had had an

 opportunity to practice the storied skills of his people. The little

 journeys back and forth from Askelon hardly counted, for there was a

 good road. But where they were going they would have need of his

 animal-like cunning, for there were no roads, no pathways, nor even

 trails. Man had not set foot in those high places in a thousand

 years.

 Quentin was Thinking on these things, realizing that, just as he did

 not know how they would fashion the sword, he did not now know exactly

 where they were going.

 "These mines, Durwin where are they? How will we find them?"

 ':.^ ifhk

 ' r K

 ^AlA^^^^AL^J^Ki

 "I have brought along maps, such as they are, taken from the old

 scrolls. This is as good a time as any to show you. Here." The

 hermit moved to one of the ponies and withdrew a long roll of

 leather.

 "This is the way we shall go," he said, unrolling the map. "It is very

 old, this map. And the land is much changed, rivers have slipped from

 their courses and hills have worn away, forests have vanished and

 cities have come and gone. But it shall serve to guide us

 nonetheless."

 Quentin fingered the skin on which the map was painted. "This does not

 appear as old as you say, Durwin. It looks as if it were made only

 yesterday."

 "It was!" laughed Durwin. "We did not dare bring the original, or

 originals, I should say, for this map is made from scraps Biorkis and I

 have found over the years. The very age of the scraps made bringing

 them out of the question. They would have blown away on the first

 breath of a breeze.

 "No, this map was made by the combined resources of Biorkis and myself,

 and it is a better map for it. He had information which I did not. It

 is a lucky thing he came when he did. If he does nothing else, he has

 already helped greatly."

 "Durwin," Quentin clucked, "do you not know that where the servants of

 the Most High are concerned there is no such thing as lack and

 coincidence?"

 The hermit laughed and raised his hands before him. "So it is! Give

 me quarter! I submit. The pupil has instructed the master."

 "Just to show you that I am not always so dull," he said, looking again

 to the map, which seemed little more than a bare sketch. "Be it as you

 say, there is still precious little here to follow. I do not even see

 any mines indicated on it."

 "Very rough. But it is all we have besides the riddle."

 "Riddle?" Toli spoke up. He stood over them looking down at the

 map.

 "Did I not tell you of the riddle? Oh? Well, I will tell you now.

 There was so much to do and so little time, I do not wonder that you

 feel ill-equipped to begin this journey. I thought I had told you.

 / 551 I

 "The riddle goes like this:

 Over tooth and under claw wend your way with care.

 Where mountains sleep, sharp vigil keep, you shall see the way most

 clear.

 When you hear laughter among the clouds and see a curtain made of

 glass

 Take no care for hand nor hair, or you shall surely never pass.

 Part the curtain, divide the thunder and seek the narrow way;

 Give day for night and withhold the light

 And you have won the day."

 "It sounds simple enough," said Quentin. "Where did you find it?"

 "That we shall see. I am certain that it will seem more than difficult

 enough when the time comes to unravel its meaning. As to where I found

 it, you should know that already."

 "How so?"

 "At Dekra. That is where I discovered most of what little I know of

 this affair. Yeseph himself translated it for me."

 "He never told me about it."

 "Why should he? It was years ago, and I was a pestering young man

 digging through his library like a mole. I chanced upon the riddle in

 a book which made mention of the mines of the Ariga."

 "Those are the mines we seek?"

 Durwin nodded. "You see, the blade is to be made of lanthanil."

 "The stone which glows," said Toli, "My people have heard of it. It is

 said that of old the Ariga gave gifts of glowing stones to the Jher for

 their friendship in the time of the white death. Whoever touched the

 stone was healed and made whole. They were called Khoen Navish the

 Heating Stones."

 "Yes, that at least I have heard of, too. But I assumed that like much

 of the lore of the Ariga, the lanthanil had passed from this earth."

 "I think not, though we shall see," Durwin said. "The Most : High will

 show us aright. We must remember that it is he who ; guides us to his

 own purpose. We need not fret ourselves overmuch about the things we

 cannot foresee. The things we see too well will require our utmost

 attention, I have no doubt

 Theido and Ronsard, with a force of three hundred mounted knights

 behind them, rode southward as fast as their coursers could take them.

 They wanted to reach their rendezvous with Lord Wertwin on the third

 day and then undertake to engage the enemy before he had a chance to

 travel very much further and strengthen himself on the spoils

 ofMensandor.

 At midday on the third day they reached the prearranged place of

 meeting. The knights dismounted and walked the wide greensward while

 they waited for Wertwin's army to arrive. Squires in attendance

 watered the horses and saw to their masters' armor; some polished

 breastplates and repainted devices erased by use, others set up their

 sharpening stones to hone blades long unused, and the smiths at their

 wagons pounded out dents in helm and brassard upon their anvils.

 The day was filled with the clatter of an army looking to its armament.

 Theido and Ronsard had withdrawn under a shady branch to await their

 comrade. Ronsard dozed, and Theido paced while the afternoon came on

 in full.

 "He has not come yet?" asked a sleepy Ronsard as he rose to his feet,

 stretching.

 "No, and I am beginning to wonder if we should send a scout ahead to

 see what may have become of him He should have been here waiting for

 us. Instead it is we who wait for him, and he shows not."

 "I will send Tarkio ahead a little and see if he can discover what has

 become of our tardy friend. Perhaps it is nothing. You know it is no

 small task to mobilize a force of knights in a single day. He may nave

 gotten a late start."

 "Let us hope that is what has happened," said Theido. He did not need

 to mention the other explanation which came to his mind. Both of them

 knew what it was, and neither wanted to hear or believe it.

 Ronsard sent a squire to fetch the knight, and they waited for the

 courier to ready himself. "You are wearing a path in the grass, brave

 sir. Your pacing has bared the earth."

  

 1553-1

 "I like this less and less, Ronsard. I do. Something has happened. I

 fed it here." He smacked his fist against his flat stomach.

 Ronsard stared at his dark friend. "Your instincts in the ways of

 battle are keen, sir. What would you have us to do?"

 Before Ronsard could answer they heard a battle horn sound in the wood;

 it seemed to surround them as it blasted a note of alarm. They turned

 and looked out across the greensward and saw a knight on a charger come

 crashing out of the wood. They watched as one of their own apprehended

 the man; there was a wild waving of arms, and then the knight looked

 toward them and spurred his mount forward. In an instant he was

 pounding toward the spot where Theido and Ronsard waited.

 "Noble knights, brave sirs! I come from Lord Wertwin," the breathless

 soldier said as he flung himself from his saddle. "We were on our way

 here and were joined by the enemy.. ..*' He gulped air; sweat ran down

 his neck and into his tunic. His armor was battered and dashed with

 blood.

 "How far?" asked Ronsard.

 "No more than a league, sir," the knight wheezed.

 "What was the disposition of the battle when you were sent to find

 us?"

 ' The knight shook his head slowly; his face was grave. "There is

 little hope. The enemy is strong, and there are many of them. My lord

 was surrounded on three sides, his back to the lake that lies at the

 edge of the forest."

 "There is no time to lose!" shouted Ronsard. "Marshal, sound the

 trumpet! We move at once!" He dashed to his charger and began

 shouting orders to the men who had gathered around to see what the

 commotion foretold.

 In three heartbeats the greensward was a confusion of knights buckling

 on armor and clamoring into their saddles. Out of the chaos emerged a

 ready-mounted, fearsome host. Theido and Ron Sard each took their

 places at the head of a column and the army moved off at a gallop,

 leaving the armorers and squires to load the wagons and follow along

 behind.

 The clash of battle could be heard long before it was seen. The Ring's

 forces dropped down the wooded slope into a broad grassy bowl, lumped

 over with green tufted hillocks, which fanned the higher end of the

 lake's basin. Once below the level of the lower trees they could see

 that the enemy had indeed surrounded Wertwin*s troops and were

 attempting to push them into the lake.

 Theido and Ronsard ranged their army along the rim of the bowl and,

 when the knights were in position, sounded the attack. They came

 swooping down out of the wood and encompassed the field, driving

 straight into the thick of the enemy.

 The startled Ningaal turned to meet this unexpected charge and found

 themselves blade to blade with a fresh foe. Ronsard halfexpected that

 the sight of the King's knights descending in numbers upon them would

 send the horde scattering into the wood, where they could be driven to

 earth like cattle.

 But the warlord Gurd's men were seasoned to battle. They dug in and

 met the flying charge head-on. Many Ningaal lost their lives in that

 first surge. But dauntless and seemingly immune to fear, those who

 survived the onslaught merely stepped over the bodies of their comrades

 and fought on.

 Theido forced a passage through to the shoreline of the lake and struck

 toward where Wertwin labored in the thick of the battle. When Theido

 reached him, the brave commander's horse's hind legs were in the water.

 Several valiant knights, having been unsaddled, had drowned along the

 strand in shallow water, unable to right themselves.

 The fallen were everywhere. The blood of friend and foe alike stained

 the gray shingle a rusty red.

 Ronsard led his contingent around to the rear to begin a pinching

 action upon the enemy caught between Theido's forces and his own. By

 sheer force of weight the knights being mounted, and the enemy on foot

 Ronsard was able to join Theido in short order, successfully dividing

 the Ningaal into two isolated halves.

 "We are outnumbered!" Ronsard called when he had driven to within

 earshot of his comrade.

 "Our horses and armor will sway the balance!" Theido retorted.

 The blades of the knights flashed in the sun; their shields bore the

 shock of fierce blows. On horseback the knights were almost in

 / 555 I

 vulnerable living fortresses of steel their beveled armor shedding all

 but the most direct strikes against them. On foot, however, the

 slow-moving, heavy-laden knights were disadvantaged by the lightly

 protected but more agile Ningaal.

 The tide of battle ebbed and flowed for both sides. The clash of steel

 and the cries of the wounded and dying filled the air, and carrion

 birds, having tasted blood on the wind, now soared overhead. With a

 mighty shout the Ningaal, at some unknown signal, suddenly rushed the

 mound that Theido and Ronsard had managed to gain. The tactic allowed

 them to rejoin the two halves which had been divided.

 "We cannot hold them long," said Ronsard through clenched teeth, his

 blade whistling around his head. "We must break through now, or we may

 be trapped against the lake once more'

 "Aye, well said. Have you any suggestions?" Theido grunted as he

 slashed and wheeled in his saddle, thrusting and thrusting again.

 "A charge along the shoreline and then back into the woods shouted

 Ronsard.

 "Retreat?" asked Wertwin. "I would rather fall with my men

 "Let us say that we are moving the battle to more favorable ground'

 cried Theido. "If we stay here much longer, we will be pushed into the

 lake once more. They are too strong for us He turned and shouted his

 order to the marshal, who obediently sounded the horn.

 The knights of the Dragon King drew together and pushed along the shore

 of the clear blue lake; those scattered further afield disengaged

 themselves and followed in their wake. Several riderless horses Joined

 the retreat, and knights on foot ran alongside, not to be left

 behind.

 When they had reached the shelter of the wood where the ground sloped

 upward, Ronsard halted and turned his men to face the foe once more.

 Theido's and Wertwin's knights streamed past and continued deeper into

 the wood. Ronsard called to his knights to be ready to dismount after

 meeting the first attack. He had decided in the close quarters of the

 wood it would be better for his men to fight on foot and use the higher

 ground to their advantage.

 But the Ningaal did not follow them into the wood.

 "What is this? They withdraw," Ronsard cried in disbelief. Instantly

 Theido was beside him. "I do not understand. It is hours to sunset)

 but they are leaving." "Lei us go after them!" said Wertwin. Ronsard

 cautioned against this, saying, "Let them go. Whatever moves them, I

 do not think it is fear of us. They were giving blade for blade down

 there. They are not fleeing. It may be a trap." "We could crush

 them!" objected Wertwin. "Nay, sir!" said Tbeido. "But a moment ago

 we were in difficulty to hold our own. That will not have changed

 because they choose to withdraw. Ronsard is right they do not leave

 the battlefield out of weakness."

 Tbeido cast his eyes across the tufted field now bearing the bodies of

 the dead and dying. Upon the mound they had just left he saw a lone

 figure mounted on a sturdy black charger. The figure raised the visor

 of his plume-crested helm and turned his face to where Theido, Wertwin

 and Ronsard stood at the edge of the wood. Then he lifted his sword

 with the cruel curved blade high above his head in salute.

 It is the warlord," said Theido. "He taunts us!" hissed Wertwin. "It

 is a salute, perhaps. A warning," said Ronsard grimly. The warlord

 lowered his sword and turned aside to follow his army; now moving away

 along the opposite side of the lake, leaving the field to the birds and

 the moans of the wounded and dying.

 "Send a party to bind our wounded and to retrieve the armor of our

 fallen. We need not fear another attack today," said Theido. "Then

 let us go back to camp and hold council. I would hear what Myrmior has

 to say about what has happened here today. He may have much to tell

 us."

 THIRTY-TWO

 UNDER THEIR banners of blue and gold and scarlet in the council ring,

 the lords ofMensandor sat in their high-backed chairs. Eskevar glared

 down from his throne upon the dais, his fhm, knotted hands clutching

 the armrests like claws.

 "The foe does grow each day stronger. How long will you wait, my

 lords? How long? Until your castles are burning? Until the blood of

 your women and children run red upon the earth?

  

 "And to what purpose? Do you think that by hiding within your gates

 you may save your precious gold? I say that you will nod The enemy

 comes! He is drawing closer. The time to move is now!"

 The Dragon King's words rang with surprising force and vigor, 'coming

 as they did from a man who appeared only half of what he had been, so

 wasted was he by his illness. The gathered lords, now all accounted

 for aside from Wertwin who had made his decision and was with Theido

 and Ronsard sat in silence. No one wished to be the first to go

 against the King.

 "Do you doubt the need?" asked Eskevar in a softer tone. "I will tell

 you bow I perceive the need: I have sent my personal bodyguard, my

 three hundred, to stand against the NingaaL Lord Theido and the Lord

 High Marshall Ronsard lead them, and they are Joined by Lord Wertwin

 and his standing army of a hundred.

 "These are gallant men and brave; but they are not enough. We must

 send tenfold knights and men-at-arms to stand with them if the Ningaal

 are to be crushed and banished from our shores."

 Lord Ameronis, in a voice of calm reason, said, "That is precisely the

 point we would question further. Sire. This enemy ,..

 this Nin, whoever he is ... we know not of him. How do we know that he

 is so strong and his numbers so great? It would seem to me that we

 would be more than prudent to send a scouting force to ascertain these

 and other details before embarking upon all-out war with an imagined

 enemy of unknown strength."

 "How well you speak, Ameronis. I would imagine, as you have had ample

 time to compose your thoughts, that you are quite settled in your mind

 as to how you will go." The King paused to let his sarcasm bit its

 mark.

 "Lord Ameronis opposed the call to arms'" shouted Eskevar suddenly.

 "Who else will defy his King?"

 Eskevar's sudden unmasking of Ameronis' subtle opposition shocked the

 assembly, and in that moment several of the lords who had agreed to

 join a coalition of nobles against raising and funding an army now

 wavered in their opinion. It was a dangerous thing to defy a king

 outright, especially one as powerful as Eskevar. It might not be worth

 the gold they would save in the end.

 But Ameronis recovered neatly. "You misunderstand me. Sire. I do not

 oppose action where it is plainly necessary. When the time comes to

 stand on the battle line. I will be at the head of my knights and at

 your side."

 Lord LupoUen, Ameronis* neighbor and friend, his closest ally in the

 council, spoke next. "If this enemy is as great as you say, Sire would

 we not have heard of him before now? That is the puzzling thing."

 There was a murmur of assent at this question. Eskevar looked sharply

 at LupoUen and said, "You also I know, my lord. That your King has

 sent his own knights into battle should be proof enough for anyone

 loyal to the crown that the need exists. Why do you doubt your

 King?"

 Eskevar stood in the silence that followed his remarks. He looked at

 each one of his lords in turn, as if he would remember the exact set of

 each chin and the expression upon each face.

 "I have said all I can, lords ofMensandor. And I have allowed Others

 to speak where I thought most advantageous." He was peaking of Esme

 who had again pled her request for help before

 / 559 /

 the council earlier that day. "I have nothing more to say. It is up

 to you. IfMensandor is to survive, we must not tarry."

 He stepped down from the dais and moved out into the circle of the

 council chairs. He spread out his hands imploringly hardly a

 characteristic gesture for the Dragon King, and it was not without

 effect.

 "I leave it in your hands. Do not wait too long."

 He left the Council of War deep in hushed silence. No one dared to

 speak until he was far away from the room, and then the arduous debate

 began: Ameronis and LupoUen and their friends in opposition; Benniot,

 Fincher and several others just as strongly in favor of supporting the

 King's call to arms.

 The argument was bitter, loud and long, lasting the length of the day.

 Eskevar returned to his apartments in the castle to brood darkly upon

 the stubborn blindness of his independent, self sufficient lords.

 With every league the foothills of the FiskUls marched closer, changing

 in color from misty violet to blue above the mottled green of the

 forested hills. The party had set out due east cross-country toward

 the lofty heart of the rugged mountain range. In this part of

 Mensandor the Fiskills seemed to rise sharply out of rolling hills

 gently sloping upwards to their very feet. They were a wall, as

 Celbercor had intended them, a soaring fortress against all save the

 most foolish and determined. It was this fortress Quentin, Toll and

 Durwin dared to assail.

 Each day the land rose higher. Quentin fancied he could feel the wind

 freshen and the cool air of the mountain heights waft down to breathe

 upon them in unexpected moments. In the happy countryside with its

 small, well-groomed villages, it became increasingly harder to believe

 the ominous events that had loomed so large when in Askelon. Even his

 own experiences in the camp of the Ningaal seemed as if they had

 happened to someone else and Quentin had merely heard about it. If not

 for his injured arm dangling from the sling, Quentin would scarcely

 have believed the talc.

 Only at night did the sharp reminder prick him; it came in the

 form of the star, growing slightly larger night by night. It now

 seemed to outshine every other star in its quadrant. Hard and bright,

 it sent a corona of milky rays outward from its hot, white core.

 Everyone must see it now, thought Quentin, laying rolled in his cloak

 at night. Everyone must surely feel the evil it portends.

 But by morning's light the Wolf Star faded, as did all the other lesser

 lights of heaven. The spell of the glowing star was broken by the

 coming of dawn.

 "How far before we come to Inchkeith's abode?" asked Quentin as they

 made ready early one morning to get underway.

 "With luck," answered Durwin, "we will sleep in featherbeds tonight."

 "Are we so close, then?" Quentin had no idea where the home of the

 legendary arms maker might be. But the rocky highlands they were now

 traversing did not strike him as the sort of place a master armorer

 would be found.

 Durwin walked up the slope of a little hill where they had camped.

 Quentin followed, squinting as he moved out into the tight of a crimson

 sunrise.

 "Do you see that ridge of bare rock beyond the near valley?" Quentin

 nodded. The ridge was a ragged gray wall which cast a black shadow

 across the green blanket of the pine-covered valley.

 "He lives beyond the ridge?"

 "Not beyond it within it!" laughed Durwin. "Or very nearly, as you

 shall see. Inchkeith is a strange man; he has many strange ways. But

 he is the man for us."

 "You know him, Durwin? You have never mentioned him in my hearing

 until most recently." Quentin regarded his hermit friend with

 something approaching suspicion. Not that there was anything at all

 unlikely with Durwin's being acquainted with such a man.

 "There is much I do not mention in your hearing, my young man. Only

 half of what I know will fit in my head at any one time!"

 He winked and laughed, his voice booming in the clear morning. Toll

 whistled from below. When they joined him, all was ready, "If we are

 to sleep on feathers tonight instead of pine needles,

 we had better away. See how long the shadows grow already

 I 561 I

 Toll's dark eyes flashed with good humor. He was once more in his

 native element. Every day he seemed to slip more and more into the

 quiet enigma he had been when Quentin first met him years before. Give

 him back his deerskins and bone knife^ thought Quentin, and he would be

 once more the Jher prince.

 "You would prefer pine needles, I would wager, Toli. But lead on! The

 day, as you say, is speeding from us!" Quentin, with difficulty but

 unaided, swung himself up into Blazer's saddle and turned his face to

 the warmth of the rising sun.

 Toward midday towering banks of clouds sweeping down from the north in

 a long line, gray as smoke beneath and white as new-bleached wool

 above, rolled high above them. The churning mass swelled and billowed,

 spreading a great flat anvil at its soaring crest as the fierce upper

 winds took the bank and flattened it.

 "There will be rain soon," said Toll.

 "Do you think it will hold off until we have reached our

 destination?"

 "Possibly," replied Toli, squinting his eyes into the sky. "But the

 air is already growing cooler. Thunder whispers on the wind. The rain

 may hold and it may not."

 Quentin could hear no thunder, but since Toli had mentioned it he did

 seem to notice that the feathery breeze lifting the leaves in the trees

 around them now bore a cooler touch.

 "Then let us not tempt it further by stopping to wag the chin!" cried

 Durwin. "Let us ride dry while we still may. A hot supper will make

 up for a meal missed on the trail."

 "I am for it!" called Quentin as he spurred Blazer ahead. "Let's

 away!"

 Durwin urged his brown palfrey forward, followed by Toli with the two

 pack horses, Quentin brought up the rear and kept a wary eye on the

 gathering clouds overhead. They had made good time that morning,

 stopping only to refresh the water in their skins at a rushing brook in

 the heart of the valley. Every time Quentin chanced to look up, the

 great gray wall of rock, glimpsed as. a looming rampart between the

 shaggy branches of pine, seemed to have advanced dramatically closer.

 Presently Quentin heard the splash of a nearby stream as it tumbled

 over rock. The party left the sheltering pines and came to a wild and

 rocky channel carved out by a shallow river which bounced and frothed

 over black stones, round as loaves of bread. The tumbling water, for

 all its activity, rose barely to the horses' fetlocks, but it was as

 broad as a ward yard. Durwin struck along the loamy bank and turned

 upstream parallel to the face of the ridge.

 Standing pools of water along the bank mirrored the bulging blue-black

 clouds overhead. The wind had freshened, and Quentin could smell the

 musty earth scent of rain.

 The stream angled around a sweeping bend lined with tall, finger-thin,

 long-needled pines that whispered in the rising wind. "The rain is on

 the wayl" shouted Durwin.

 "Our destination is not too much further, I hope," called Quentin as he

 came abreast. "Perhaps we should find a shelter and wait until the

 first downpour has passed."

 "If I remember correctly, we have not far to travel. Look ahead." The

 hermit pointed to the gray cliffs directly before them once more, "See

 where the water emerges from the base of the ridge wall? It is just

 ahead."

 "It appears a seamless wall," said Quentin.

  

 "You will see. You will see."

 "Unless we hurry, Inchkeith the armorer will greet three very soggy

 travelers," remarked Toli. As he spoke, the first fat drops of rain

 began plunking into the pools around them and plopping onto the trail,

 where they raised tiny puffs of dust.

 They spurred their mounts ahead with renewed vigor as the ripe droplets

 splattered around them and made dark splotches upon their clothing.

 As they came nearer the place Durwin had pointed out, Quentin could see

 a fold in the ridge wall he had not noticed before. Where the stream

 emerged, the left face of the cliff angled away sharply as the right

 face overlapped it. From a distance it gave the eye the impression of

 a continuous, un seamed wall. Closer, it began to open to them as they

 followed the river to the vast stony feet of the rock face.

 / 56.3 /

 The ground rose slightly as it met the ridge, pine trees grew right up

 to the very face of the gray wall. The horses hooves clattered over a

 stone embankment, and then they were through the cliff and gazing on a

 breathtaking sight. Despite the raindrops pelting down around them,

 Quentin stopped to marvel at the vision before him. A vast rolling

 meadow of rich mountain green spread out on either side of the stream,

 here narrower and more deep. Enclosing the meadow and towering above

 it on all sides rose smooth, flat walls of stone, now blue under the

 black sky. At the far end of the meadow, which Quentin adjudged to be

 fully a league wide and half a league long, stood an enormous house of

 white stone, glimmering like the white sails of a ship on an emerald

 sea. "That is Inchkeith's home," said Durwin, "and we are just in

 K^time."

 ^ A clap of thunder rolled across the ridge to echo its booming voice

 throughout the meadow. The long grass began to dip and rise like the

 waves of Gerfallon in the fitful wind.

 They galloped out into the wonderful meadow, the rain, sharper now,

 stinging their cheeks. Quentin felt a thrill of excitement as

 lightning tore the sky in a jagged flash. The resounding roar filled

 the blue canyon and rumbled out across the valley behind them.

 Inchkeith's house was as large as a small castle, an impression

 strengthened by the single stately tower which served as entrance and

 gatehouse before a generous, stone-paved courtyard. Several smaller

 structures clustered close about the maip house; these were also of the

 same white stone. The stream, running deep and quiet in its course

 through the meadow, formed a graceful waterfall as it spilled out over

 the sheer rock face behind the master armorer's manor. At the further

 end, where the water ran down into the meadow, a large wheel turned

 slowly in the swift current.

 There was no one to be seen as the travelers pounded to a halt before

 the tower, A portcullis of finely wrought iron barred their way into

 the courtyard beyond.

 "He keeps no gate man observed Durwin, "because he expects no travelers

 and has but few guests."

 The hermit slid down off his palfrey and strode to the archway.

 In a nook in the stone hung a knotted rope. Durwin grasped the rope

 and pulled twice very quickly. A bell pealed in the courtyard.

 "That should bring someone running," said Durwin. The rain was falling

 harder; in a few moments they would be soaked to the skin. Out across

 the meadow, back the way they had come, great white sheets of

 shimmering rain were wavering toward them, driven like sails before the

 wind. Water was pooling up around the horses' feet and streaming down

 the walls of the manor.

 "Who seeks admittance to my master's house?" Quentin had not seen the

 slight young man dart out of a doorway across the courtyard. He held

 his cloak over his head and peered at them through the iron grillwork

 of the portcullis.

 "Tell your master that Durwin the Holy Hermit ofPelgrin and his friends

 Quentin and Toli are here to see him on King's business. Tell him we

 respectfully request the hospitality due travelers. And you had better

 tell him quickly, or we will be in a most unhappy disposition." He

 wiped away the trickle of water sliding down the side of his nose.

 The young man seemed to weigh a decision carefully. "You do not seem

 disposed to be unruly. Come in out of the rain while I fetch word to

 the master." He disappeared into a recess beside the portcullis and

 instantly the heavy iron gate began to lift, smoothly and without so

 much as a squeak or a creak. It was obviously made with the utmost

 skill.

 The damp travelers hurriedly stepped under the arch of the gatehouse to

 wait until the young servant returned. Quentin and Toll dismounted and

 stood dripping in the dark tunnel of the archway.

 Quentin was struck by the spare simplicity of all he saw around him.

 Not a post nor portal possessed an inch of ornamentation. Around the

 perimeter of the courtyard not an item was out of place, and the yard

 itself was spotless. The edifice of Inchkeith's manor house was all

 clean lines and square corners; clearly it had been erected with

 exacting care. Not a crack or crevice was to be seen anywhere.

 To Quentin's eye the effect was reminiscent of the architecture

 ofDekra, though not at all derivative of it. He was impressed with

 /5<S5/

 the clean appearance of all that met his eye; it spoke of a hand that

 left nothing undone, and a mind that saw to the smallest detail.

 He heard a shout and saw the young servant waving to them from inside

 the arched entrance to the manor hall. They dashed across the corner

 of the courtyard and Joined him under the sheltering portico. "Come

 along with me. Take no heed for your horses; I will send someone to

 care for them and bed them. My master asks that you join him at table

 in the great hall if you are so inclined

 "Indeed we are!" Quentin fairly shouted. He was hungry, cold and wet.

 A hot meal seemed like the most wonderful thing he could have dreamed

 at the moment. "Lead on!"

 The skinny, long-boned young man led them along the short passage to

 the hall's entrance, pushed open the iron-bound wooden door and ushered

 them in. The hall was ample and gracious, but marked with the same

 unadorned, almost severe style as the exterior. Quentin gazed around

 in admiration. Several servants were moving about in preparation for

 the meal. A single long table with bankers along either side

 overlooked a wide and generous hearth in which a well-made fire burned

 cheerily. It spoke of a well-drafted chimney, for there was, Quentin

 noted with pleasure, not a trace of soot on the walls or ceiling of the

 hall anywhere. Everything was as clean as if it had never been used,

 and yet it was warm and homey.

 The appearance of Lord (for so Quentin now considered him) Inchkeith's

 abode drew a picture in Quentin's mind of a stern and exacting

 personage of regal bearing, a man of quick temper and a will as strong

 as the iron gate at his door, a man of precise and flawless Judgment,

 one who would never suffer imperfection or blemish lightly. A man of

 power, strength and grace. A man of relentless, fervent perfection,

 obeyed by all around him with unspoken efficiency and unfailing

 courtesy.

 "Durwin! You old mumble beard a hearty voice boomed out behind them.

 "Welcome! Welcome, fair friends! Welcome to Whitehall!"

 Quentin turned, expecting to see the man of his imaginings. The

 picture so carefully drawn in his mind collapsed utterly as Quentin,

 with a rude shock, beheld the Lord of Whitehall.

 / 567 /

 "You SHOULD have allowed me to accompany you today said Myrmior. "I

 could have helped you against them."

 "No." Ronsard shook his head sternly. "You are too valuable an ally.

 You will help us more with your knowledge of the Ningaal ways thgn with

 your strong sword arm. If you had been killed today, as many good men

 were, we should have no one to guide us in preparing against them."

 "I submit to your will. Lord Ronsard. I will obey. But I wanted you

 to know that I was not afraid, and that when the time comes for me to

 lift blade against my former enslavers, I will do so with all

 courage."

 "We do not doubt your valor, brave Myrmior. You will ride with us in

 due time, no doubt. But Ronsard is right. You are worth more to us as

 a guide to the NingaaTs mind and heart, than as a sword wielder. You

 are unique; stout blades we have many'

 Lord Wertwin sat nearby and did not speak. His heart was heavy with

 the loss of many fine men that day, he had borne the brunt of the

 battle and was now bereft of almost half his company.

 After the daring rescue of Wertwin's troops by Theido and Ronsard's

 forces, they had all returned to make camp for the night upon the

 greensward. As they sat huddled in consultation, the ring of the

 hammer upon the anvil and the moans of the wounded could be heard

 throughout the camp as smith and surgeon saw to the repair of weapons

 and men. Sentinels had been posted and fires had been lit for the

 night's vigil. Theido, Ronsard, Myrmior and Wertwin turned once more

 to the brutal events of the day.

 "We cannot go up against them again as we did today," said Ronsard

 grimly. "They are too strong, and too well-disciplined

 "Disciplined!" snorted Myrmior. "They simply fear their warlord more

 than they fear you. You can only kill them, but he has power over

 their souk!"

 "Is he really so powerful? I have heard of such things in my time."

 said Theido.

 Myrmior shrugged. "Whether it is true or not, I do not know. But the

 Ningaal believe it, so it is for them and for you the same thing. They

 will fight to the death rather than surrender. And each foe they kill

 becomes a step on the long stairway of immortality, or so they

 believe."

 "Whatever gives them their ferocity, it is indomitable. I do not see

 how we can stand against such a foe. Though they are but lightly armed

 and our own men well-protected, they wear us down by sheer crush of

 their numbers. We have lost near seventy-five brave knights this

 day."

 "Do not forget that you have only seen but a fraction of the total.

 Three other warlords with their armies arc abroad. When they have

 joined together once more, nothing will stop them." As Myrmior uttered

 this gloomy pronouncement, Wertwin glared under his brows and cursed.

 "By Azrael! What would you have us do, you savage! Are we merely to

 fall upon our swords and be done with it? If you know so much, why do

 you not give us guidance? Instead you torment us with your lies."

 Myrmior suffered this outburst in silence. His countenance showed

 nothing but sympathy for the commander's plight. "I have said what I

 have said in order that you will not build any false hopes of standing

 against the Ningaal in battle," he said quietly. "They cannot be

 beaten in that manner. At least not with our numbers."

 He paused, and all was silent in the tent of the commanders. Outside

 the twilight deepened, the sky blue-black with the coming night. They

 could hear the clear ring of the hammer on steel and the crackle of a

 fire nearby. The shadows of men were flung against the walls of the

 tent, making it seem as if they were surrounded by the shades of their

 fallen comrades.

 "I have not been idle in my long captivity. I have seen much of the

 ways in which men make war. I have studied those who have fallen

 against the Ningaal and have observed the things which offer greatest

 hope of victory, though few enough they are."

 "Tell us, then," implored Ronsard, "what can we do?"

 "Remember, too, that we will have greater numbers before long. The

 council continues to meet and we may expect help soon, I think," said

 Theido hopefully.

 "That we must not count on," said Myrmior. "What I will propose now

 will serve us for the time we have to wait, little or long."

 "Well said. Begin then. We are ready to hear what you would

 suggest."

 "Are the soldiers of your country familiar with the bow and arrow?"

 asked Myrmior.

 "Why, of course!" laughed Ronsard. "It is a useful thing, but hardly

 a weapon to be relied upon in the field. It is highly inaccurate, and

 it has no chance against the steel of a knight's hard shell."

 "It is more suited for annoying forest creatures and for striking from

 a distance in seclusion. It is not a weapon for a knight." agreed

 Tbeido. "The bow cannot be managed from the saddle of a galloping

 horse."

 Wertwin only harumphed. "Bows and arrows! Umph!"

 "At least you have such weapons," said Myrmior quickly. "Do not

 condemn the plan before you have beard it fully.

 "I do not propose to take archers onto the field with us, but neither

 do I propose that we take the field again. I will speak most bluntly.

 You were lucky today; your gods smiled on you. In all the time I have

 been with Lord Gurd, he has shown pity to no one and has never left the

 field if there was the smallest chance of victory,

 "What he did today is rare, but not unheard of. He gave you a chance

 to regroup and ready yourselves for another battle, because more than

 battle itself he loves a skillful opponent. To him it is no sport to

 kill a weak and defenseless foe. That is mere slaughter, and there is

 little immortality to be gained from taking a weak life.

 "You stood against him, and he respected you for it. When you

 retreated he recognized a most resourceful foe, one whose death would

 bring him much blood honor He wanted you to regroup so that he could

 savor the satisfaction of your defeat.

 / 569 /

 "Like the vine master who carefully tastes the fruit of his vines, the

 warlord was testing you and found a match worthy of his an."

 "What does all this have to do with bow and arrow?" asked Wertwin

 sullenly. His heart was shrunken within him, and a black mood twisted

 his features.

 "They are the means by which we will snatch that savored victory from

 the warlord's foul maw."

 "Defeat him with children's toys? Ha!"

 "Hold, sir!" said Theido. "Let him speak! For I begin to see

 something of his meaning."

 Myrmior bowed to Theido. "You are most astute. Lord Theido. I

 propose that we do not take the field against the Ningaal at least not

 yet, not for a long while. Instead, we will harry them by night,

 raiding their camp and raining arrows upon them when they move to chase

 us.

 "If we refuse to meet them face to face, Gurd will burn with rage. If

 we are very fortunate, his rage will consume him."

 "Where is the honor in that?" Wertwin shouted. "To skulk around by

 night like lowborn thieves, shooting arrows at shadows. It is foolish

 and absurd, and I will have no part in it!"

 "This war will not be won on your honor. Your men died with honor

 today, and tonight they lie cold in their graves. How can that help

 you now? Hear me, my lords! Cling to your honor and you will lose

 your land."

 "Myrmior is right," said Ronsard slowly, glaring at Wertwin as he

 spoke. "There is no honor if our land is lost. Even if we die with

 valor, who will remember? Who will sing our praises in the halls of

 our fathers?

 "We will do well to look first to the cause at hand, and lastly to our

 good names. I would stay alive to see Mensandor freed of this menace

 however it may be done."

 "I agree," said Theido thoughtfully. "But I am troubled by one thing.

 What you suggest is well and good for meeting this warlord and his

 contingent. But what of the others? Do we allow his brothers to roam

 unchallenged through the countryside?" i Myrmior shook his head

 slowly. He rubbed his bristly chin with a sallow hand. "This is the

 most difficult pan of the plan, my lords. It would be well if your

 council would speedily send the troops we need, but as it is I can see

 nothing for it but to proceed against all the warlords as I have

 suggested one at a time. The plan will work, I think, as it does not

 require a great number of men to carry it out. But we will need

 archers."

 "Most of our knights are trained to the bow, though few will readily

 admit it. We can obtain, more archers if we send to Askelon which we

 must do to supply ourselves with the bows and arrows."

 "Then let it be done at once. In the meantime we will withdraw and

 stay just ahead of the Ningaal until we have weapons enough to begin

 our raids."

 "What? Are we to do nothing to impede the Ningaal? Are we to sit by

 and allow them to march free over our fields?"

 "They have been doing so for weeks now. Lord Wertwin," said Ronsard.

 "If we must bear it a little longer to secure our purpose, so be it. We

 will have to risk that much, at least. Besides," he added with a

 mischievous smile, "it may make them wonder what we are up to."

 "Yes," agreed Myrmior, "it will increase his wrath. What we attempt to

 do is to worry them so greatly as to make them angry enough to commit a

 foolish blunder, an error of strategy which we can seize and turn

 against them. And all the while we will wear away at their numbers bit

 by bit, like water dripping upon the stone, eroding it over time."

 Theido stood and stretched; it had been a long day. "Your plan is a

 good one, Myrmior. I will send a courier to Askelon at once. Tomorrow

 we will begin schooling our knights to this new way of fighting. I

 only hope we have enough time to make the change."

 "We will have to, regardless," replied Myrmior. "Believe me, brave

 sirs. There is no other way."

 Wertwin scowled at his comrades and growled as he stalked out of the

 tent.

 "Do not mind him overmuch," said Ronsard. "His heart will mend, and he

 will be staunchly with us soon enough." He, too, rose and stretched.

 "Thank you, Myrmior. You have given us wise and weB advised counsel

 this night. I dunk that, like Wertwin, I should not have believed you

 if I had not encountered the foe today and felt his cunning strength. I

 know now that you are right and, like Theido, I pray we are not too

 late."

 "It is no doubt that you were a faithful minister to your monarch,"

 Theido added. "He must have valued your services very highly, but no

 more than we do now. Before this is over we will have cause to reward

 your craft and loyalty as it deserves. Perhaps one day you may return

 as king to your own country."

 Myrmior turned large sad eyes toward them. "I can never go back. The

 land that I knew and loved is gone. Here I have chosen to make my

 stand, as I should have long ago in my own country. Then I was afraid,

 but no more. I have daily lived through death too horrible to tell,

 and it can never terrify me again."

 The three men stood looking at one another for a long moment. No one

 spoke. A warm bond of friendship went out from the two knights to the

 man from Khas-I-Quair. They put their hands on his shoulders.

 "Good night, brave sirs." Ronsard yawned and rubbed his eyes.

 "Tomorrow I take up once more the weapon of my youth. For that I will

 need my rest, I think."

 Theido and Myrmior laughed and vent out to find their own tents for the

 night.

 THIRTY-FOUR

 DUMB-STRICKEN, Quentin could but stare slack-jawed at their host. He

 had expected a warrior commander, or at very least a knight

 well-acquainted with battle and the needs of fighting men and their

 weapons. The person scuttling toward them across the expanse of the

 hall was quite the opposite of Quentin's mental image.

 Inchkeith, the legendary armorer, was a small man with a thin puckered

 face and sinews like ropes standing out in his neck as if to keep his

 palsied head from quivering off his thick shoulders. He was slight and

 bent at an unnatural angle; Quentin saw at once that this was because

 the master armorer's spine was curved grotesquely. He walked on

 spindly legs in a kind of rolling hop, and not at all in the slow and

 dignified tread of the man Quentin had imagined.

 But the man's hands were the hands of a master craftsman:

 broad, generous and deft. They were strong hands and sure of movement,

 graceful and never still for a moment. These remarkable hands were

 attached to powerful arms and well-muscled shoulders the shoulders of a

 young man. It appeared to Quentin that some cruel jest had been played

 upon the old man with the spindle legs. The brawny arms and chest of a

 plowman or a soldier had been placed upon the frail body of a deformed

 scullery servant.

 "It has been long since I have had the pleasure of your company,

 Durwin. But here you are, and I rejoice at the sight of you."

 Inchkeith spoke with a deep voice, contrasting strangely with his

 wizened appearance. In two bops he was in Durwin's arms, and the two

 men were embracing each other like brothers long lost.

 "It is good to see you again, Inchkeith. You have not changed a hair.

 I have brought some friends with me that I would have you meet."

 "So I seel So I see! Good sirs, you are welcome in Whitehall now and

 always. I hope you will feel free to stay as long as you like. We do

 not have many guests here, and your stay will be cause for celebration

 The master armorer made a ludicrous bow and winked at them. In spite

 of himself, Quentin laughed out loud.

 "Master Inchkeith, you do us honor. I am certain your hospitality is

 most gracious."

 "This is Quentin and his companion Toli," said Durwin.

 "Ah, Durwin, you travel in good company." Inchkeith rolled his eyes

 and held his hands up to his face in a show of respect.

 I S73 I

 "Both of you are well-known here. Your deeds are sung within these

 walls often, as are the great deeds of all brave warriors."

 Quentin blushed and bowed, acknowledging the compliment "The stories do

 not tell all. I did what any man would have done, and not at all

 bravely."

 "Yes, but it was you that did it and not another." Inchkeith jabbed

 the air with a forefinger. "That is all the difference!"

 At that moment a door was thrown open at one end of the hall, and a

 troop of young men came marching in as if they were soldiers drilling m

 step.

 "Come!" cried Inchkeith, hobbling away. "You must meet my sons. I

 know they will want to welcome you as well

 The travelers followed their host; Quentin and Toli, grinning with

 pleasure, were irresistibly drawn to this peculiar man so unlike the

 exact and scrupulous order around him.

 There were seven sons, all handsome young men and well-mannered. They

 did not speak, except when their father directed a question or

 indicated that a reply would be welcome. Quentin greeted each one in

 turn, as did Toli, and remarked that they were all like images one of

 another: soft brown hair and eyes, full lips and brown cheeks, high,

 strong foreheads. And they all possessed strong, straight limbs; none

 had inherited their father's deformity.

 "These are my army, my treasure, my pride," said their father, beaming

 down upon them as they sat along the bench with backs straight and

 hands folded in their laps.

 "And these are my gold and jewels!" Inchkeith turned and waved his

 hand and as if on signal a tall, handsome woman entered from the near

 side of the hall, followed by five beautiful young women. "My lady and

 my daughters."

 The young women tittered behind their hands as they approached, their

 plain muslin gowns swishing pleasantly as they moved together. But

 when each was introduced to Quentin she held out her hand like a

 highborn lady and curtsied. Although he felt foolish he kissed their

 hands, to the glowing approval of their mother. Toli felt obligated to

 follow his master's example.

 "You are most welcome in our borne, nay lords." said Inch keith's

 wife. "If you have need of anything, my household stands ready to

 serve you."

 "You are most kind ..."

 "I am Camilla," she said, holding her hand out to Quentin. He kissed

 it, and she curtsied- He noticed that the woman was years younger than

 her husband; he wondered if she had borne all of the offspring he saw

 gathered before him. It was possible they all had her dark coloring;

 but if so, she had retained a most youthful appearance.

 "Thank you for your kindness, my lady. I already feel welcome here,

 and we have but arrived."

 "Then let us not tarry another moment," said Inchkeith with delight,

 rubbing his hands together as if to warm them. "Be seated, good

 guests, and partake with us of our bread."

 Inchkeith took Durwin by the arm and drew him to the head of the table

 with him, leaving Toli and Quentin in the care of the young women. They

 settled together across the table from the young men and all at once

 they began talking, asking questions about what was going on at court,

 what the fashions were in Askelon, what news of the larger world did

 they bring.

 So inquisitive were they that Quentin could hardly keep up with their

 questions, many of which he had to confess ignorance to, realizing that

 be knew no more about some of their interests than did they themselves.

 Their questions spoke of a firm knowledge of the world and its ways,

 despite the seclusion in which they apparently lived. In all, Quentin

 barely snatched a mouthful of food under their excited interrogation.

 As the meal ended, he had formed the firm impression that this was by

 far the most remarkable family he had ever met.

 When all had taken their fill of meat and bread and broth and fruit,

 the sons of Inchkeith trooped off together, and the daughters, along

 with their mother, began helping the servants clear away the trenchers

 and serving vessels. Quentin and Toli moved to the head of the table

 where Inchkeith and Durwin sat talking. Inchkeith had taken out a long

 pipe and was lighting it.

 "Though I am grateful for the pleasure of your visit, I know f 575 I

 that you did not come just to see old Inchkeith. There is business to

 be done, aye?"

 "So it is," Durwin nodded. "We do have some business to discuss with

 you."

 The craftsman took a long pull on his pipe, his cheeks caving in

 completely. He blew them out again in a long, thin blast of smoke.

 **I like nothing better," he said. "But perhaps your business is not

 so urgent that it will not wait until I have shown you some of my

 latest works."

 "By all means," urged Quentin. "I would very much like to see some of

 your achievements."

 "You twist my arm, sir!" laughed Inchkeith, getting up from the table.

 "Follow me and you will see something to suit your fancy, I dare

 say."

 They left the gleaming hall by a side entrance and were at once in a

 low, dim room where rank on rank of polished armor stood emptily at

 attention, waiting for their knights to lend them life. It looked the

 very armory of a king, so many swords, bucklers, helms and breastplates

 did they see.

 Through this low-beamed room they came to another, smaller than the

 first and darker. It contained lances and spears of all sizes and

 description, and halberds without number. The long-shaft cd weapons

 were all bound together in neat piles like new-mown sheaves of grain,

 bundled and waiting to be thrashed. In the gloom Quentin could see the

 steel points of lance and spear, and the smooth sharp blades of the

 halberds glimmering as they passed.

 "Ah! Here we are. Watch your step. There. This is my only true home

 my workshop," shouted Inchkeith above a new din.

 For they had stepped down into a room warm with the fires of the forge

 and loud with the clangor of steel on steel. The room was easily as

 large as the great hall, if not larger, and it was filled with the

 bustle of industry as the sons of Inchkeith, and various servants, went

 about their work of forging steel and iron into weaponry. There were

 tables and odd-looking devices which defied adequate description all

 over the place, from one end of the oblong room to the other. At each

 table, and surrounded by curious trappings, a

 The Warlords of Nw man labored over his craft: here a blade being

 affixed to its hilt ami handle, there a wooden shield receiving its

 hide covering, and over across the way a truncated knight was acquiring

 his breastplate.

 Quentin was dazzled by the display, for it was totally unlike anything

 he had ever seen. Inchkeith led them through the maze, pausing at each

 table to impart some finer point of craft to the workman there. And

 wherever the eye chanced to wander, it glanced upon a shining example

 of the armorer's art. Quentin doubted whether in all the world there

 was anything to compare with Inchkeith's workshop.

 Quentin looked upon the table and saw, among an assortment of strange

 tools whose purposes he could but guess, a long broad sword, a mighty

 thing, fully a span in length. The hilt was jewel encrusted and gold,

 and the scabbard was silver engraved with scenes of the capture of a

 bear. It was every inch a work of excellence and skill.

 "Do you like it?" asked Inchkeith, following Quentin's gaze.

 "Like it? Sir, it is the most handsome of swords. A treasure."

 "Here. You may examine it more closely."

 With his left hand, and lamenting that he did not have the use Of his

 right, he drew the sword from its sheath and heard the cool whisper of

 the sliding steel.

 It was made to be used with two hands; yet it was not much heavier than

 its shorter cousin and was superbly balanced. Even with his left hand

 Quentin could feel the lift of the blade and the almost effortless way

 in which it followed the movement of the hand. Quentin passed the

 weapon to Toll, who made it sing through the air, he saw the light of

 admiration leap to the Jher's dark eyes.

 "The blade is of a special steel I have begun making. It will shear

 iron. This one" he spoke as if it were but one fish of a thousand in

 his net "I have made for King Selric ofDrin. It is all but finished."

 He carefully replaced the sword and turned to them with a twinkle in

 his eye. "Now I will show you my masterpiece."

 Inchkeith hobbled from his table to a low arched door set in a recess

 in the wall nearby. As he passed the end of the table he took up a

 lamp and lit it from a taper. After adjusting it, he proceeded to

 / 577 /

 heave aside the heavy bolt which secured the door. "This way," be

 said, and he disappeared inside the blackened doorway.

 The three followed their stooped guide into a small round chamber, and

 it was a moment before their eyes could adjust to the darkness and the

 dim lamplight. When Quentin raised his eyes a gasp escaped his lips.

 Before him stood the most handsome suit of armor he could have

 imagined, but that alone was not what took his breath away.

 Quentin saw before him the very armor he had seen in his vision.

 It was real. It existed and was flashing in the light of the lamp as

 if it were wrought from a single diamond. Polished smooth, bright as

 water, it shimmered before his dazzled, unbelieving eyes. Without

 heeding the others, Quentin moved toward the place where it stood on

 its stanchion, as if the object had beckoned him closer.

 The armor, pale and shimmering silver in the lamplight, was without

 ornament or device of any kind. All its surfaces gleamed like

 gemstone, flat and clean, reflecting a luminous radiance.

 The helm was magnificent, having a simple slotted visor and a crest

 which was nothing more than a thin ridge from brow to crown. And,

 quite unaccountably, from the shoulders hung a cloak of the most

 exquisite chain mail Quentin had ever seen. He could not resist

 touching it. He reached out a tentative fingertip and the mail rippled

 like liquid silver, sparkling and dancing in the flickering light. The

 tiny, individual rings sighed like the fall of snow upon frozen ground

 as they quivered beneath his touch.

 "It is as light as goose down said a voice close to his ear. Inchkeith

 was standing at his shoulder, his face lit with pleasure at Quentin's

 unutterable amazement.

 "Who is it for?" Quentin managed to croak out with effort.

 "Ah, there is the wonder of it!" The craftsman's voice was but a sigh.

 "No one at least not yet. I fashioned it after a design that came to.

 me in a dream, I saw it and knew I must make it. I believe the owner

 will come to claim it one day. Until then..." His voice trailed

 off.

 "I notice that it docs not have a sword," Quentin remarked suddenly.

 "Why not?"

 Inchkeith the master armorer cocked his head to one side and frowned.

 "You have touched it there, my lord. I saw no sword in my dream and so

 made none."

 "Then come, Master Inchkeith," said Durwin. "It is time we talked."

 THIRTY-FIVE

 ESKEVAR PACED his inner chamber with long, impatient strides. He held

 his hands clasped behind his back and cast his eyes to the floor. "The

 fools! The fools!"  he said under his breath. "They will bring the

 kingdom down."

 He had been two days in his tower pacing, worrying. He had eaten and

 slept but little and his features, now more lined and tightly drawn

 than ever, bore the effect of his distress. Often he had occasion to

 anguish over the stubbornness of his nobles, but now he saw clearly

 that the fate of the nation lay in their hands and they seemed

 oblivious to the threat.

 Once and again he lamented the power, or lack of it, that stayed his

 hand from more drastic action. In days of old he would have ordered

 his lords into battle with but a wave of his hand; they would have had

 to obey or lose their lands and privilege. In days older still, in the

 time of the first Dragon King, the kingdom was ruled by the will of the

 all-powerful monarch, then there had been no lords to question the

 command of the King.

 Ah, but before that had been the time of the northern kings, when each

 man, by the point of his sword, could become king in his own eyes, and

 the realm was divided into tiny territories of scratching, biting,

 self-important despots who swaggered about their principalities

 spoiling for a fight and a chance to increase their holdings through

 the overthrow of a neighboring monarch.

 / S79 /

 Then the kings of the north had united and formed an alliance and had

 established order throughout much of the realm, for they all acted in

 harmony and for the best interest of the realm and no one dared to

 oppose them, for to deny one was to deny all, to bring war on one was

 to declare war on all. The petty kings of the south could not stand

 against them. Eventually, over many long years, the power had become

 consolidated in the north, and there it had stayed.

 Eskevar turned these things over in his mind as he paced the length of

 his chamber or sat brooding in his great carven chair. He paused

 before his window, shutters thrown wide to the glorious summer day. He

 sighed, gazing out across the familiar landscape of green rolling bills

 and the darker blue-green of forest. He saw the slow curve of the

 Herwydd flowing in a lazy silver arc away to the south, moving in its

 own unhurried time toward its own unchanging destination.

 "The cares of kings and kingdoms are nothing to you, great river.

 Perhaps they are nothing at all."

 The messenger who knocked and entered the room behind him found him

 still standing at the window, staring far away. "Your Majesty, there

 are lords without who wish to speak with you."

 Eskevar seemed not to hear, so the page repeated his message. When at

 last the King turned to the perplexed youngster, his weary face bore a

 sad smile. "Allow them to enter my outer apartment. I will attend

 directly."

 They have arrived at a decision, Eskevar thought. What will it

 Outside the rain fell steadily, the sound of its splattering in the

 courtyard was punctuated by the rumble of thunder marching across the

 heavens to do battle with the mountain peaks. Quentin imagined that

 the mountains were giants and the thunder the voice that they raised to

 him. They were calling him, taunting him to come and take from them

 their secret if he dared.

 It had been a long time since anyone had spoken. Toli was curled up

 like a cat in a huge covered chair by the hearth. Durwin sat with

 hands folded across his stomach, head down. Quentin himself sat

 slumped in his chair with his chin in his palm. Only Incbkeith still

 seemed alert and active. He hunched forward with his hands clutching

 his long pipe, puffing a cloud of smoke around his head and glancing

 periodically at his guests.

 "I will do it!" he said at last, leaping up. "By the gods' beards, I

 will do it!"

 The suddenness of the outburst startled Quentin and brought Durwin's

 head up with a snap.

 "What?" Durwin shook his gray head. "Oh, Inchkeith, you startled me.

 I must have dozed off a little. It has been a long day. Forgive

 me."

 **I have thought the matter out most carefully, be assured of that,"

 said the master armorer. "I will go with you to seek the lanthanil,

 and I will make the sword. How can I refuse, eh?" The misshapen

 craftsman smiled, and Quentin saw the relentless energy of the man

 burst from that smile.

 "It is the opportunity of a lifetime of many lifetimes. If you are

 right and the mines can be found, I would pay any sum to work the

 lanthanil. You offer me the craftsman's greatest dream. Yes, by all

 the gods that may be, I will do it."

 "I knew we could count on you, Inchkeitb. We will find the mines, I am

 certain. The prophecy is being fulfilled." Durwin waved his hand

 toward Quentin.

 "I care not for prophecy, nor whether Quentin here is this Priest King

 you speak of. But I care that our realm is set upon by barbarians. By

 Orphe! that I do. And if this sword that I shall make can strike a

 blow against them, if it can turn the battle, then I will make a sword

 such as man has never seen. I will make the Zbaligkeer!"

 Quentin listened to the two talking and said nothing. All evening he

 had listened, saying little. His restive mood was on him again, and

 this time he perceived its cause: his arm.

 Durwin seemed to forget that Quentin, the one designated to play the

 most important part in raising the sword against the enemy, had a

 broken arm, and maybe worse. Secretly, Quentin suspected that it was

 worse, that his injured arm was more severely

 / 581 I

 damaged than the broken bone. It had been a long time since he had

 felt any sensation in the arm at all; it seemed numb, dead.

 He did not speak of his suspicion to anyone. Not even Durwin, on the

 night when his arm was reset and bound properly, knew that he had felt

 nothing at all, for he had grimaced and moaned mostly out of nervous

 fear as if it had hurt him a great deal. There was something seriously

 wrong with his arm, he was forced to face it now when all the talk of

 swords and prophecy filled the night.

 As he mulled this unhappy fact over in his head, the thought occured to

 him that perhaps he was not the one after all not the mighty Priest

 King foretold in the legends. Perhaps the Most High had never intended

 for him to be the one; it was to be some other as yet unknown.

 Unexpectly the thought sent a wave of relief through Quentin's frame.

 Yes, of course, that was it. One could not very well wield the fabled

 sword without an arm to do so. The prophecy, if it were to remain

 true, pointed to another. Perhaps Eskevar was the one favored by the

 prophecy he was King, after all. The old oracle's prophecy had said

 that a king must wield the sword. That settled it.

 When at last they arose to take themselves off to their beds, Durwin

 came near to Quemin and said, "You were very quiet this night, my young

 man. Why?"

 "Do we not have enough to trouble us, Durwin?"

 "Aye, more than enough. But I perceived this to be a vexation of a

 different sort." Incbkeith approached them now with a light burning

 brightly in a finely-made lamp. Durwin accepted it and said, "We will

 find our own way, good sir. Thank you. You need have no further

 trouble on our account."

 "The trouble, sir, is just beginning!" Inchkeith laughed. "But I have

 chosen long ago on whose side I will stand. Get your rest, gentlemen.

 I will be ready to join you on your journey in the mo ming

 "So it is. We will leave as soon as may be. But not until after we

 have dined once more at your excellent table."

 "It is a welcome change from Toll's seeds and berries," joked Quentin.

 "But we will not wish to linger overlong."

 The Warlords of Nix

 "Strange, I have never known you to refuse a mouthful," quipped Toll,

 who had awakened and now came to stand with them. "The rain will stop

 before morning, but the stream will rise through the night. I shall go

 out at daybreak to see if it be passable."

 "No need, sir. By morning the flood will have eased. It always docs.

 Have no fear. We will start our journey dry tomorrow, at least. And

 do not trouble about your horses. I will have all in readiness

 tomorrow. My sons will see to it. Now good night."

 Inchkeith, taking up the candle on the table, hobbled across the

 darkened hall, the sphere of light going before him like a guiding

 star.

 "A most extraordinary man," said Durwin.

 "Most extraordinary," agreed Quentin. And they all shuffled off to

 their beds where they were enchanted into sleep by the distant sound of

 rain on the stones of Whitehall.

 THIRTY-SIX

 THE MASSIVE palace ship ofNin the Destroyer, Immortal Deity, Supreme

 Emperor, Conqueror of Continents, King of Kings, rocked in the gentle

 swell. The waves rose and fell like the rhythmic breathing of an

 enormous sea beast. They slapped against the broad beams of the palace

 ship's sides and made soft gurgling noises along the mighty keel.

 The ship was square-hulled with three towering masts and two great

 rudders amidships. It was truly a seagoing palace, outfitted with

 costly timbers and exotic trappings from the various countries Nin had

 subdued. The decks were of teak and rosewood from the Hapbasian

 Islands. Brass fittings, which gleamed like red gold from

 / 553 /

 every corner, came from Deluria and the Beldenlands of me east. Silks

 and shimmering samite fluttered from delicate screens on deck and in

 the honeycombed quarters below; these had come from Pelagia. Thick

 braided rope and the vast blue sails were made in Katah out of

 materials procured in Khas-I-Quair.

 The ship itself had been built in the shipyards of Tarkus under the

 direction of master Syphrian shipbuilders. Its makers had anticipated

 every necessity, foreseen all desires of the ship's chief inhabitant

 and had accommodated them in ingenious ways. Nin lacked nothing aboard

 his ship that would satisfy his many voracious appetites.

 The ship rode low in the water. The slightest swell could rock it

 gently, but a raging tempest could not overturn it. And if it moved

 slowly and ponderously, like its master, what of that? Time meant

 nothing to the Immortal Nin.

 The Emperor of Emperors lay stretched upon a bed of silk cushions

 listening to the even breathing of the sea, rocking with the slight

 roll of the deck. His immense bulk heaved and swayed dangerously, now

 tossed one way, now the next. The motion was making him feel ill and

 irritated. With each movement of the ship his huge, oxiike head lolled

 listlessly, dull eyes staring outward in mounting misery.

 Nin, with a supreme effort of will, prodded himself up on one elbow and

 grasped a mallet which hung on a golden thong near his head. With a

 backward flip of his wrist the mallet crashed into a gong of hammered

 bronze. As the reverberating summons filled the room, he collapsed

 back onto the pillows with a moan, dragging one huge paw across his

 forehead in a gesture of enormous suffering.

 In a moment a timid voice could be heard, muffled as it was by its

 owner's supine posture, saying, "You have summoned me, 0 Mighty One?

 What is your command?"

 Nin, with an effort, turned his head to regard the pathetic form of his

 minister. "Uzia, you lowest of dogs! What kept you? I have been

 waiting for hours. I shall have you flayed alive to teach you haste."

 The large eyes closed sleepily.

 "May I say. Your Omnipotence, that I regret my lardincss and the

 blindness which prevented me from anticipating your sum-,

 mom. Still, I was but two steps away and now am here to do your

 bidding

 "Arrogant swine!" roared Nin, coming to life. "I should have you lick

 the decks clean with your festering tongue for presuming to address me

 so

 "As you wish. Most Generous Master. I will obey." Uzia made a move

 as if to leave and begin scouring the decks of the palace ship.

 "I will tell you when to go and when to come. Did I not summon you?

 Hear me."

 "Yes, Immortal One.** Uzla*s voice trembled appropriately.

 "Has there been no word from my warlords?"

 "I regret to inform Your Highness that there has been no such word. But

 as you yourself probably know there is perhaps a message on the way

 even now."

 "Nin does not wait for messages. Nin knows all! You fool!"

 "It is my curse. Great One. You would do me kindness to have my

 tongue torn out

 Nin rolled himself up on his elbow once more and teetered there like a

 mountain ready to topple at the slightest touch. "Shall I send for

 your chair-bearers. Supreme Conqueror? They shall hoist you to your

 feet."

 "I grow weary of waiting, Uzla." The sleepy eyes narrowed slyly. "I

 do not wish to remain here anymore

 "Perhaps you desire to be somewhere else. Master of Time and Space.

 Shall I make your desires known to your commander?1*

 "I have been patient with this desolate country long enough. The

 conquest is taking far too long." One pudgy hand rubbed a sleek jowl

 with impatience. "We will go up the coast to the north to make ready

 to enter Askelon, my new city. I have spoken. Hear and obey

 "It shall be done. Master. I will tell the commander to set sail at

 once."

 "I feel like a common thief," growled Lord Wertwin under his breath. "I

 would much rather lead the mounted assault of the camp."

 "We have been all through that, my lord Theido explained

 / 585 f patiently. "Ronsard is better suited than either of us for

 such daty. He has experience in the Goliah wars to aid him."

 **/ was in the Goliah wars, too," whined Wertwin.

 "Yes, of course. However, before this night is through, and before our

 campaign is ended, we will both be thankful for Ronsard's bold blade. I

 will tell you plainly that I would not welcome a ride into the camp of

 the Ningaal."

 "Hmph!" Wertwin snorted. He trudged off to his appointed station with

 his men, now armed with longbows and arrows and hidden in a brushy

 hollow.

 The army of the Dragon King, such as it was, had been training with

 their new weapons and reclaiming rusty skills. They were now ready to

 try them in combat with the Ningaal and had, with extreme care and

 cunning, moved to within a stones throw from the camp of their enemy.

 The archers lay hidden behind trees and bushes, in hollows of furze and

 within gorse hedges. Despite the grumbling which had accompanied the

 announcement of the proposed change in tactics, there was a tingling of

 excitement in the air as the men readied themselves for the ambush.

 "Theido, are your archers in place?" asked Ronsard, bending to whisper

 from his saddle. It was very late, the moon was low in the Western

 sky, slightly above the horizon. The knight's face shone faintly, but

 his features were barely discernible.

 "They are." The two men looked at one another briefly. Theido reached

 a hand out and gripped his friend by the arm. "Take no undue risks.

 This business is risky enough

 "Do not worry. Surprise is on our side this once, at least

 "The Most High God goes with you, my friend."

 Ronsard cocked his head slightly. "Do you suppose be cares about such

 things as this

 "Yes, I believe he does. Why do you ask?"

 "Well, I have never prayed to a god before a battle. I did not

 consider it meet to invoke the aid of heavenly powers in earthly

 strife. It is man's fight and should be settled by man's own hands."

 "The Most High is concerned with the well-being of his servants. By

 his hand alone are we upheld in all we do."

 Ronsard straightened in the saddle, pulled the reins back and wheeled

 his steed around. "I have much to learn about this new god, Theido. I

 hope that I may have time to learn it!"

 The knight returned to the place where his men were waiting, already

 mounted and eager to be about their task. He glanced around at all of

 them, checking each one for readiness. In order to move more quickly

 in the saddle and more nimbly, Ronsard had required his raiders to don

 only hauberk and breastplate, leaving the rest of their armor behind.

 They each carried their long swords and a small tear-shaped buckler

 upon their forearms.

 Ronsard nodded, completing his inspection. "For honor! For glory! For

 Mensandor!"

 With that he turned and led his men into the wooded grove wherein the

 Ningaal lay encamped.

 Theido saw his friend disappear into the darkened wood, he thought he

 saw his right hand raised in salute. The fifteen horses and men,

 Ronsard's bravest, slipped into the darkness. Theido offered a prayer

 for them as they passed, and then he took his place, sword in hand.

 He waited. The night seemed to grow suddenly still. Yet, he could

 hear nothing, save the night wind sighing in the trees and a nighthawk

 keening as it soared among the scattered clouds.

 And then it came: a startled shout, cut off short. And then more

 shouts interspersed with the cold ring of steel on steel. Then the

 sounds became confused horses whinnying and men giving voice to their

 battle cries. In a moment he heard the sound of horses crashing back

 through the wood, much more loudly than they had gone in.

 "Here they come!" shouted Theido to his archers. He raised his sword

 high above his head. In two heartbeats a charger came pounding out of

 the darkness, its rider low in the saddle. The rider did not stop when

 he reached the ranks of hidden archers, but continued on down the

 dale.

 "Draw your bows!" Theido shouted. Instantly there came a whisper of

 arrow shafts against the bow. More knights were now thundering out of

 the wood, and there was the unmistakable clamor of pursuit.

 / 587 I

 "Hold steady!" cried Theido as the last knight dashed by him but a

 pace from where he crouched in waiting. He bit his lip he had not seen

 Ronsard emerge from the wood.

 They waited, bowstrings taut.

 Then suddenly the knight appeared at the opening in the wood where he

 had entered only moments before. He paused and waved his sword. The

 shouts of his pursuers now filled the wood and echoed in the dell

 beyond. Theido coujd see torches, blinking as they waved through the

 wood. "Get on! Get away!" muttered Theido under his breath. Ronsard

 spun and galloped into the clearing and away down the dell as the first

 of the Ningaat came running out behind him.

 "Let fly!" shouted Theido, and instantly the night was filled with

 dark missiles.

 The first rank of Ningaal stumbled forward and dropped to the ground

 without a sound. Their comrades boiled out of the wood behind them and

 hesitated, uncertain what had become of those just ahead. In that

 moment's pause death fell upon them as arrow after arrow streaked to

 its mark.

 The enemy was thrown into confusion and dropped back into the cover of

 the dark wood with shouts of terror and cursing. But as the first

 force was joined by others from the camp, Theido thought he beard the

 coarse, authoritative shouts of the warlord himself. Almost at once

 the Ningaal broke from the forest, but this time they crouched low to

 the ground and held their round shields before them, making very

 difficult targets for Tbeido's archers.

 "Get ready, men!" ordered Theido. The Ningaal were now moving more

 quickly over the ground between them. "Let fly!"  shouted Theido, and

 his words were answered by the rattling scrape of arrow points upon the

 Ningaal shields. But some of the arrows found a home, and cries of

 shock and outrage stabbed the night as the shafts bit deep.

 "Retreat!" cried Theido a moment later. He had seen the warlord upon

 his horse jump into the clearing surrounded by his bodyguard.

 The knight and his archers did not wait to welcome the newcomers with

 feathers. Instead they jumped up and ran yelling into the dell, just

 as Ronsard and his knights had done. A mighty shout arose from the

 throats of the Ningaal who now believed that they had the King's army

 on the run. They bolted after the fleeing archers, trod ding over the

 bodies of their comrades.

 Theido led his men down the slope and into the dell, across the small

 brook at its bottom, and up the other side to disappear just over the

 crest of the hill beyond. The triumphant Ningaal, bellowing praises to

 their destroyer god, dashed after them, heedless of the darkness that

 lay upon the land. They rushed headlong, recklessly into the valley.

 As soon as Theido and his men vanished over the hill, the first Ningaal

 were fording the stream with shouts and curses of anger. Hundreds more

 of the dark enemy were pounding out of the wood after them to gather in

 the dell, stopped momentarily by the obstacle of the brook. And once

 more, in that moment whistling death streaked out of the skies as Lord

 Wertwin's archers, hidden all along the sides of the narrow valley,

 loosed their sting upon them. The Ningaal shrieked in pain and horror,

 as terrified beasts mortally wounded by an unseen assailant.

 Arrows hailed down upon them from every side. Ningaal running out of

 the woods fell upon their comrades and trapped those trying to flee

 from the deadly ambush. Those who went down into the dell never rose

 again.

 In a moment all who had thrown themselves down into the valley lay

 still. No more Ningaal came from me forest. No one moved.

 "Let us escape now, while we may," whispered Theido. "The victory is

 ours if we do not long remain here. They will be back, and soon'

 Ronsard gave a silent signal and the men, knights and archers began

 melting away into the night as quickly and as silently as the shadowy

 clouds before the moon. Lord Wertwin's force Joined them and they left

 the field in an instant, leaving it to the fallen Ningaal.

 That night warlord Gurd lost five hundred. The Dragon King did not

 lose a single man.

 THIRTY-SEVEN

 THE RAIN-WASHED sky arched high above like a limitless blue dome. The

 air was cool and fresh, scented with balsam and pine and the damp of

 earth. The grass still sparkled with raindrops, glittering like

 diamonds in the early morning light. The party had eaten a fine meal

 at Inchkeith's table and had, thanks to the master armorer's sons, set

 off without raising a hand except to drink down goblets full of

 Camilla's excellent mulled cider.

 Quentin, well-fed and rested, had quite forgotten his apprehension of

 the night before. He had convinced himself that his arm was better and

 that it would surely fully heal. But he still could not sec how be

 could be expected to wield a sword before his bones had knit. Thus the

 awesome prospect of his being the mysterious, legendary Priest King

 seemed remote and almost ridiculous. In the dazzle of a brilliant new

 day he felt ashamed and embarrassed for having had the audacity of

 presuming himself to be in any way central to the fulfilling of the

 prophecy.

 Of course, it had been a presumption fostered by both Durwin, Biorkis

 and, for all Quentin knew, Toli. But he had allowed them to lead him

 into thinking that the prophecy might indeed point to him. The whole

 thing was foolish, preposterous. Quentin could see that now. He told

 himself so, and he believed it.

 The horses had clattered out of White halTs courtyard at first light.

 Through the cleft in the ridge wall, golden rays of sunlight sliced the

 violet shadow of the canyon like a blade. It appeared to Quentin as

 they rode through the gatehouse and out onto the broad meadow, their

 horses cantering in high spirits, that they moved upon a trail of light

 all golden and green and shimmering. Everything that came to view,

 every tree and rock and mountain peak, seemed clean and new and vibrant

 with life. It was as if the world had been created anew during the

 night and the old world had been cast off as a pale, pathetic parody of

 the true thing. Quentin imagined that he was seeing it all for the

 first time and that this was how it had looked when the world was

 young.

 He heard a strange whoop behind him and turned to see Durwin*s face

 radiant in the golden light, mouth open and head thrown back laughing.

 And then suddenly he was laughing too. Toll started singing, leading

 them all in a song which he called "Fella Olia Scear" or "Song of the

 Morning Star."

 They sang, and their voices soared up the sheer rock face of the ridge

 wall and fell whispering back. Beside them, as they neared the cleft,

 the rock stream cascaded with renewed vigor, leaping over its stony bed

 and splashing fiery gems into the air. The stream, called Rockrace by

 Inchkeith, spread out a road of flowing silver as it rushed to meet the

 day. They followed Rockrace for a long time among the fragrant firs,

 and then, as the sun mounted higher, crossed it and headed toward the

 Fiskills" barren foothills.

 "How far from here arc the lost mines?" asked Quentin after they had

 ridden for some time in silence. Durwin rode just ahead;

 he cast a backward look over his shoulder and laughed. "If anyone knew

 that, my friend, there would be no need of going. The lanthanil would

 be long gone by now."

 "You know what I mean, you old sorcerer!" shouted Quentin back.

 "So it is! How impatient you are. I think that before ten suns have

 set we will look upon the entrance to the lost mines of the Ariga. That

 is, if the mountains are not greatly altered since those maps were

 made. Just the same, it will be no easy task to find them."

 "We have the riddle," reminded Quentin.

 "Yes, there is that. But you know as well as I that riddles are meant

 to conceal as much as they reveal. We will have a time of it, I think.

 The Most High will have to show us very plainly."

 Inchkeith had been listening and now turned toward them and

 / 597 /

 said, "You know, Durwin, the first time we met you were gabbling about

 these lost mines of yours. You were full of questions about the

 lanthanil; you wanted to know if I had ever seen it or worked with it.

 Do you remember?"

 "I remember it well. And I also remember your answer, though you may

 not.  You looked at me with the greatest pity and said, If I had ever

 touched the metal of the gods, do you think I would still wear the

 cloak of a hunchback

 "Mine was a foolish question, I admit. But you must remember I had

 only discovered the existence of lanthanil and knew nothing of its fiul

 properties."

 Inchkeith smiled strangely. "Craftsmen like myself have our own tales

 of lanthanil, though how much truth is in them I cannot tell."

 "I have on rare occasions heard the Elders speak of the lanthanil,"

 said Quentin. "To the Ariga, it was prized more highly than gold or

 silver. The craftsmen who worked it were almost treated as priests.

 But I never heard it referred to as a healing agent."

 "Khoen Navish," Toli reminded him. Quentin turned to see that Toli had

 dropped back and was now riding beside him, intent upon the

 conversation.

 "Yes. the Healing Stones."

 Durwin looked quizzical and said, "Can you not guess the answer?"

 Quentin frowned and thought and at last shrugged. "Well, think but a

 moment," replied the hermit. "The Ariga had no need of healing from

 any ailment. They lived in perfect health and never fell to disease,

 and none were ever reported to nave been injured in any way. Healing

 is not mentioned as a property of the stone, although they probably

 knew about it if Toll's story is true. Its healing properties were

 seldom mentioned because they had no need of it for themselves.

 "As for the craftsmen being priests, they were of a sort. The Ariga

 craftsmen were skilled in every art; they were poets, you might say.

 They worked in metal, wood and stone as our poets work with words. And

 to the Ariga it was reckoned as almost the same thing. I say almost

 because the Ariga rejoiced in a thing well made, for even in the

 smallest utensils of everyday life they saw the face of the Most High.

 So craftsmen were priests in that they allowed the people to see

 something of their god in the objects around them. And they were

 greatly respected."

 No more was spoken for a long time. Quentin rode along and thought

 about Dekra and realized he missed his friends there; he wondered what

 they were doing and whether they missed him as well. He also wondered

 what Yeseph would say if he knew that his protege was now embarked upon

 a quest for the lost mines of the Ariga. What would Yeseph say if he

 knew Quentin was to play a role in the forging of the Zhaligkeer?

 Eskevar slouched in his thronelike chair. His gaunt visage showed his

 displeasure quite openly. The lords ofMensandor, now gathered before

 him, clenched their fists at their sides and scowled determinedly.

 "What of the others, my lords?" asked Eskevar, making no attempt to

 moderate the malice in his voice. "Do they propose to sit round the

 field and join in the slaughter with whichever side carries the day?"

 "We know not what other lords propose to do, Sire," said Lord Benniot

 in measured tones. "But we have come to offer you our swords and those

 of our knights. We will ride with the Dragon King."

 "To the death, if need be," added Lord Rudd. "By Azrael, I will not

 see my King do battle alone while I have a blade beside me. My men are

 yours. Sire."

 "And mine!" said another. The others declared their loyalty also.

 "Well done, my lords," said Eskevar at last. Though he did well

 appreciate the decision of these, his loyal nobles, the King was

 inflamed against those a sizable party lead by Ameronis and Lupollen

 who had, after two days of heated contention, remained unmoved in their

 decision to withhold support for what they considered the King's war.

 "We will go at once to muster and arm our troops. We will march hence

 as soon as may be." Lord Fincher placed his hand to

 I 593 I

 the hilt of his short sword as he spoke. "It win be a pleasure to ride

 beside the Dragon King again."

 "It will be no pleasure, my lords. Make no mistake!" said Eskevar

 slowly and carefully. "I believe this will be the utmost test of our

 might and endurance. If we fail, the world will grow dark. Freedom

 will die."

 "Then let us fly. Your Majesty. We will return in three days," said

 Lord Rudd. "And we will march out with you to meet Theido and Ronsard

 and Wertwin's men in the field."

 "Yes, fly at once. And remember, my lords, spare nothing. If we fail

 there will be nothing left worth claiming in the end. I will speak

 again to the others to see if my words may yet prevail upon them to

 change their decision. We will need every strong arm before this war

 is over, I fear.

 "Be on your way. I will await you here, ready to march at once."

 There was a rustle of fmc brocaded clothing as the nobles bowed as one

 and went out, each to ride with his train to his lands and there to

 prepare for war.

 When they had gone Eskevar called for Oswald and said, "Fetch me the

 armorer. I will speak with him at once." \ Oswald appeared doubtful

 and frowned deeply, his old features crinkling up into a web of lines

 and creases.

 "Do not look at me so! Fetch the armorer at once, I say!"

 Without reply the chamberlain bowed and went out. In a little while

 there was a knock on the King's chamber door. Oswald came in, followed

 by a swarthy man with muscles that bulged and rippled as he moved.

 "Tilbert, Sire." Oswald presented the man and left without looking at

 the King.

 "Tilbert," the King said. The man nodded and remained at attention,

 his face stern and alert. "Ready my armor and my weapons. I will need

 both soon within three days. Ready yourself and any tools you think

 best; you will be needing them."

 At that moment the chamber door swung open without a knock, and Queen

 Alinea came into the room. Tilbert bowed to the Queen.

 "My Lord," said the Queen with a curtsy. She was slightly out of

 breath. "Why is this man here?" She indicated Tilbert, who looked

 puzzled.

 "I am speaking with him."

 "And about what I can quess. My husband, certainly you do not

 entertain any false notions of going into battle!"

 The King moved to dismiss Tilbert with a quick wave of his hand. The

 armorer bowed from the waist and started out.

 "Wait!" said the Queen. She turned once more to the King and fixed

 him with a smoldering stare. "Durwin is gone and so you think that you

 may now do as you please, is that it? You are still very weak,

 Eskevar. Think of your health."

 "You may go now, Tilbert," said Eskevar. The man left the chamber

 quietly. Alinea crossed to the King's chair and fell to her knees

 beside Eskevar, seizing his right hand in both of hers.

 "I pray you, my King. Do not go! It will be the death of you!"

 Eskevar scowled furiously at his wife; her actions offended him. "That

 rascal Oswald told you."

 "What does it matter? My darling, you are just up from your sickbed

 and you have not your full strength. Wait at least until you feel

 stronger."

 Eskevar put a hand to her lovely head and laced his fingers in her

 hair. "My Lady, I would that I could stay. But I cannot, nor can I

 wait one day longer than it takes to assemble an army to march

 "But why? Let your lords serve you in this. Theido and Ronsard would

 tell you the same if they were here. They are on the field now, let

 them assume command." The Queen's voice quivered on the edge of

 tears.

 "It may not be," he soothed. "The larger part of the council still

 opposes the call to arms that I have sounded. They are not convinced

 there is sufficient reason for them to march in war upon the whim of

 their raving monarch.

 "Do you not see? They believe me ill and troubled of mind. They think

 I joust at shadows. I must go out ahead of my army and convince them I

 am fit to command and that my judgment is unimpaired. Maybe then they

 will join us. I pray they do before it is too late."

 "But is there no other way?" Tears ran freely down Alinca*s cheeks and

 fell in dark spatters upon her blue gown.

 "I must go. It is the only hope we have," the Dragon King said

 gently.

 "Oh, my Lord," cried Alinea. "It is an evil day that takes you from me

 thus."

 "That it is, my Queen. Most assuredly it is."

 THIRTY-EIGHT

 THE WOLF STAR could be seen glinting cold and bright as soon as the sun

 slipped below the western rim of the sky.  It rose before the other

 stars and set last of all. The people ofMensandor, if they had not

 noticed it before, now were wary of it. Doom-sayers went from city to

 city, spreading rumors of death and destruction and prophesying the end

 of the age. The weak minded believed these rumors and fled to the

 temples, seeking the shelter of sacred soil where the gods would

 protect them. More stouthearted citizens stood their ground and waited

 and watched. But all listened to the wind and paused in their daily

 tasks to lift their eyes to the far horizon as if they expected at any

 moment the approach of something they dared not name aloud.

 Theido and Ronsard, having weakened the army of warlord Gurd, turned

 their attention to the army of warlord Luhak, who was advancing at a

 fast pace to the north. Arriving late at night, having traveled ten

 leagues that day with little rest, the King's forces struck once more

 on their midnight raid. Once again they caught the enemy by surprise

 and slew many.

 On the next attempt, however, a confused signal almost defeated the

 Dragon King's army. The warlord's troops were waiting

 The Warhrds of Nm in a wooded draw and Ronsard's knights met them. But

 before Ronsard and company could disengage and break free, the archers

 attacked and many good men fell by friendly hands. The King's men

 withdrew from the field, leaving the Ningaal exultant.

 As for Quentin and his party, the four ascended the empty foothills of

 the ragged mountains and labored up into the dismal heights. The way

 proved slow and difficult, even with surefooted animals and Durwin's

 knowledge of the more passable routes. They lost their way and spent

 three arduous days crossing and recrossing the same trail and finally

 gave up, camping that night in the same spot where they had camped

 three nights before. One of the pack animals threw a shoe straining

 over the rocks and had to be set free. Many supplies were abandoned in

 order not to overburden the remaining animals.

 The dark cloud had deepened its shadow over the land. Mensandor seemed

 to be a country quivering on the edge of the abyss. The roads were

 filled by day with travelers hurrying from here to there in an effort

 to find escape. The temple courtyards became choked with peasants

 seeking sanctuary. At the High Temple above Narramoor, the trail

 leading to the temple had blossomed into a tent city from the base of

 the plateau to its crown. All along its narrow length people huddled

 in their tents and waited for what they had been told would come: the

 destroyer god, descending to earth to slake his thirst with their

 blood. And each night, all over Mensandor, men watched the star grow

 brighter and cowered in fear at the impending destruction thus

 proclaimed.

 Steadily, despite Theido's and Ronsard's best efforts and most valiant

 and courageous fighting, the Ningaal drove further north to ward

 Askelon. The King's knights were solidly outnumbered and the enemy

 soon grew wary of the crafty defenders' tricks, becoming more and more

 difficult to lure into traps and ambushes.

 On and on the enemy pushed and at last achieved the very thing the

 Dragon King's army feared the most: the four warlords joined their

 forces. The soldiers of Boghaz and Amut forged through to meet Gurd's

 remnant and Lubak's fairly intact regiment at the outer fringes of

 Felgrin Forest. No invader had ever pushed so far inland in recent

 memory. No enemy had ever defied the Dragon

 I King's knights as did the Ningaal, whose combined forces shamed the

 stalwart defenders.

 Under Myrmior's inspired strategy, the Dragon King*s army fell back

 into the forest to wage a war of ambush and retreat among the paths

 they knew so well. This increased the rage of the enemy and that rage

 induced him to make mistakes and lose men. But the relentless push to

 Askelon continued, slowly and surely and with mechanical precision. It

 seemed as if nothing would stop the cunning invader.

 "We cannot continue this way," said Theido wearily. It was the end of

 another long day of sting-and-run among the oaks ofPelgrin. The

 commanders sat in Ronsard's tent, ashen-faced in the fluttering

 torchlight. "We are giving up too much ground, even though our losses

 in men are lower than we could have hoped, thanks to Myrmior.

 "I think it is time to send word to Askelon for the King to mate ready

 for a siege. Though I hoped it would not come to this, they should

 begin preparing the castle for our return."

 "It would seem that in time we could beat these Ningaal if we but had

 more men," observed Ronsard. "Could we not send Wenwin to the other

 lords to entreat them to take up arms? Now is me time if ever there

 was. They cannot fail to recognize the danger now."

 "I quite agree with you, brave sir. But I hold no hopes of persuading

 those jackals to join us. They have had every opportunity. Why, we

 are but ten leagues from Askelon now)"

 "Even so," Lord Wertwin offered, "allow me to ride to Ameronis and the

 others. They are not cowardly men and will be reasonable once they

 know the need. I will bring them around."

 "Go then, my lord. Do what you can. But go with all speed. There is

 little time left. Each day we are pushed further back

 The nobleman stood and, though weary to the marrow and reeling on his

 feet, said, "I will leave tonight and take but two of my own with me.

 The others I will place under Ronsard's command." With a quick bow he

 left, and the others returned once more to their nightly exercise led

 by Myrmior, who listened intently to the reports of the day's forays

 and then applied himself to creating some new strategy for the next

 day. He seemed to have a gift for anticipating the movements of the

 enemy and for diversions and surprises which allowed the King's men to

 hound and harry the plodding Ningaal.

 "From what you have told me," Myrmior said, gazing at the maps king

 before him, "the Ningaal have tightened their divisions and march with

 a vanguard of their fiercest warriors. That is good;

 it means our raids are starting to worry them. But it also means they

 will be much harder to trap and impossible to ambush from now on."

 "As if it were not difficult already," said Ronsard. "I believe our

 time of nibbling away at the enemy's strength is at an end. Yet we

 dare not meet them face to face. If we could be assured of fresh

 troops soon.. ."

 "I cannot think what we may do," replied Theido. "But you are right.

 We cannot charge them with lances or meet them toe to toe as we are

 often wont to do. I will defer to Myrmior's counsel yet a little

 longer."

 "Lords, you flatter me. I have no secrets here, and I freely tell what

 I know so that you will know just how perilous is our position. It is

 very grave for us, my brave friends. I do not see a weakness that we

 may exploit; they have countered all our tricks this time."

 He looked again at the map, head bent down, eyes red-rimmed from

 sleepless nights of studying and pondering the movements of the foe as

 reported to him by the assembled commanders.

 "How far are we from this river?" he said, stabbing his finger at the

 map.

 "Let me see," said Theido. "That is but a branch of the Arvin which

 lies two or three leagues away to the west. It is not so large as it

 appears on the map, I assure you."

 "Nevertheless, I have found a plan which may gain us but a little more

 time." Myrmior smiled triumphantly. "A very subtle plan

 THIRTY-NINE

 THE COLD WIND whipping off the sharp snags of rock stung Quentin's

 face, and the howl deafened him as it ravaged the bare peaks and

 screamed down into endless empty places. He kept his cloak turned up

 to cover his ears and wished that he had brought warmer clothing.

 Though only four days had passed since they had reached the higher

 elevations of the Fiskills, it now seemed ages since he had felt the

 warmth of the sun and seen the green of summer-filled hills. In every

 direction, wherever he turned his eyes, he saw the same thing: an

 infinite vista of jagged gray and white peaks jutting sharply against a

 pale blue sky.

 Each day was much the same: cold and windy without respite. At night

 they camped under a star-filled sky on ledges, in crevices and fissures

 out of the wind, but the rock was cold and hard. In the morning they

 awoke to the harsh, white light of a sun that shed no warmth upon the

 day unless by chance they happened to find a spot hidden from the wind

 where they could stop and eat a bite before continuing. Then Quentin

 would feel a brief bit of warmth seep into him, tingling on his skin

 like dancing fire.

 But those respites were rare and never long enough; for Durwin, sinking

 more and more into silence and a dour mood, pushed a merciless pace

 along the crag-bound trails. The party, at first so full of good will

 and high spirits, now dragged along dolefully, each one lost to himself

 and his own thoughts, their faces as gray and cheerless as the bare

 rock around them.

 Quentin's thoughts turned toward Theido and Ronsard and the battles he

 imagined they were waging faraway. More than once he wished he could

 be there beside them, instead of floundering here,

 lost ia a world of dull rock and white light and severe blue sides as

 often as not clouded with gray wispy clouds which shredded themselves

 on the tors and spilled a damp, chill drizzle to thoroughly quench any

 spark of hope that they would see the end of their seemingly endless

 Journey.

 At night he lay awake and watched the dread star bend its fearful beams

 through the thin air of the high altitudes. It now filled its quadrant

 with light and was the brightest object in the sky at night, save the

 moon itself. Quentin even began to believe that the star would grow

 and grow to consume the heavens and the earth, that it would eventually

 touch the world and set off the conflagration which would prepare the

 earth for the new age. These thoughts, and others like them, filled

 Quentin with a sense of hopelessness he had never known before. And as

 the search among the high rocks continued day after day, be began to

 think that doom was certain and that it was already too late to

 forestall the inevitable.

 One morning Quentin was shaken out of his gloomy reverie by Toli, who

 had gone ahead to check on the trail, which threatened to narrow beyond

 the ability of horses to maintain their rooting.

 He heard a shout, looked up and saw Toli, red-faced with excitement and

 the exertion of running, flying down the rock-strewn path.

 "Beautifrill" Toli shouted when he was within range. "Come and see it!

 A valley ..." He puffed breathlessly. "It is wonderful! Come!"

 Instantly Durwin's face lit. "So it is! I believe we have found it at

 last!"

 But Durwin was already toiling up the path behind Toli, who cprang

 lightly as a mountain goat over the flat slabs of rock pointing and

 waving ecstatically.

 Quentin turned to look at Inchkeith. "Well, a fair sight would be

 welcome to these burning eyes, I would reckon," said the hunched

 armorer. "Even if it be not our journey's end."

 "Then by all means let us view this sight!" replied Quentin

 sarcastically. "I would sec what could cause such fulsome praise from

 the ever-quiet Toil."

 / 601 I

 Inchkeith turned, ignoring Quentin's comment, and began scuttling over

 the rock, barely keeping Toli, now disappearing over the crest, in

 sight. Quentin marveled at the deformed armorer's strength and

 agility; for in spite of his misshapen body and hobbling gait,

 Inchkeith somehow managed to grapple his way along the most unnerving

 passages.

 Quentin glumly fell in and began trudging up the steep path, a narrow

 cut in the rock formed by a rivulet which carried away the spring melt.

 By the time be neared the top, none of the others were to be seen. He

 reached the summit and walked a few paces down the opposite slope

 before he thought to raise his eyes.

 The sight before him so stunned Quentin, he sat down.

 Across a vast and limitless gulf of silver mist he saw an enormous bowl

 rimmed round with snowy peaks like white teeth. And the bowl, with

 gently curving sides, was a scintillating mountain green, all soft and

 mossy, the color of emeralds when struck by the sunlight. Carving

 through the center of the beautiful valley in graceful, sweeping

 unduladon ran a river gleaming like molten silver, filling a basin at

 the near end to form a lake shaped like a spearhead. The lake was

 deepest blue crystal and reflected the white-capped peaks rimming the

 fathomless blue sky above.

 All this Quentin took in moments later. In his first rapturous gaze

 all be saw was the awesome splendor of the towering, frothing,

 magnificent falls which fed the river and formed the lake. "It is the

 Falls ofShennydd Vellyn," Durwin told him later, "the Falls of the

 Skylord's Mirror. The lake is the mirror, of course, and Skylord is

 another name among the Ariga for "

 "Whist Orren. I know," said Quentin in a voice lost in wonder. "I

 have heard ofShennydd Vellyn. But I never thought..."

 "Yes," said Toli quietly, as if he feared to break some spell of

 enchantment, "it is hard to believe that such beauty still exists in

 the world of men."

 "Harder still to believe that beyond these forsaken mountains men are

 fighting and dying," said Inchkeith strangely. Of the three be seemed

 least affected by the sight before him.

 All that was to come later; now, Quentin was overcome by the most

 dramatic vision of natural beauty he had ever seen. The falls plunged

 in three great leaps as they poured from some hidden spring in the

 mountainside.  This was the source of the silvery mist which floated

 over all like gossamer and charged the thin air with shimmering

 radiance as if rainbows hovered ever within reach.

 Looking down upon it, Quentin could well believe that the Ariga had

 once sat where he sat and had seen it as he was seeing it. In that

 instant he felt as if the immense barrier of time separating him from

 that happy time when the Ariga had walked the earth had been rolled

 aside. Inexplicably, the constant longing for a glimpse of that

 vanished time was suddenly stilled within his breast. Here it was at

 last that which remained from of old unchanged.

 The next thing Quentin knew he was running down the precipitous grade

 toward the crystal lake, laughing and shouting with joy.

 It was a tearful farewell with which Alinea sent Eskevar to meet the

 assembled armies of his lords. As much as she wanted to show him a

 brave front, she could not. In all her life as Queen she had never

 sent him off with tears in her eyes; no matter how much she might have

 cried for fear and loneliness later when he had gone, she did not want

 his last memory of her to be one of sorrow.

 This time she could not contain her feelings. The tears welled up from

 her heart and overflowed to splash down her white cheeks and glisten in

 the morning light.

 Eskevar, so used 10 the bold face his wife had always before

 maintained, seemed bewildered by what he considered a sudden change.

 "My Lady, be not forlorn. I shall return as soon as I may. It is

 nothing we have not faced before, my love."

 "I fear it is, my Lord." She dabbed at the corners of her emerald eyes

 with a bit of lace. The King took the handerchieffrom her and poked it

 down inside his breastplate.

 "I will keep this near my heart so that I will not forget the tears you

 shed in my absence. It shall remind me to hurry hence and dry your

 eyes as soon as may be." He lifted a gauntleted hand to smooth her

 auburn hair and looked deeply into her eyes. "This will be the last

 time, Alinea- 2 promise you I will never leave you again."

 She looked at him, standing in the small courtyard of the inner

 / 603 I

 ward just before the postern gate, and through her tears it seemed as

 if the years had been rolled back once more and the young Dragon King

 was looking down on her with brightly blazing eyes, eager to be off to

 defend his realm.

 "Go, my Lord. But do not say it is the last- For I know that you must

 ever be where harm threatens your kingdom. But go and with no regret

 for me. Only promise that you will hasten back when your labors have

 restored peace to the land."

 When she had finished speaking, she threw her arms around his neck and

 kissed him. He held her stiffly, her soft flesh pressed against his

 steely armor. "Farewell, my Queen."

 She turned and hurried away through the small arched door in the wall.

 Eskevar watched her go and then turned to the warder who stood with

 averted eyes, holding the reins of his mount. The King ascended the

 three stone steps and swung himself into the saddle. The warder dashed

 to the iron-clad gate and pushed it open. Outside, the armorer and the

 King's squires were waiting.

 Without a word the King led them through the post em gatehouse. over

 the plank and down the long, winding walled ramp which formed the rear

 approach to Askelon. They crossed the dry moat and rode out across the

 plain to meet the Lords ofMensandor and their assembled armies where

 they stood amidst fluttering pennons and glinting steel, waiting for

 their King.

 "Yonder comes the Dragon King!" shouted Lord Rudd as he scanned the

 plain, eyes squinting in the sun. "Sound the call!"

 A trumpeter raised his battle horn to his lips and blew a long, clear

 note. At once a shout went up. "The Dragon King! He is coming! The

 Dragon King rides with us!" The knights gathered on the plain rattled

 their swords upon their shields in noisy salute and shouted with joy.

 "It is good he comes," said Lord Benniot, bending close to Rudd. "The

 rumors that he was dying had near taken the fighting heart out of my

 men."

 "And mine," said Lord Finchcr riding up. "But now they will see that

 he does not hide in his high tower, nor lie wasting abed. By the gods,

 it is good to see him astride a horse once more."

 The three nobles watched their King galloping toward them

 The WarbnhofNin across the plain. Behind him his squires carried the

 billowing standard with the King's unmistakable device: the terrible,

 twisting red dragon. On the crest of his helm he wore a crown of gold

 which shone in the sun like a band of light around his head.

 Eskevar rode into the midst of his army to the cheers of all the

 knights and men-at-arms. Such was the clamor of his reception that it

 was some time before he could quiet them enough to make himself beard.

 But at last the army more than two thousand in all grew silent, waiting

 expectantly for what he would say.

 "Loyal subjects, men ofMensandor!" More cheers. "Today we march to

 meet a great and deadly foe. Messages from those already engaged

 against the enemy indicate that he has reached the borders of Peigrin

 Forest but ten leagues to the east." Murmurs of shock and disbelief

 rippled through the throng. "In his wake the enemy has destroyed our

 towns and villages and has slain the innocent." Cries of anger and

 revenge.

 Eskevar looked out over the upturned faces of the host before him, many

 kneeling, their right hands clutching the hilts of their swords. He

 drew his own sword and raised it high. "For Mensandor!" he called in

 a bold voice. "For Mensandor!" came the clamorous reply. "For honor!

 For gloryl" the Dragon King cried. "For King and kingdom!" the

 soldiers answered. With his sword pointed to the east Eskevar spurred

 his horse through the assembled armies. A way parted before him,

 bristling with raised swords and spears, and walled with shields and

 colorful snapping pennons. Along this panoply the Dragon King passed

 to the wild hurrahs of the soldiers. Behind him the way closed as the

 knights and footmen took up their weapons and followed their King into

 battle.

 FORTY

 "THIS MAKES the task of getting here worth every step," said Quentin

 happily. He sat on a grassy knob dabbling his bare feet in the cold,

 clean water ofShennydd Vellyn. "This is a most fitting reward." He

 felt the weariness of the harsh trail and the fatigue of the seemingly

 endless days in the saddle, and then lastly on foot leading the horses,

 drift away in the soothing waters. He fete revived.

 "So it is! But we have not yet found the mines, though I believe we

 are at last at a place to begin looking." The hermit was bent once

 more over his maps and scribbles, searching for a clue to a sign which

 might spark the discovery.

 Toll strode up, bouyant and brimming with good cheer, fairly

 intoxicated with the beauty around him. "I have set the horses free to

 graze. Look at them run!"

 Indeed, the horses were gamboling like colts in the balmy air of the

 great bowl of a valley. They galloped and bucked and pranced over

 soft, thick turf as green as the first delicate blades of spring.

 "We shall have a time of it trying to catch them again," mumbled

 Inchkeith. Quentin and Toll looked at each other. He had been

 mumbling darkly ever since they discovered the enchanted valley. While

 their spirits had risen on wings of joy, his seemed to have fallen

 lower by equal degrees. He was now quite sour.

 "Do not worry on it, master Inchkeith. They will come running to

 Toli's whistle without fail. He has a power over them, you will see."

 Inchkeith said nothing, turning his face away.

 "Now, then," said Durwin, "listen to me. Here is the riddle once more.

 Think, now! /

 "Over tooth and under claw wend your way with care. Where mountains

 sleep, sharp vigil keep, you shall see the way most clear. When you

 hear laughter among the clouds and see a curtain made a/glass Take no

 care for hand nor hair, or you shall surely never pass. Part the

 curtain, divide the thunder and seek the narrow way;

 Give day for night and withhold the light And you have won the day."

 Durwin looked at alt of them, blinking back at them dumbly. "Well," he

 sighed with exasperation. "As I thought. It is not so simple now, is

 it? Now that the lime has come to solve the mystery "

 "Past time, if you ask me!" said Inchkeith sharply. "It is folly to

 roam these wasted rocks chasing a dream. Look at us! We are up here

 babbling like children over riddles and nonsense. Down there" his hand

 flung wide in a gesture of anger and frustration "down there men are

 dying. The blood of good men runs hot upon the ground while we putter

 among the clouds."

 Quentin's brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed as he listened, somewhat

 shocked by the armorer's denunciation of their quest.

 At last Durwin spoke, breaking the silence that had fallen over them

 with Inchkeith's rancorous our burst "Could we serve them better by

 taking up swords and throwing ourselves into the fight? Would our

 blades matter very much, do you think?"

 "Does this matter? This riddle guessing, breaking our bones over these

 accursed mountains? For what?"

 "I thought you were with us, Inchkeith," put in Quentin. "I thought

 you believed as we did in the importance of our journey. You did! I

 know you did."

 "Maybe I did once. But I have had time to think. It was a mistake to

 come here, I do not belong here. I should be back at my forge and

 anvil. There is a war on, by the gods!"

 Then Durwin, speaking softly as to a child, said a surprising

 / 607 I

 thing. "Do not be afraid, Inchkeith. To others it is appointed to

 fight, and yes, to die. To us it is appointed to find the sword and

 bring it to the King. And if there is even the slightest chance that

 the sword will be the Zhaligkeer, I believe our efforts could not be

 better spent than in searching for it, though the whole world wade in

 blood."

 Do not be afraid.

 The words struck deep into Quentin's heart. Yes, that was it.

 Inchkeith was afraid of failing, of never finding the lost mines.

 Perhaps he was even more afraid of succeeding, and forging the legend

 bound sword, afraid of believing the prophecy could come true. Better

 for him not to put it to the test. And this was the way of Quentin's

 heart, as well.

 Quentin, at first swept up in the excitement of great deeds and the

 promise of glory, had with growing reluctance come to view the

 enterprise as possessing little merit insofar as he himself was

 concerned. It was one thing to dream about being the long-awaited

 Priest King, but quite another to actually set off in search of the

 means to make that dream a reality. The aura of mystic fantasy had

 evaporated on the trail in the howling of the wind and in sleepless

 nights on the cold barren rock under the glare of distant unfriendly i

 stars. And with every step that led him closer to the promise, he had

 grown more afraid. Do not be afraid.

 Although the words had been meant for Inchkeith, they stirred in

 Quentin a peculiar swirl of emotions. He wanted all at once to

 scream-at Durwin, Why should I not be afraid? I have every good

 reason. I never asked to be this new king upon whose shoulders the

 world will rest. I never wanted it.

 But Quentin said nothing. He turned his face away and looked out

 across the sparkling water of (he Skylord's Mirror.

 That night they camped beside the lake, the white-topped peaks to the

 east glowing rosily across the green bowl, which was now immersed in

 shadows of deepest indigo. The Wolf Star burned fiercely in the sky

 and was reflected in the crystalline depths of Shennydd Vellyn.

 Quentin sat alone silent, brooding. He stirred only when the light

 tread of Durwin's feet signaled the hennifs presence. "So it is!" said

 the hermit, his voice seeming to resonate on the water. "You have come

 to it at last."

 Quentin regarded him with a questioning glance. Durwin, gathering his

 robes, squatted down beside him. "You have come to that dark and

 narrow place through which every servant of the Most High must pass."

 Quentin flipped a pebble into the lake. "I do not know what I have

 come to."

 "Oh yes you do. And lhat is what is bothering you. It has been

 gnawing at you ever since we left Askelon. It was worrying you that

 night at Inchkeith's. I saw it then most clearly. I even spoke to you

 of it, but you evaded my question."

 "Is it not possible that we may all be wrong about this prophecy? If

 you ask me, I am not the one. And if I were, would I not know it

 somehow?"

 "Yes, perhaps we are mistaken. It is possible we have misread the

 signs. But whether you are the one or no does not matter very much."

 Quentin cocked his head sharply, he had not expected the hermit lo say

 that. "No," Durwin continued. "What does matter is whether you are

 willing to follow the Most High, even in your unbelief."

 "I I do not know what you mean."

 "Certainly you do. All your life you have served the gods in one way

 or another. Of the old gods you soon learned only to demand those

 things which they were capable of providing an insignificant sign or

 two, a small favor vaguely asked. Then you met Whist Orren, the Most

 High God, the One True God of All. You have served him faithfully

 these many years and have learned much about his ways. But now is the

 first time you have ever really had to trust in him, to place yourself

 totally in his will, and you are afraid."

 Quentin started to object, but Durwin held up his hands. "Yes, afraid.

 You must now put your faith to the test.  And such a lest!-^ with lost

 mines and flaming swords and prophecies fulfilled."

 "Why should I fear that?"

 / 609 I

 "The reason is not so hard to guess. It is the same with every man.

 You fear testing your faith, because it means testing the Most High.

 Deep in you heart you fear he will fail. If he fails, you are utterly

 alone in this life and beyond; there is nothing you can believe in

 anymore."

 Quentin shook his head. "No, Durwin. That is not my fear."

 "Tell me, then."

 Quentin drew a deep breath, glanced at the hermit and then quickly away

 again, "I am afraid of being the Priest King. I cannot say why, but

 the mere mention of swords and mines fills me with dread- Look at my

 arm! How can I wield the Shining One with an arm as dead as

 firewood?"

 "It is the same thing in the end, is it not? You fear to accept

 something the Most High has chosen for you."

 "How is that the same thing?"

 "Most assuredly it is. To accept the crown of Priest King would mean

 placing your trust totally in the Most High. It means that you must

 trust him to know what is best for you, to know you better than you

 know yourself. It would mean trusting him beyond all trust, even when

 the way is unclear especially when the way is unclear.

 1 "When you trust like that, you necessarily test the god's ability to

 hold you and keep you. You are we all are unwilling to make such

 demands of our gods. If we trust but little, we will be disappointed

 but little, eh?"

 "If I do not believe, but follow anyway, does that not mock the Most

 High and defeat his will?"

 "On the contrary, my friend. To follow without seeing the end in

 unbelief as you say is really the highest form of trust."

 "It is but blind trust," objected Quentin. The words of the hermit

 were making sense to him, but he still felt as if he must fight

 acceptance.

 "Not blind trust. Not at all. Those who trust the powerless gods of

 earth and sky they trust blindly.

 "Quentin, look at me," the hermit commanded gently. "You cannot serve

 the Most High without trusting him totally, for there always comes a

 time when he will put you to the test. He will have all of you or

 nothing at all. There can be no middle ground. It is a demand that he

 makes of his followers."

 Both men were quiet for a moment. The great bowl of the valley had

 deepened into violet dusk. The western peaks still held the faint

 glimmer of flame at their summits, but that too was dying fast.

 "Look at it this way," said Durwin. "Why should you be afraid to test

 the Most High? He invites it! You see your injured arm as proof

 against his will. Cannot the one who created bones also heal them? And

 if he chooses to raise an orphan acolyte to the crown of the realm,

 what is to stop him?"

 Quentin smiled at the appellation. "You mean that I should go along

 with this strange business regardless of my own feelings about it."

 "Exactly. Do not seek to hide your doubts and fears, or mask them in

 any way. Give them to him. Let him take them. They are, after all,

 part of you."

 Quentin thought for a long time and then said, "What did you mean

 earner when you told Inchkeith not to be afraid?"

 Durwin smiled. "More or less what I am telling you now. We must not

 fear for the Most High; he can take care of himself. We must only look

 to ourselves that we remain faithful to his call. I know it is much to

 think about in one piece. It has taken me many years to understand

 these things, and I am asking you to comprehend them in but a few

 moments.

 "Inchkeith does not know the Most High, but he is not an ignorant man.

 He still feels the fear of believing that something so good and so

 powerful can exist. And that, as I said before, is the place where

 most men run aside "But if you go beyond your fears and doubts, and

 follow anyway ah! strange and wonderful things can happen. Yes,

 orphans can become kings, swords can sprout flames and great. enemies

 can be laid low at a stroke."

 Quentin did not hear when Durwin left him, so lost in thought was he.

 But upon looking up into the night sky, now alive with blazing stars,

 he knew he was alone. His thoughts roiled and swarmed inside him; and

 rather than soothing his troubled spirit,

 / 611 I

 Durwin's words had only served to increase the confusion or so it

 seemed.

 Quentin lay down and wrapped himself in his cloak to watch the

 glittering stars and to ponder the words of the hermit. He lay for a

 long time thinking and then slowly drifted into a troubled sleep. As

 he lay beside the glass-smooth Shennydd Vellyn he dreamed a dream

 filled with things both strange and wonderful.

 FORTY-ONE

 THE MUDDY little tributary which Myrmior had indicated on the map lay

 across the path of the advancing Ningaal. It was, as Theido had

 advised, not a particularly large stream, but it was deep and lay below

 steep root-bound banks in a most dense part of Pelgrin. If anyone ever

 spoke of it at all it was called Deorkenrill, because of the air of

 darkness and gloom which surrounded it. Its gray and turgid waters

 slid quietly along a serpentine course through noisome bogs and

 stagnant pools full of various un savories until at last it emptied

 into the mighty Arvin many leagues to the north.

 As unwholesome as it was, it was at this very place that Myrmior

 proposed that the army of the Dragon King make a final stand to try and

 halt the invaders inexorable drive toward Askelon.

 The plan was simple, designed to separate the amassed Ningaal into

 smaller groups which could be battled more effectively by the

 defenders. But like most strategems of war, Myrmior's plan was not

 without its element of risk. The weary defenders closed their eyes to

 the danger, thinking that as it was likely to be their last hope of

 stopping the Ningaal before they reached the plains of Askelon, no risk

 was too great.

 For many leagues to the north and south there was only one fit place

 for an army to cross Deorkenrill: a hollow at the bottom of a slight

 hill where the stream flattened out slightly to form a natural ford.

 "This is better than I could have hoped," said Myrmior when he saw it.

 "It was made for our purpose."

 "Well," remarked Theido casting an eye around the wood in the gathering

 dusk, "it is not a place where I would willingly choose to do bank. Let

 us hope that the Ningaal think the same and do not suspect an ambush

 here."

 "They have become wary indeed. Their scouts now push far afield and

 ahead of the main body and are harder to elude," pointed out Ronsard.

 "And Theido is right. This is no place to do battle. Look around you.

 Mud, trees, vines. A man can hardly draw his sword."

 "Brave sirs, that is precisely why this place is best suited for us.

 Whether they suspect or no, they must cross this water. I propose to

 make it as difficult as possible. But we must get busy. There is much

 to be done before first light tomorrow. We will need to work through

 the night."

 "Very well," said Theido resolutely. "We have had our say, and we have

 no better plan. We put ourselves at your command. What will you have

 us do?"

 Myrmior looked around him in the misty twilight. A malodorous vapor

 was rising from the swampy dingles along Deorkenrill's banks to drift

 slowly among the gray boles of trees.

 "There!" He pointed out into the hollow through which the enemy must

 march to the scream. "We will begin by opening a channel into the

 hollow. We will fill it tonight and drain it in the morning. The mud

 should be very thick by then. And have some men start carrying water

 to the far bank. I would have that slippery with mud as well."

 And so they began. Though they had come unprepared for excavating and

 carrying water, the Dragon King's forces turned whatever implements

 they had to the task. Knights, more at home on horseback than on firm

 ground, slogged tirelessly through mud and stinking water, digging with

 their noble swords or with bare hands,

 / 673 /

 cutting a channel to bring water to the hollow. They worked by the

 glimmering of torches, listening to the forlorn cries of owls and other

 creatures drawn by the unnatural activity.

 Others climbed the taller trees along either side of the bank and began

 building platforms of branches and limbs from whkh archers could rain

 arrows down upon the enemy. Ropes were wound with vines and stretched

 from one tree to another. And for Mynnior's supreme surprise, three of

 the largest trees growing at the edge of the near bank were chopped to

 within inches of falling and their upper branches were tied with ropes

 to other nearby trees to support them. Then the axe marks were covered

 over and filled in with mud and leaves.

 This activity continued through the night and by the time the sky,

 glimpsed through irregular patches overhead, began lightening, Theido,

 Ronsard and Myrmior stood on the far bank looking at their handiwork.

 "All that remains is to drain the hollow once more. And, we will need

 hot coals to use with the arrows," said Myrmior, very pleased with what

 he saw.

 "Then we wait. We should have a few hours to give the men rest before

 the first of the Ningaal come through here," observed Ronsard.

 "I am for it. We have done a labor this night. Let us pray that it

 has been to good purpose," replied Theido in a voice strained and

 rasping from shouting orders through the midnight hours. "We will do

 what remains and then deploy our men to their appointed places."

 So saying, the lords turned at once to finish their tasks. Then, as

 the thin light of morning filtered down into the murky dell, all fell

 silent. All was ready and there was not the barest hint that

 everything was not as it should be, that it was not all it seemed. An

 army waited among the ferns and in the trees and behind the turfy

 hillocks and was invisible.

 The first of the Ningaal to come through the hollow were the scouts.

 They crossed the ford and passed on unaware of the army lying in wait

 on either hand. The next to pass were rank upon rank of horsemen, and

 just as Myrmior had hoped, the horses churned the hollow into a mud pit

 and made the far bank, already slick with the muck Ronsard's men had

 created, a treacherous slide. But they, too, passed on unaware.

 Tension seeped into the air. Thiedo could not understand why the enemy

 did not feel it, too. His stomach was knotted, and his nerves felt

 stretched as tight as bowstrings. Though he could not see them from

 where he hunched among the musty ferns, he knew his men must feel the

 same. Willing himself to remain calm, he waited.

 The sun arched to midday when the first of the footmen started across

 the ford. Hundreds of men, line upon line, waded through the

 waist-deep water and slithered up the far bank with difficulty. Theido

 could see them as they poured into the hollow and noted with

 satisfaction that the soldiers moved more slowly now as the mire

 deepened and sucked at their feet.

 He heard a sound and a swift shout, and suddenly a horse and rider

 appeared at the edge of the ford. It was a warlord on his black steed,

 and Theido could tell that he was unhappy with the time it was taking

 his soldiers to cross the stream. Without understanding the crude

 language at all, Theido knew that he was ordering his men to move along

 quickly; it was exactly what he would have done in the same

 situation.

 The warlord sat straight in the saddle and looked long up and down

 Deorkenrill. Thiedo held his breath. Had the warlord spotted

 something amiss? Was their trap discovered?

 But the grim lord swung his horse around and shouted once more to the

 scores of footmen trudging through the fen. Then he plunged through

 the stream and disappeared on the other side.

 Nin's soldiers were crossing in masses now, a hundred at a time. They

 staggered muddily to the ford and plunged in, then flung themselves up

 the far bank like fish flopping out of water.

 Another warlord appeared, surrounded by twenty horsemen. He waited, as

 the other had, watching the men cross the stream, and then splashed

 across.

 The forest echoed to the sound of something ponderous and heavy

 crashing through the underbrush. The wagons! thought Theido. Get

 ready!

 I 615 I

 The wagons were what they had been waiting for. According to Myrmior's

 knowledge of the movements of the Ningaal, they most often traveled

 with their weapons and supplies in the wagons, half of their troops

 going before and the rest after. It was the second half of the Ningaal

 host which the defenders would attack.

 Theido peered cautiously through the man-high ferns to see the first of

 the heavy wa ins mired nearly to its axles in the hollow, now trampled

 into a swampy bog by the hundreds of feet of men and horses which had

 passed before. Around each wheel twenty or so footmen grunted and

 strained to push the wagon along, and the four-horse team leaned into

 harness to the cracking whip of the driver.

 Theido's hand sought the hilt of his sword. He knew that even now a

 thousand arrows were being notched to their strings in anticipation of

 the signal that would not be long delayed. Each archer readied his

 cannkin of live coals and arrows with shafts wrapped in cloth soaked in

 pal bah flammable spirits. Myrmior, seeing Thiedo's unconscious move,

 placed a hand on his arm and whispered, "Not yet. Give the others time

 to move up into position, and allow those who have passed on to

 distance themselves from the ambush."

 i Theido took his hand away from his sword hilt and drew it across his

 perspiring face. He let his breath escape between clenched teeth.

 The Ningaal, by sheer force of numbers, had succeeded in hauling the

 wagons to the brink of the ford, but now other wagons were entering the

 hollow and succumbing to the morass. Shortly, the hollow was filled

 with wagons hopelessly en mired and hundreds of soldiers clustering

 around them in an effort to budge them along.

 "Now!" whispered Myrmior shrilly. "Do it now!"

 Theido drew his sword silently and stepped calmly from the ferns. He

 raised the sword, knowing that all eyes were now on him. He dropped

 his arm, and suddenly the air was filled with a sound like an enormous

 flock of birds taking flight from the treetops. The dim air of the

 dank dell was instantly alight with darting flames arcing to earth like

 stars falling from on high.

 A confused cry of alarm went up from the unsuspecting Ningaal as the

 flaming arrows found their marks: the wagons. In mo meats the wa ins

 were afire and the bef riddled soldiers overwhelmed with terror. The

 Dragon King's archers then hailed down arrows upon the enemy without

 mercy. Ningaal dropped where they stood, never seeing their assailants

 nor bearing the sting that felled them.

 The rout had only begun, however, when it was turned by the appearance

 of the two remaining warlords. One came pounding out of the wood, his

 bodyguard with him. Shouts rang out and orders flew, and in moments

 the chaos had resolved itself, though still the larger pan of the

 Ningaal did not have weapons, confined as they were in several of the

 burning wagons.

 That was soon remedied. A group of soldiers, in response to the

 warlords' command, rushed upon one of the burning wagons, jumped into

 the flames and began hurling weapons to their comrades. When one was

 overcome by the fire, another leapt in to take his place.

 The other warlord with his mounted bodyguard pointed his sword across

 the stream, and his warriors came galloping across me ford toward where

 Theido and Mynnior waited with a dozen knights. Arrows took two from

 their saddles at midstream. Another came on, and Theido found himself

 suddenly ducking savage thrusts which chopped the fern and sent

 greenery flying.

 He threw up his sword to parry the slicing blows and grabbed the enemy

 horse's bridle, pulling its head- down. The animal went to its knees

 and Thiedo lunged at the rider, knocking him from the saddle. The

 knight's poniard did its work before the warrior could disengage

 himself from his thrashing mount.

 The murky wood now rang with the sound of battle. Men shouted their

 battle cries and fell to with a fury. Swords struck upon shield and

 helmet, axes whirled and bit, splintering anything which sought to stay

 the deadly blades. Theido stepped away from the riderless horse beside

 him and saw a dozen Ningaal axe-men splashing toward him some

 screaming, the handles of their axes still smoldering in their grasp.

 He caught the first one in the throat as the warrior raised his axe.

 But he had not withdrawn the blade when a second was upon him. He saw

 the glint of the blade swing up and he raised his shield, expecting his

 arm to be crushed by the impending blow.

 / 617 I

 But the blow never came. Theido dodged aside and saw Ronsard's

 familiar face beside him, grimly determined, his sword streaming with

 blood as the wounded man at his feet writhed in agony. Behind Ronsard

 a host of knights stormed out of the wood where they had been

 concealed.

 "I will take me a warlord!" shouted Ronsard, leaping into the saddle

 so recently vacated by the rider at Theido's feet.

 The Lord High Marshall cut down two charging Ningaal as he flew across

 Deorkenrill, the dark water now bore the corpses of the enemy by the

 score.

 The warlord, wearing a helm of white horsehide with a plume of a

 horse's tail, whirled his mount around to meet Ronsard's charge with

 lively skill. Ronsard's sword flashed and flashed again, but each time

 the warlord met his thrust and turned it aside. Neither could gain the

 advantage and soon Ronsard, surrounded by enemy footmen, was forced to

 break off the attack and scamper once more across the stream lest he be

 hauled from the saddle and stabbed through a crease in his armor.

 The archers poured arrows upon the battlefield in a deadly rain.

 Flight after flight streaked down and Ningaal fell by the score. The

 unhappy waters of Deorkenrill flowed red with the blood of the dead.

 And on the far bank that slimy incline of a death trap the fallen lay

 like corded wood. In the quagmire of the hollow the living surged

 ahead over the bodies of their comrades.

 Myrmior had planned the fight well, and the Ningaal struggled in vain

 to gain the advantage. Myrmior dashed along the far bank, calling out

 orders and strengthening the position of the defenders where necessary

 and directing the archers to new and threatening targets as they

 emerged from the dim wood. Had there been more time, or had the Dragon

 King's forces been larger, it would have turned out a day of victory

 for the stouthearted defenders. But it was not to be.

 A mighty shout went up from behind the defenders' position. It rang in

 the dell like thunder and even the most dauntless among the knights

 felt his blood chilled. It was the howl of the raging Ningaal who had

 passed over Deorkenrill, now returning, summoned by the sounds of

 battle. In moments the Dragon King's forces were sur rounded and would

 have been swept away instantly; but Mynnior, ever alert to the

 unexpected, had saved one last trick.

 The bearded seneschal, heedless of the danger to himself, mounted a

 small hillock on the far bank and there stood waving his hands. At

 first it seemed there would be no response to his signal;

 no one seemed to heed the commander presenting himself so foolishly in

 the thick of the fighting. But then there came a groan as if the earth

 were rending, tearing out its very bowels. A bush fell upon the

 startled invaders as they stopped still to listen and look around

 them.

 Another groan went up, and another, filling the wood with an eerie

 thunder accented by shuddering pops and horrible creaks as if some

 ancient beast were shattering the bones of its gargantuan prey. And

 then the sky itself seemed to pitch and sway,

 The first tree crashed to earth square upon the bodies of a troop of

 Ningaal too startled to move. Their comrades dodged aside, screaming,

 only to be met by the second tree, which fell at an angle to the first

 and stilled many voices as its branches crushed and pinioned all

 beneath it.

 To the terror-stricken Ningaal it seemed as if the forest were crashing

 down upon them. Many dropped their weapons and fled back across the

 river and into the forest where they were dispatched with arrows. The

 third tree crashed down across the ford and blocked the retreat of

 those who sought to return once more the way they had come. A cohort

 of defenders chased the fleeing Ningaal and slew many as they ran

 screaming through the wood.

 The terror inspired by this last trap was short-lived, however. Soon

 the iron-willed warlords had their men back in close command. With

 terrible efficiency the warlords bore down upon the sturdy knights,

 cutting through their faltering defenses, and the tide of battle turned

 against the Dragon King's forces. Still, though outmanned and

 exhausted, the staunch knights held their own through the middle hours

 of the day.

 Teams of Ningaal, some with axes and some holding shields over their

 heads, began cutting down the trees wherein archers lay hurling death

 to those below. Thus protected, the Ningaal were able to fell the

 trees, if not completely stop the archers who escaped at the last

 moment by swinging away on the ropes they had con

 1 619 I

 cealed among the vines. But the menace from the treetops was

 eventually stilled and then the dread warlords turned their attention

 to the armored knights, now pulling their lines together along the far

 bank.

 "It is time to flee," said Ronsard breathlessly. He was bleeding from

 a dozen shallow wounds and his face, beneath the blood and grime, was

 gray with exhaustion. "We have done all we can."

 Theido nodded. "Go, good friend. Lead your men away. I will remain

 behind to cover your retreat and then follow you as soon as you are

 free."

 Mynnior appeared, white-faced and holding his arm while a crimson stain

 spread down his sleeve. "It is too late, my lords. Alas! I have Just

 made a last survey of our position. We are surrounded on all sides.

 There is no escape."

 "We are completely cut off?" asked Ronsard. The strength seemed to go

 out of him, and his sword fell to his side.

 "I feared as much. There are just too many of them." Theido turned

 his grim face away and called in a strong voice for the defenders of

 the realm to rally to him and prepare to make their dying stand.

 In a few moments the remnants of the exhausted fighting force were

 dragging themselves together around the hillock where Theido stood with

 upraised sword. The Ningaal fell back to gather their numbers for the

 final onslaught. For a brief moment the clangor of battle died away.

 "Brave knights ofMensandor," said Theido, "you have fought well this

 day. You have proven the honor of your King and country, Your deeds

 will be sung as long as deeds of valor are remembered." The knights,

 some kneeling around him, raised their faces to his. Theido continued

 calmly.

 "Let not the moment of death cheat you of the honor you have earned. It

 is but a little hurt and then will come rest and sleep, and you will

 never again know pain. Have no fear and stand boldly to the end."

 "For glory!" shouted a knight.

 "For honor!" shouted several others.

 "For King and kingdom shouted a chorus led by Ronsard, who came to take

 his place at the head of his warriors.

 The knights raised themselves to their feet, lowered their visors and

 turned to meet the enemy for the last time. The Ningaal, watching from

 every side, paused for a moment. Then the four warlords raised their

 curved blades, and with a ferocious cry the Ningaal sprang forward once

 more into the fray.

 " Twere better over quickly," said Ronsard as the attackers swarmed

 around them. "I have no regrets."

 "Nor I, my friend," answered Theido, "though my heart is heavy at the

 thought of our country falling before these barbarians. But I have

 done all any man can."

 "Good-bye, brave friend," said Ronsard. "Is this the dark road you

 warned me of? How long ago it seems now."

 "It well may be. But wait!" He turned and mounted the crest of the

 hillock. "Trumpeter!" he cried. "Sound your call! Sound it until

 your last breath! Do you hear? Sound it, I sayl"

 He turned with his face shining and eager once more. "Fight on, brave

 sirs'" he called, running down into the fight. "Hold on!"

 Ronsard plunged after him, guarding his left, and the two men drove

 ahead, swords singing in the air as if they would singlehandedly drive

 the invaders from their shores. The knights around them, heartened by

 the example of their dauntless leaders, put their shields together and

 dug in. If death came now, it would find them brave soldiers to the

 end.

 FORTY-TWO

 QUENTIN ROSE and stood looking across the polished surface of the

 Skylord's Mirror. The deep of the night was upon the fair valley, and

 the moon now crouched low behind the western peaks of the Fiskills,

 firing their snowy caps with a white brilliance

 / 627 /

 that reflected in the fathomless lake. Also reflected with startling

 clarity were the myriad stars burning like pieces of silver fire in the

 black vault of heaven's dome. The bright green turf of the valley was

 now gray in the subtle moonlight and the leaping falls flowed down like

 liquid light, sending their ghostly mist to curl and eddy on the night

 air.

 Across the distance Quentin could hear the falls splashing among the

 rocks at their base in a sound like laughter carried on the wind. It

 was the only sound that could be heard, for the valley was silent.

 Toli, Durwin and Inchkeith were asleep; wrapped in their cloaks they

 looked like lumps of earth or stone, so still and silent did; they

 lay.

 | How long he stood looking, Quentin did not know. Time ? seemed to

 hold no particular meaning in the valley. But Quentin was suddenly

 mindful of another sound, or rather the impression of a sound, which

 had been present for some time. Perhaps it had awakened him.

 The sound was a thin, high-pitched tinkling sound like needles dropping

 onto a stone floor. Or, he imagined, the sound of ice forming on a

 winter pool if one could only hear it. The sound seemed to be coming

 from far above him. He turned his face to the (sky and saw the Wolf

 Star, now shining directly overhead, filling the sky with blazing

 light, a light so bright it cast shadows upon the earth. The light

 made him cold, and Quentin pulled his cloak more tightly around his

 shoulders; but he could not take his eyes off the star It seemed to be

 moving, stretching, growing thinner and pulling other stars into its

 dance, for it swirled and shimmered in the blackness of the sky like a

 living thing. The stars melted together into a single shaft of light,

 cold and hard as ice. A thin, tapering shaft that stretched from the

 east to the west, from one end of the night to the other.

 The tinkling sound was, Quentin realized now, the music of the stars

 and the flashing shaft of light was the blade of a mighty sword. In a

 twinkling Quentin realized he was seeing it: the Zhaligkeer. The

 sword, its hilt of guttering golden stars with lordly jewels embedded

 ruby, amethyst, topaz and emerald began to rise slowly, tilting upwards

 as a sword lifted in triumph. Then the tip dipped and slid and began

 falling through the back void of heaven, spinning as it felt, and

 Hashing fire into the darkness The Shining One arrowed to earth in an

 arc of white fire. The brilliance of that plunge dazzled Quentin, but

 he looked on without flinching. The sword came to rest just above the

 peaks at the further end of the valley where the Falls of Shennydd

 Vellyn poured out of the mountainside. It hovered there for an instant

 and then slid slowly down, as a sword sliding home to its scabbard.

 There it remained for a moment, its glow diminishing rapidly and fading

 away in the sweeping mist.

 When Quentin came to, he was staring at the falls and the night lay

 deep around him. The mountains were sleeping, and he heard only the

 laughter of the tumbling water. But burned into his brain was the

 image of the sword. And without a whisper of a doubt he knew where he

 would find it.

 "Durwin! Wake up!" Quentin whispered hoarsely. "Please wake up or it

 will be too late!" He jiggled the sleeping hermit's shoulder and then

 stood to look once more into the wreathing mist.

 "What is it?" said Toli, rising up silently. "What has happened?"

 "I have seen it Zhaligkeer. I know where we will find it. Look! The

 falls' Do you see?"

 Durwin mumbled and raised his head. "Oh, it is you, Quentin," he said

 groggily. "It is bad luck to disturb the sleep of a hermit. I thought

 you knew that."

 "I have seen the sword. Zhaligkeer! I know where it will be found."

 "I do not see anything," reported Toli, still looking toward the

 falls.

 Quentin whirled and pointed with his left hand. "It is there. I " A

 look of deep disappointment bloomed upon his face. "No, it has gone

 now. But it was there, I tell you! I saw it!"

 Quentin was striding away hurriedly. "Wake Inchkeith, Toli," the

 sleepy hermit sighed. "We will follow him, since we seem to have no

 other choice." .

 / 623 /

 "Inchkeith is awake," said the armorer. "What is all this, then?"

 "My master has had a vision," explained Toli as they leapt after him.

 "He says he has seen the Shining One and knows where it will be

 found."

 Quentin was leading them toward the falls along the grassy bank of the

 lake. The moon was down behind the mountains in the west, but their

 path was illumined by the unnaturally bright light of the Wolf Star.

 Quentin did not take his eyes from the falls ahead; it was as if he did

 not trust himself to remember what he had seen if he looked away for

 even an instant.

 The others hopped along behind him, Toli darted back and forth from

 running beside his master, to urging the others to a quicker pace. A

 breathless hour's travel brought them near the base of the falls.

 Quentin was standing at the foot of the towering cascade when Durwin

 and Inchkeith came puffing up.

 The roar of the waterfall did not sound like laughter now. It was a

 mighty rumble which inundated them and set their bones to quivering.

 Quentin turned to them, his face glistening with the spray, mist

 curling around his shoulders and beading on his cloak like pearls

 iwhich gleamed in the starlight. "There!" he said, pointing with his

 good hand. "The entrance to the mines is up there,"

 Durwin pulled on his chin. Inchkeith frowned. "Impossible! What do

 you propose to do? Swim up the falls like a salmon?"

 Toli said nothing only looked at the swirling, splashing water and at

 Quentin shrewdly. Durwin eyed Quentin closely. "I do not doubt what

 you saw. Let us see whether it answers the riddle. Let us see ..." He

 put his finger in the air and opened his mouth to speak.

 ""When mountains sleep, sharp vigil keep, you shall see the way most

 clear.""

 "Yes, I have seen it! The sword fell from the sky and disappeared into

 the falls."

 "I thought you were not listening, but that is very good. Yes, and it

 fits, too. "When you hear laughter among the clouds ...*"

 "I heard it. The waterfall sounded like laughter."

 "Some laughter!" shouted Inchkeith. "I can hardly bear a word you are

 saying over the roar!"

 Quentin ignored the remark." "Among the clouds'... see how the mist

 forms clouds. What else could it be?"

 "Hmmro, yes," agreed Durwin. ""And see a curtain made of glass.""

 "The water is a curtain!" cried Quentin, his face shining and eager in

 the white light. l< "Take no care for hand nor hair" he recited,

 thrusting out his hand. "It is wet!" He rubbed his hand through his

 hair. "And my hair is dripping and so is my cloak, I am soaking

 wet."

 "So it is!"

 "We are all soaking wet, and fools for it!"  grumbled Inchkeith.

 ""Divide the thunder and seek the narrow way,"" continued Durwin. "Go

 through the waterfall? Do you suppose?"

 "Of course! Yes! That is it! That is what I have been trying to tell

 you."

 " "Give day for night and withhold the light and you have won the

 day,"" quoted Durwin. He looked around. "Well, it is night. But it

 could also mean that the entrance could only be seen in darkness or

 that entering the mine in darkness would "

 "I see it!" called a faint voice somewhere above them.

 "Toli!" said Quentin. "Where is he?"

 The three looked around, but could see the plucky Jher nowhere. He had

 disappeared while they were puzzling over the clues of the riddle.

 "Here!" he called again. They looked to the foils and suddenly Toli

 was there, stepping out of the tumbling water as from behind a

 shimmering curtain. He seemed to be standing on the sheer rock face of

 the cliff, or walking on the mist. "Come up here. Do not mind the

 water!" he said, and disappeared again.

 Quentin was already running after him. Durwin and Inchkeith traded

 doubtful stares. "It seems all chances for a peaceful night have

 vanished," sighed Durwin.

 "And a dry one," grumbled Inchkeith. "We may as well have our bath and

 be done with it."

 The two followed Quentin around the rocky edge of the pool

 / 625 /

 at the base of the fall, where the water gathered churning and bubbling

 to spill into the stream that fed the pool in the center of the valley.

 The rocks were wet and slippery, making the way slow and laborious for

 the two older men. Quentin fairly skipped over the rocks and soon came

 to stand at the edge of the plunging torrent. Durwin saw him smile,

 look back over his shoulder at them, and then step into the churning

 water.

 In a few moments they heard his voice calling down to them. "Do just

 as I did. I will wait for you."

 "After you, good hermit," said Inchkeith. "I will follow in your wake.

 Tis only fitting. This is your expedition, after all."

 "So it is! "said Durwin. He took a deep breath and stepped into the

 glassy curtain of rushing water.

 FORTY-THREE

 "COURAGE, MEN!" Theido cried. "Fight on! Our deliverance is near!"

 The trumpet sounded a valiant note, piercing above the din of battle

 and the shrieks of the combatants.

 And then a voice called out from above on the hill behind them. "It is

 the Dragon King! He has come! The Dragon King has come! We are

 saved!" The trumpter, his begrimed features shining and eyes wide with

 wonder, raised his trumpet once more and began to blow a strong and

 steady note of hope.

 Those below him on the hill heard his words and turned their eyes to

 the dim wood beyond. A murmur passed among the beleagered defenders

 like a spark through dry kindling. "The Dragon King is coming! We are

 saved! The Dragon King!"

 Theido, too, raised his eyes to the wood. Faintly, as in a dream, he

 saw the glitter of gold and scarlet flicker among the shadowy boles and

 branches of trees like dancing light. And then suddenly he saw it full

 and fair: the writhing, angry dragon, the King's blazon, floating

 swiftly toward them, darting through the trees.

 Others saw it, too. "The Dragon! The King!" they shouted. And the

 dark wood rang with the sound of trumpets and the crash of knights on

 horseback surging through the forest. The Ningaal, surprised by this

 unexpected turn, fell back, breaking off the attack. One warlord

 wheeled his troop around to face the battle on the newer front. For a

 moment the Ningaal were divided.

 "Strike, bold knightsl" cried Ronsard. "Strike! Now!"

 The knights, bruised and beaten and greatly reduced in number, surged

 ahead on the points of their swords and sheer determination. The

 Ningaal before them, unable to meet an attack from both sides at once,

 scattered like leaves before the storm. In moments the stalwart band

 of defenders was surrounded, not by enemy, but by comrades-in-arms. The

 bloodied knights lifted their swords with weary arms and cheered their

 King, while the fresh forces of the Lords of Mensandor charged into the

 confused Ningaal.

 Theido and Ronsard, battered and bleeding, stood leaning on their

 swords. "You are alive, thank the gods!" They looked up and saw

 Eskevar grinning down upon them from his great white I charger.

 "Yes, we had all but given up hope," said Ronsard. "But Theido here

 thought differently." The knight turned to his friend. "Another

 premonition?"

 "No well, in a way, yes. At first I thought it might hearten the men

 to hear our trumpet sound the call. And if there was a chance that

 anyone was passing near, they would hear and come to our aid. I cannot

 say where that idea came from."

 "However it was," said Eskevar, watching with knowing eyes, "your

 clarion guided us to you forthwith." He jerked his head around, and

 Theido caught a glimpse of the man that used to be eager, strong and

 quick to the heart of the battle. "You and your men fall back through

 the wood. We will take these and put an end to it here and now."

 / 627 /

 "Sire!" The voice was Myrmior*s, who came running up from the thick of

 the fighting. Theido and Ronsard had not seen him since he had stood

 with them on the hillside. Once again he had unhappy news. "The

 Ningaal across the river are swarming over the barriers, now that there

 are no archers to hold them back. Do not think you will crush them so

 easily. Even now they are working to gain advantage on two sides."

 "What?" Eskevar wheeled his mount around and rode a few paces away. In

 a moment he was back. "By the gods! These warlords are cunning

 wolves."

 "Unless you have brought more men with you than I see hereabout, I

 suggest we should retreat while we have means and strength to do so."

 Eskevar glared at the panting seneschal. The afternoon light slanted

 sharply through the trees, but served only to heighten the dimness of

 the battlefield, most of which lay in gathering shadow. Clearly he did

 not like the idea of retreating from the first contact with the enemy,

 it rankled his fighting spirit. But his head wisely overruled his

 heart. "As you say Myrmior. Theido, Ronsard, get your men behind us

 and take yourselves away toward Askelon!" The King shouted this last

 order over his shoulder as his charger sprang away.

 Theido and Ronsard gathered the tattered remnant of their once-powerful

 force and left the field. The shouts and clamor died away behind them

 as they pushed back through the forest along the path Eskevar and his

 knights had forced through the wood. Though bone-weary and no longer

 able to lift their swords, the knights doggedly placed one foot in

 front of the other and dragged themselves away.

 After they had walked nearly half a league, the forest thinned and they

 came to a fresh-running brook. There they stopped to kneel and drink.

 Several of the knights among them knelt down, but could not rise again.

 Others stood teetering on their feet, afraid to stoop lest they, too,

 be unable to overcome the weight of their armor and succumb to

 exhaustion.

 "We must press on," said Ronsard, casting a worried eye around him. A

 few soldiers had splashed across the creek and now lay gasping on the

 other side. "If we tarry much longer, they will bury us here

 "If we had horses we would have a chance,". Thddo said. "When Eskevar

 sounds the retreat, they will soon pass us by. A knight on foot is no

 knight at all. This armor was not made for marching

 "I do not welcome the thought of being left behind when the army comes

 by. But look, good Theido." Ronsard pointed across the brook to a

 clearing where a line of wagons rumbled toward them. "You have only to

 speak your mind and it is done. Today is your day, my friend."

 "It certainly seems so."

 In moments Eskevar's surgeons were scurrying among them, removing

 gorgets and breastplates, greaves and brassards and mail shirts,

 attending to the wounds of the knights. The armor was collected by

 squires and taken to the waiting wa ins Other knights began calling

 for squires to come help them strip off their armor, and once

 unburdened they splashed their way across the brook and made for the

 meadow.

 The sun was westering when Theido and Ronsard stepped into the lea.

 They had waited until all of their men had been tended and had either

 walked out of the forest or had been carried out and placed in a wagon.

 Just as they stepped out of the wood a cheer went up from the soldiers.

 Looking around they saw several men leading horses. Unbelievably, they

 were their own chargers the animals, separated from their riders during

 the fight, had headed toward home and had been collected by the

 squires. Many of the knights found their own mounts; others took the

 mount of a fallen friend.

 "Be mounted, men!" shouted Ronsard happily. "To Askelon!" They

 turned and rode west through the forest once more and were Joined by

 the first of Eskevar's retreating army, grim-faced and sullen. Soon

 knights were streaming from the wood. Theido identified the devices

 and colors of the various lords: Benniot's silver and blue double

 eagle, Fincher's gauntlet of grey on a crimson field

 / 629 /

 clasping thunderbolts of white; Rudd's red ox on sable, Dilg*s green

 oak above crossed maces on a yellow field.

 "I do not see Ameronis, Lupollen or their party," said Thiedo.

 "Nor do I. Perhaps Wertwin will convince them yet. Let us so hope in

 any case."

 Theido swiveled in his saddle. "Where has Myrmior got to? I would

 thank him for his valor and sharp wits on the field today."

 "His will be the last blow dealt, if I know him at all." He turned in

 the saddle and spied a rank emerging from the wood. "Here, Theido!

 Yonder comes Eskevar and yes, Myrmior is with him, and the lords."

 In a moment the other lords had caught the two knights. "Is the enemy

 pursuing?" asked Theido.

 "Yes," answered Rudd unhappily. Clearly he did not like retreating any

 more than the others, probably less. "But they are afoot for the most

 part. If we continue, we should outdistance them shortly." He issued

 a challenge with his eyes to the others around him. "I say we should

 rally in the wood ahead and wait for them. We could-"

 "We could foolishly allow ourselves to be cut to ribbons in the night,"

 said Myrmior savagely. Fire glinted in his dark eyes. He was angered

 and turned his horse away from the others and rode away after glaring

 at those around him defiantly.

 "He speaks the truth," sighed Eskevar. "We have underestimated this

 enemy from the beginning. We will do well not to try doing it twice in

 one day. Retreat to Askelon is the only cure for our malady, my lords.

 We will have little enough time to prepare for a siege; let us make

 best use of it."

 The march back to Askelon was somber and silent. It was dark when the

 army reached the plain below the castle, and though the moon had not

 yet risen the ominous Wolf Star was burning brightly, shedding a chill

 light upon the land. That night the armies of the Dragon King felt the

 sting of that cold light. All regarded it bleakly and strong men

 quaked inside with fear, for they knew an evil day had come.

 FORTY-FOUR

 STEPPING THROUGH the waterfall was like stepping through a glass

 curtain. At the extreme edge where they entered, the tumbling water

 did not have the force it did in the center of the falls. Once

 through, the explorers found stone steps cut into a rock face that

 inclined away from the vertical plunge of the mountain wall. And

 though the steps were wet, and slimy with black moss, each was

 carefully carved, wide and broad so that with care no one need fall.

 The steps led up under an overhanging roof of rock to a landing of

 sorts a natural bartizan. There Durwin and Inchkeith found Quentin and

 Toli waiting for them as they came lumbering up the stairs.

 "This is the lost mine, the secret of the Ariga!" exclaimed Quentin,

 his voice sounding hollow in the great mouth of the tunnel. "Look!"

 His left hand pointed ecstatically toward the near wall. In near-total

 darkness Inchkeith looked and saw strange figures carved in the stone,

 glowing with a pale golden light. He could not make them out, they

 appeared to be shapes of letters in come unknown hand. But looking at

 them made him think of men and mountains and the waterfall churning and

 rivers and trees and the fullness of the earth.

 Durwin stepped to the wall and began tracing the inscriptions which

 were deeply carved and looked fresh as if the scribe had just laid away

 his chsel. The lines were straight and well-formed untouched by

 weather or age.

 Durwin began to read. "These Are The Mines Of The Ariga, Friends Of

 The Earth And All Living Things." Durwin turned to the

 / 631 f others, smiling. "There seems no doubt but that we have found

 what we seek. Shall we go further or wait until daylight to bring our

 provisions and tools up here?"

 It was a needless question. The piercing look of bright expectation on

 Quemin's face, and Toll's quiec excitement, were enough to answer.

 "Very well, we can start at once. But we will need a light first.

 Someone must go back for the torches, so we may as well bring up all

 the supplies at once."

 Quentin's face fell a fraction. "Toli and I will go. You and

 Inchkeith may stay here, and we will return at once."

 Before Durwin could suggest another plan they were 08, dashing down the

 slippery steps of the falls two at a time. "We may rescue some sleep

 from this night yet," laughed Durwin. "It will take them two hours at

 least to return to camp and bring our things. We may as well rest

 while we can. I think it will be our last for a long while to come."

 They settled down against the far wall, and Durwin fell asleep almost

 at once. Inchkeith pulled his coat around him and breathed the cool,

 musty air of the deep earth which rose up from the mine shaft somewhere

 away in the blackness beyond. But sleep had abandoned him completely,

 he was wide awake and could not take his eyes from the wonderful

 inscription shining softly from the opposite wall. Even though it

 merely marked the entrance to a mine such an ordinary thing Inchkeith

 thought he had never seen anything so inexplicably beautiful.

  

 A shout brought both men to their feet. Durwin rubbed his eyes. "So

 soon? So it is! I feel as if I just dozed off. How did they manage

 so quickly?"

 He and Inchkeith hurried, with careful dignity, down the steps to the

 filmy curtain of water and stepped out into a night fading into a

 pearly dawn. The quick splash of cold water brought Durwin fully

 awake. "Brrr! Such a rude awakening!" he sputtered, clambering

 slowly down the rocks like an animal roused from hibernation.

 Quentin was untying bundles from a horse and Toli was leading the

 other, loaded down with packs and tools. "I should have guessed' said

 Durwin. "This night their feet would have wings. Well, let us begin.

 Our labor is before us."

 Inchkeith only nodded. He had been strangely silent since entering the

 mine.

 In another hour's time they had carried up all of the provisions and

 tools they would need. Quentin, with only one useful arm, had carried

 the most, making more trips than the others, so eager was he it) begin

 the search. He had no idea what lay in the depths of the mines below,

 but it greatly heartened him to be once more where the Ariga had been

 and to see again the works of their long-vanished hands. Being here,

 his thoughts turned toward Dekra.

 They piled all the baggage in the mouth of the mine and began dividing

 up the packs they would each carry. Inchkeith insisted on carrying his

 fair share, despite his deformity. Durwin allowed that he would need

 his strength to forge the sword and should therefore conserve his

 energy while he could the way would be difficult enough. But Inchkeith

 would have none of it. In the end he gathered up his various

 implements saying, "I carry my own tools, at least. No one touches

 this master's tools but the master himself The anvil, bellows and

 heavier items belonging to the forge were left behind at the mine's

 entrance. The party was finally ready.

 "Now, one thing more and we will begin," Durwin announced. "While I

 light the torches I want each of you to go back outside and look at the

 valley in the dawn. Unless I am far wrong it will be some time before

 any of us sees the light of day again. I want you all to fill your

 hearts with a pleasant memory against the time when darkness crowds our

 way."

 They all went outside and gazed upon the bright green bowl of the

 peaceful valley. The morning light struck the curling mist with a

 golden radiance, and the mountains seemed crowned with flames of red

 gold. Shennydd Veltyn lay smooth and deep and undisturbed, mirroring

 the limitless blue of a clean morning sky brushed with the lacework of

 wispy white clouds.

 The thin mountain air smelled sweet and fresh, vastly different from

 the dank, stale air of the mine. Quentin, though he appreciated

 Durwin's suggestion as a wise one, was anxious to be off. While he

 gazed about him intently, his mind was so full of new ex

 / 633 I

 dtement he saw little. When they finally turned to go back into the

 mine, Toli was the last to tear himself away from the beauty before

 him.

 One by one they ascended the tumbled rocks, wet with spray. One by one

 they approached the thunder of the falls. One by one they parted the

 shimmering curtain and stepped inside, into the darkness of the fabled

 mines.

 Esme and Bria stood on the high barbican overlooking the gates of the

 castle and the town below, its buildings clustered like a flock of

 timid sheep in the shadow of its great protector. On this fresh

 morning, though newborn and still fondling its night airs, the narrow,

 cramped streets were rivers of moving color, all surging at flood stage

 toward the gates below. Out on the plain, as far as Pelgrin's dark

 border, threads of travelers could be seen weaving their way to the

 city to join the streams moving into the castle.

 "From where do they come?" wondered Esme, her voice softened with awe.

 "There must be whole villages of people down there."

 "True," replied Bria. "Word travels on eagle's wings, does it not? It

 was just the day before yesterday that the lords returned from battle.

 Now look. Some of them have traveled all night to get here. I do not

 blame them, though. I would do the same." She said these last words

 with such hopelessness, Esme turned to her and took her by the

 shoulders.

 "Bria, we are friends, you and I. Are we not?"

 "Yes, of course. Why-"

 "Then I must tell you something as a friend would." Esme searched her

 companion's face and looked her in the eyes. Bria was startled by the

 directness with which this dark-haired beauty addressed her.

 "Speak freely," said Bria.

 "We are women now, Bria. Royal women. There is no more room for

 girlish indulgences. You have eyes; you have seen. We are to endure

 siege here not many days hence. We must put away all thoughts of

 ourselves and begin thinking of others first. It must be done. We

 must be strong for the men who fight, for the people who will look lo

 us for hope and encouragement, and only lastly for ourselves. For the

 sake of the kingdom this must be. Our courage must be a flame which

 can kindle the hearts of those around us. That is a woman's duty in

 time of war."

 Bria's green eyes fell, ashamed. "Your words pierce me, fair friend.

 What you say is true. I have walked in proud misery these past weeks

 ever since Quentin left. I have been selfish. I have shown myself to

 be afflicted by the fate that took our loved ones from us though others

 had better claim to such recourse than I." She raised her eyes once

 more to her friend's.

 "But no more, Esme, no more. You have spoken the truth as a friend

 ought. I will put away girlish airs and simpering. I will be strong

 that those around me will take strength, too, and not be at pains to

 cheer myself when there is more important work to do. I will be

 strong, Esme."

 Bria threw her arms around Esme's neck, and the two young women

 embraced each other for a long moment. "Come, let us do what we can to

 see to the accommodations for the villagers seeking refuge within these

 walls," suggested Bria.

 They turned away from the barbican and began walking along the southern

 battlements. "I feel such a fool, Esme. Forgive me."

 "No, do not chide yourself. I did not speak so to reproach you, for

 you are far more tenderhearted than I."

 "If that were so, I should have been comforting you, Esme. You are far

 from home, and no news has come of the fighting there or of your

 family. You must be very worried."

 "I am, though it was part of my father's plan to send me here and thus

 remove me from the threat of war. I honor him by holding to the course

 he set for me, though I am sure he scarcely guessed that mighty Askelon

 would fall under siege."

 Esme threw a guarded glance to Bria, then blushed and averted her

 eyes.

 "What? Speak if you will. What is it?"

 "Well, to tell you the truth," said Esme slowly, "I have not thought of

 my own family as much as I have another."

 "Toll?"

 "Yes, Toli." She regarded Bria carefully. "Why? Is something wrong

 with that?"

 "Oh, no! Far from it, Esme. It surprises me a little, that is all.

 Toli is always so quiet, so invisible. I scarcely notice when he is

 around. But then, he and Quentin are inseparable, and since I only

 have eyes for Queniin it should not surprise me that someone else sees

 in Toli something I do not."

 "Believe me, it was the furthest thing from my mind to lose my heart so

 easily. I was on an errand for my father, but in those days upon the

 trail and Bria, you should have seen the way he protected me when we

 met the Ningaal. And afterward, when I saw him alive again, my heart

 went out to him. He likes me, too, I know."

 Their talk had brought them to the great curtain which divided the

 inner ward from the outer. They stood looking down into the outer ward

 at the mass of people moving about, constructing tents and temporary

 lodgings for themselves. Cattle, pigs and chickens had been brought

 along to provide food should the siege prove a long one. The warder

 and his men were scurrying around directing the flow of humanity here

 and there, trying to keep the pathways open for soldiers who would be

 moving through.

 "Can the castle possibly hold all these people?" asked Esme.

 "I have never seen anything like it, though it is said that in the

 Winter's War 100,000 were besieged here all winter. But that was long,

 long ago."

 The lowing of cows and the squeals of pigs, intermingled with the

 general shouting and crying of peasants and villagers, created an

 overwhelming din. The princesses looked down upon the frightened

 populace and forgot their own cares, for in the pathetic confusion of

 the refugees they heard small children crying.

 "Are you sure you want to go down there?" asked Esme.

 "I am sure. There may be but little we can do for them. But that

 little shall be done."

 With that, they entered the southern tower and began descending the

 spiraled ranks of stairs into the noisy chaos of the outer ward.

 FORTY-FIVE

 THE DARKNESS was unlike anything Quentin had ever experienced. Far

 darker than the blackest night, it was a palpable thing) primitive and

 insistent. Almost as if alive, it crouched around each turn and on

 every side, waiting to smother all intruders in its velvet embrace. The

 torches they carried seemed fragile and ridiculous things, mere toys

 against an unrelenting foe of stupid, savage cunning.

 Still, the sputtering pitch torches served somehow to keep this awesome

 darkness at bay, though they always seemed to be on the verge of

 guttering out completely and plunging their bearers into a void as

 black as death. Each one carried a torch except Inchkeith, who labored

 doggedly along, weighed down with his delving tools, as he called them.

 Durwin went ahead, relying on his sparse knowledge ofAriga mining lore

 to serve as a guide. Quentin, arm in sling, but toting a large pack

 nonetheless, followed Durwin. Inchkeith hobbled along behind Quentin,

 and Toli brought up the rear, grinding his teeth with every step into

 the mountain's black heart.

 After walking for what seemed days on end into the darkness along a

 low-roofed, wide corridor of solid stone, Durwin halted the party

 saying, "No doubt you young men could go on walking this way until

 Heoth himself stopped you in your tracks. But I think it is time for a

 rest. A bite to eat would not be unwelcome, either."

 "Take no thought for me, hermit. Do not stop on my account," said

 Inchkeith. But Quentin noticed he loosened his pack all the same.

 "It is not for anyone but myself that I sit down, sir. My feet tell me

 it is time to rest a bit, and my stomach agrees."

 / 637 I

 They ate, and Quentin realized how hungry he was after all. As he

 munched, he wondered whether it was day or night outside. But in his

 mind he pictured it as exactly the way he had seen it last. Durwin had

 been right it was a useful thing to carry a little sunlight with one

 into this dark hole.

 Toli ate little and said less. He had grown sullen and had withdrawn

 into himself, becoming, if it were possible, even more quiet than

 usual. Quentin pretended to take no notice of his friend's behavior,

 for that would have only served to make it more painful to him. He

 knew precisely what was bothering Toli: the Jher did not like the

 smothering confines of the mine. It was a supreme act of bravery for

 Toli, born of a people who roam the earth at will, following the wild

 creatures, to have even entered the hateful place, which seemed to him

 worse than a grave.

 And there was something of the same uneasiness which bothered Quentin,

 too. But in him it took the form of a puzzlement. The Ariga, whose

 every work was a visible, tangible song, had constructed a most

 unappealing mine shaft. Not that Quentin had expected the

 brightly-colored, sweeping galleries ofDekra to be reproduced below,

 but he did anticipate something of their remarkable flair, which

 usually showed in even the most mundane articles of their everyday

 life, to be present here. All he could see was a black tunnel of stone

 which glistened in patches where water seeped down its sides.

 "If I am not mistaken, we arc still in the entrance shaft. Soon, I

 think, we will reach the first level. How many levels there are I

 cannot say, nor on which one we shall find the lanthanil," Durwin said.

 "We will search each level and every gallery until we find it. My own

 guess is that it lies very deep and that we must descend to the lowest

 level."

 At that Toli made a strange grimace, as if he were eating a most bitter

 fruit. Quentin would have laughed if it had been anyone else, but he

 knew how much this experience was torturing his friend. So he turned

 away and said to Durwin, "You mention the lanthanil. I would hear more

 about it, for all I know is what little you have said and what I

 remember from Dekra, which is so wrapped in legend as to be beyond

 belief."

 "Do not be so certain of that. Yes, often the stories men recite about

 such things do grow in the telling. But the Stone of Light that is

 what the word means, roughly translated is a most fantastic substance.

 It has many exotic and powerful properties."

 "If tales are to be believed," said Inchkeith, staring into the

 darkness, "hear this one. Many years ago my father was traveling the

 world with his father he was but a small boy at the time and they were

 seeking the secrets of weaponry and armor, of forging and forming rare

 metals, of setting gems in their bezels all the craft which an armorer

 must know.

 "In Pelagia they met a merchant who sold arms, and they became friends

 when the merchant saw a sample of my grandfather's work. When the

 merchant realized that he was talking to a great craftsman, he took

 them in the back of his shop for in that country they had stalls

 outside covered with awnings, and inside where the merchants and

 craftsmen lived and worked they kept the very finest articles of their

 trade. To be invited inside was a considerable honor.

 "This merchant, a very well-known and respectable man I cannot recall

 if I ever heard his name took them in and led them to a very small room

 in his large house. He unlocked the bolt across the door to this room

 and led them inside. My father said it was very dark. He remembered

 that the walls of the room were extremely thick and the door was very

 heavy, for it groaned on its iron hinges like a drawbridge.

 "The merchant closed the door and brought out a casket from some bidden

 place and put it before them on the table. The case was bound with

 locks and chains, though it was but a small one. When he had unlocked

 it, he took out an object wrapped in cloth. My father said the object

 was not large, and appeared to not be of much weight, for the man

 handled it was ease and with great reverence.

 "The merchant did not speak, but unwrapped the cloth and revealed a

 chalice of surpassing beauty. But most remarkable of all the thing

 that my father remembered most clearly until the day he died was the

 way it shined in the darkness, as if lit with an inner Same. He said

 he cried to look at it, it was so beautiful, but then, he was a small

 boy.

 / 639 I

 "He reached out to touch the shining cup, and the merchant pulled it

 away saying that k was enchanted and that to touch it with bare hands

 diminished its power. He said it was very old and its power was only a

 fraction of what it had been, but that was still great. He said that

 cordials sipped from the goblet cured at once, that the very touch of

 it healed all infirmities.

 "My father's father then did a very unusual thing. As proud as he was

 of his work, he said he would give the merchant his finest dagger for

 one touch of the chalice for himself and his son. My father noticed

 the strange look which came over his father's face as his voice

 pleaded. The dagger was finely wrought; it had a golden handle with

 rubies inset. It was worth a great deal, and yet the merchant

 hesitated.

 "But in the end he relented and let them touch the chalice. My father

 remembered how the light which leapt from the exquisite cup lit his

 father's face and seemed to infuse him with a new power of creating and

 a heightened understanding of his craft though this was observed much

 later. When his father finally passed the chalice to him, he was

 afraid to touch it, but his father urged him to and he did. He said he

 never felt such strength and wholeness, and nothing in his life ever

 moved him with such emotion after that. Though he was but a small boy,

 he knew even then that he would never recover that feeling or see such

 beauty again; so he treasured it in his heart.

 "My father spent the rest of his life trying to achieve in his craft

 the beauty that he saw in that cup. And you know he lived far beyond

 the natural span of a man's years. He always said it was because of

 the chalice and that had his father given a hundred golden daggers, it

 would have been but a paltry sum for the gift of that one touch."

 Inchkeith's voice had softened to a whisper. Quentin and Toli and

 Durwin, too, sat rapt and staring with amazement at the story the

 armorer told. For a long time no one spoke, but at last Quentin broke

 the silence. "What became of your grandfather? How did it affect

 him?"

 Inchkeith was slow in answering, and when he at last opened his mouth

 to speak, he turned eyes filled with sadness toward them.

 "His was not a happy fate. He, too, lived long and prospered. But he

 became obsessed with finding another chalice, or some other object made

 from the mysterious metal, and when he could not he tried to make one

 himself. But he was always disappointed. For though his works became

 the most highly prized in all the realm, he was yet unsatisfied. He

 died bitter and broken, consumed with despair. Some said it was the

 despair that killed him in the end."

 "Did your father not share his fate, then?"

 "To some degree, yes. He, too, was never satisfied with the work of

 his hands after having held the chalice. But you must remember he was

 a small boy. I believe his heart was yet innocent and untutored in the

 ways of the world. The touch of the chalice, rather than leading to

 bitterness in the end, inflamed him with a burning desire to seek that

 beauty. He died at last unfulfilled, it is true, but not unhappy for

 that."

 "Your story is most moving," said Durwin. "I begin to see now why the

 Most High has chosen you to accompany us on this journey. It seems

 your family has some part to play here." He looked around at them all

 and said, "Well, we have rested and talked enough. Let us continue our

 quest. Onward!"

 Slowly, almost painfully, they shouldered their burdens once more and

 lifted their torches to resume their long, slow descent into the

 mine.

 If the outer wards were filled with the frenzy of frightened citizens,

 the inner wards were filled with soldiers feverishly preparing for the

 impending siege. A steady stream of soldiers marched from the base of

 the southern tower, emerging from the donjon with armloads of spears

 and bundles of arrows. Others, bent to the task in smaller groups,

 labored over objects of wood, rope and iron on the ground, they were

 assembling the machines of war. Still others tied piles of straw into

 bundles and sewed heavy pieces of cloth and skins together.

 Horses were led to the stables around the ward yard where squires sat

 at whetstones sharpening sword, lance, spear and halberd. Provisions,

 brought up from the town by the wagonload, were stacked away in

 kitchens and pantries by cooks and their helpers. Dogs chased cackling

 chickens and honking flocks of geese while

 / 641 I

 children, uninhibited by the danger and excited by the bustle of

 activity around them, ran and played, dodging the footsteps of their

 elders and staging pretend battles.

 Eskevar roamed the battlements like a shade. He seemed to be

 everywhere at once. His commanders looked up to see him watching them

 as they drilled the troops, the donjon keeper found him inquiring about

 the level of water in the reservoir, dipping the measuring rod himself,

 the squires were instructed in better sharpening technique by one whose

 hand bore the royal signet. At the end of the day there did not seem

 to be anyone anywhere within the walls who had not seen him.

 "Sire, I must protest!" exclaimed Biorkis, clucking his tongue.

 "Durwin would tell you if he were here, and so I tell you in his stead

 listen to him if not to me, you must rest. Your strength is but half

 recovered, and your ride into battle has tired you. Rest, I say, and

 let your commanders make ready all that is necessary."

 Eskevar fixed him with a baleful stare. "You little guess the danger

 gathering at our gates. Who is there to look to these preparations if

 not the King?"

 Biorkis, well warned by Durwin regarding the obstinate pride of his

 patient, did not flinch from his duty. "What good will you be to your

 people when you lay exhausted on your bed, unable to even lift your

 head, let alone wield a sword or shout a command? Rest now while you

 may."

 The King frowned ferociously. "I am sound enough, I tell you! My

 strength is none of your concern." Even as he spoke, he tottered

 uncertainly.

 "How so. Sire? It is now the concern of every man and child in the

 realm who would see his King deliver him from the hand of the enemy.

 You need rest. Gather your strength that the day of the trial does not

 find you enfeebled."

 "Enfeebled! The way you talk! And to your King, by the gods!"

 Eskevar snapped. His face darkened in such rage that Biorkis thought

 it best not to press the matter further for the moment. "There is much

 to do and someone must look to it that it be done well," Eskevar

 growled as he went out again. Biorkis did not see him the rest of the

 day, though he waited near his chamber for the King to return.

 FORTY-SIX

 IT WAS STRANGE to wake in the vast darkness of the mine. When Quentin

 opened his eyes, he did not know that he had opened them at all- The

 sensation of blindness was so overpowering that for a moment Quentin's

 heart clenched in his chest until he remembered where he was and how he

 had come to be there. Just to make sure he winked both eyes several

 times, but could discern no difference. So he lay on the hard, uneven

 stone and waited, not inclined to bump around in an attempt to light a

 torch. From the deep, regular breathing which filled the chamber's

 towering silence, he knew the others were still asleep. He would

 wait.

 They had made two more long marches before fatigue overtook them and

 Durwin decided they must sleep before moving on. They had reached the

 first level shortly after they had stopped to rest and eat the first

 time. The corridor with the low roof had ended in a steep incline that

 emptied upon a room of interminable size, judging by the echoes which

 the stony walls flung back at them when they spoke. But they had no

 light to see how large the room was, for the torchlight failed to

 illuminate its furthest dimensions.

 They had crossed the great room, passing huge columns of reddish stone

 carved of the rock of the mountain's core, rising out of the floor like

 monstrous trees sweeping up from the ground, their tops lost in the

 inky blackness above. Quentin counted twenty such pillars before they

 reached the far end of the room, which tapered to a huge arch through

 which they passed. The arch bore the unmistakable marks of having been

 made by Ariga stone cutters Quentin would have liked to stand and

 admire it, but they passed quickly on.

 The next corridor was more difficult to navigate than the first.

 / 643 I

 It was wider and its roof higher, allowing for more fredom of movement,

 but numerous shafts and galleries opened off of it, often abruptly and

 at slight angles. It forked in several places, splitting off to the

 right and left. Sometimes they would pass by an opening which Quentin

 could not see until he felt a chill breeze on his face and smelled the

 dank, musty odor of stale air and stone. Once they crossed a stone

 bridge that arched across a wide crevice, splitting the floor before

 them in a sharp divide. On the bridge Quentin felt a warm updraft and

 guessed that the rift was the chimney of some subterranean fire

 eternally blazing.

 Each time Durwin came to a fork or a turn which offered a choice of

 paths to follow, the hermit elected to take the one which promised a

 downward course. He admitted he had no precise notion of what they

 were looking for, but had the idea that the highly prized ore they

 sought lay at the deepest levels of the mine.

 They had rested in a curious domed chamber on the far side of the stone

 bridge. They talked among themselves at first, but somehow through

 fatigue, or through the wearing oppression of the deep darkness the

 conversation seemed to dry up like a trickle of water in the desert

 sand, vanishing slowly without a trace of its having ever been there.

 Though tired, and aching from the weight of the packs they carried,

 they had decided to press on. The slope of the downward track

 increased dramatically once they left the domed chamber. With the

 extra weight they carried on their shoulders, the falling grade

 impelled them onward at a faster pace than they would have normally had

 strength or inclination to attempt. The result was that they reached

 the second level in what seemed no time at all.

 Quentin knew they had been walking some hours when they tumbled into

 the enormous cavern that formed the central chamber of the second

 level. But time had ceased 10 function in its normal way. Hours

 collapsed and minutes stretched out incredibly until it seemed that

 time had no meaning at all unless it was measured in footsteps or in

 tunnels passed.

 They had been walking in silence, each wrapped in his own thoughts as

 in a hooded cloak from head to toe, when Quentin fell a touch at his

 elbow which caused him to Jump in fright, nearly drop ping his torch.

 "Tolil You scared me. I did not bear you creeping up behind me."

 "Excuse me, Kenta. I did not mean to alarm you." He looked at Quentin

 with large, shining eyes as deep as fathomless pools. For a moment

 Quentin was reminded of a time, long ago now it seemed, when he had met

 a young Jher in the forest dressed in deerskins and peering at him with

 the soft, wary eyes of a wild creature. The look Toli gave him now was

 exactly as it had been then. With a sudden creeping sensation Quentin

 imagined Toli had returned once again to his earlier, more primitive

 state. Looking at those large dark eyes glittering in the quavering

 light of the torch was like looking into the eyes of a wild and

 frightened animal.

 "What is it, Toli? Is something the matter?" Quentin spoke in a bare

 whisper.

 Toli stared around him in a queer, wide-eyed way. When he spoke again,

 it was with a voice quivering on a strange note Quentin had not heard

 before in his friend. Toli appeared poised and ready for flight,

 Quentin feared that he might suddenly dash off into the darkness never

 to be seen again. "My people do not love dark places," said Toli. "We

 have never lived in caves. In ages before this one, when holes and

 caves were home to many men, my people lived in the forest and made

 their homes in the light,"

 The way he spoke made it seem that Toli was offering a deeply personal

 confession. Quentin did not know what to think.

 "There are still those among us who speak of the times of the cave

 dwellers," continued Toli. "Some even have been inside caves when they

 have come upon them in the forest. But I have never been."

 All at once Quentin realized what Toll was trying to tell him. And he

 realized what strength it had taken for the Jher to follow him into

 this dark place. To Toli it was not a mine, it was an ancestral taboo

 which, out of love for his master, he was willing to put aside. But

 the darkness and the endless walkways of stone boring ever deeper into

 the bowels of the earth had at last stripped Toli of the veneer of

 civilization he had acquired in living with his Kenta. He was the Jher

 prince once more, wild as the free creatures of the Wilderlands.

 f 645 f

 "We will soon be finished here, Toli. Do not fear. You will see the

 living land once again, and very soon." Quentin felt the emptiness of

 his words. The more so when Toli turned an uncomprehending, glassy

 stare upon him and seemed not to recognize him at all. Quentin had the

 odd feeling that he was looking at a stranger whose face was as

 familiar as his own. The Toli he knew had vanished.

 "Demur Ivi, Toli," Quentin murmured as they trudged along. Repeating

 the words over and over by the flickering torchlight, he had wracked

 his brain for some smattering of the Jher speech he could use and that

 was what he had come up with. Demur Ivi Hold on... hold on.

 Quentin rolled over in the darkness and was startled to see a faint

 light bouncing toward him out of the formless void. It seemed to float

 or swim in the darkness, and k blinked like the eye of some cave beast

 that had happened upon their trail and was now stalking them. He

 watched as the light grew brighter by degrees.

 Quentin sat up, wondering whether to wake the others and warn them. He

 heard the shuffling footsteps of someone coming down the passageway

 toward the chamber where they had huddled to sleep. But even as

 Quentin framed the thought, the feeling of danger passed. He waited

 and presently the light burst through the arched entrance to the

 chamber, filling the room, or so it seemed to Quentin's light-deprived

 eyes, with a sun like brilliance.

 "So it a! You are awake, Quentin. Come with me, I want to show you

 something

 "But the others "

 "Let them sleep. It is not far. Come along."

 Quentin stood stiffly and found at once how sore his feet were. He

 padded after Durwin, who lifted the torch high so both could use it as

 they entered once more the main tunnel they had been following on their

 last march. Presently they came to a small arched entrance in the side

 of the passageway. Durwin stopped and said, "I have been wandering

 long up and down this gallery. I only saw this when I was returning to

 the chamber to sleep a little while ago. I decided to try it. Follow

 me."

 Quentin, curiosity piqued, stooped and ducked under the arch. At once

 they were in the uncomfortably close confines of a low and narrow

 wormhole tunnel that twisted and turned with barely enough room for a

 man to stand erect.

 The tunnel felt away steeply, far more rapidly than Quentin thought

 safe; it seemed as if the tunnel would suddenly pitch down and he would

 find himself falling into a bottomless well. But Durwin seemed to have

 no fear, lurching along as quickly as his legs would carry him. So

 Quentin kept his fears to himself and followed dutifully along.

 They came to a narrow place the end of the tunnel. But Quentin saw

 Durwin turn sideways and disappear into a crack just wide enough to

 squeeze through. He, too, turned his shoulders and, holding his

 breath, scraped through the thin opening. As he came through, Quentin

 felt Durwin grab him by the shoulders and lay down the torch so that he

 could see that he only stood on a narrow ledge.

 Then Durwin smiled at him in the glow of the torch, his face gleaming

 with ferocious glee. "What is it, Durwin?" asked Quentin. He felt a

 thrill of excitement tingle along his spine. Quentin heard his own

 voice fall away from him, and he knew he must be standing before an

 enormous chasm.

 "What is it? What is it indeed!" laughed the hermit. "I will show

 you." Durwin's voice sounded empty and metallic as it reverberated

 through the dark space before them. Quentin crowded closer to the rock

 wall at his back.

 The hermit took the torch and with a mighty heave sent it spinning off

 into the darkness beyond.

 "No! Wait!" cried Quentin. His cry echoed back to him from across a

 great distance. The torch tumbled and spun as it fell and fell, and

 Quentin saw the reflected flash of the fire on smooth surfaces as it

 plunged and at last extinguished in a splash that sounded like ice

 splintering on a newly frozen pond.

 "Watch," said Durwin breathlessly.

 Quentin could see nothing and worried about the torch. How were they

 to find their way back again? But then a strange and wonderful thing

 happened.

 / 647 /

 As he watched, he imagined that he saw the stars of heaven come peeping

 out, one by one, into the blackness surrounding them. At first these

 stars were but the tiniest slivers of light, but they began to grow.

 "What ?" began Quentin. He never finished the thought.

 Above him the vaulted roof of the enormous chamber had begun to shine

 with a soft amber luminescence that blushed pink like a winter sunrise.

 The far walls held glimmering green traces like liquid light streaking

 down. The floor of the cavern far below shone with its own ghostly

 light in irregular splotches here and there, in seams of blue and gold.

 Within moments though to Quentin it seemed like the slow dawning of day

 the vast chamber was radiating light from all sides and Quentin was

 swept away with incredulous joy.

 "Durwin," he whispered "Yes, Quentin. We have found it. It is the

 lanthanil."

 FORTY-SEVEN

 BY THE FIERCE light of the Wolf Star the sentinels watched them coming.

 Although it was the sixth hour of the night, the cold glow of the awful

 star cast a light as bright as day upon the plain. The star had grown

 to fill the entire eastern sky, obliterating all lesser lights. And by

 the light of their savage star the Ningaal came to Askelon.

 A messenger was dispatched to bring the King; he had ordered that he be

 notified, whatever the hour, when the enemy approached. The courier

 had scarcely left the battlements when he was back with Eskevar, grim

 and glowering in his sable-lined cloak, its golden dragon brooch and

 chain glittering in the streaming light.

 The embroidered silver figure of the dragon could be seen writhing on

 the back of the hooded cloak as it swirled out behind him. The King

 was wearing tall red boots, and his sword hung at his side, those who

 saw him knew that he not been to bed that night, but had been waiting

 and was ready to meet the enemy.

 They were still a long way off as Eskevar glared defiantly out into the

 unnatural night. "Come to Askelon, you barbarian horde!" spat

 Eskevar. "Come and meet your doom!"

 The commanders who had gathered around him exchanged worried glances,

 for Eskevar's countenance burned with a feverish when like the mazard

 of a ravening wolf. He cocked his head to them and said, "Rudd, there.

 And you, Dilg; and Fincher. The dragon sleeps while the enemy draws

 closer. He is under the hill sleeping in his hall of stone, but not

 for long. He will awaken and defend his home. Never has the hand of

 an invader touched these walls, and none ever shall. The dragon will

 stop them. Yes, the dragon!"

 The lords nodded in silence, afraid to break in on the King's ravings.

 Eskevar gripped the stone crenelle with both hands as if he were

 holding up the walls with his bare hands. "See how they come," he said

 slowly, every word ringing clear. "I feel their hated feet upon the

 land. I feel their evil intent deep in my inmost parts. But the

 dragon's heart is in me, it is of iron. I am not afraid."

 The lords shrank away from the Dragon King. Even those who had served

 in the wars against Goliah had never seen him so. His eyes started

 from his head and his mouth was taut, his high, noble brow shone smooth

 and tight in the starlight.

 "This is a wonder, is it not, my lords? Look upon it. See how

 willingly they come to the slaughter. See the accursed marching to

 their destruction. But have no pity for them, my lords. They deacrve

 what they shall receive. They shall be cut down."

 "This night is chill. Sire," said Rudd. He spoke hesitantly, for a

 number of soldiers had gathered around and were murmuring over the

 King's behavior. If it was to be whispered about that the King had

 lost his senses, their soldiers could not be expected to fight as they

 should when the time came. "Perhaps we should all wait within for a

 little. I would talk with you about our defenses."

 / 649.1

 Eskevar turned to them as if seeing them for the first time. "Eh?

 What is that you say?" He passed an unsteady hand over his brow, now

 beaded with sweat. Rudd felt a shudder shake the King's frame as he

 placed his hand on his elbow.

 "Yes, come with us and tell us what orders you intend for us," urged

 Dilg, taking the King's other arm.

 The two led him away from the battlements, and the other lords followed

 after dismissing the crowd which had gathered, saying, "Go to your

 posts. We will be in council with the King." Then they hurried after

 Eskevar and his escort so as not to raise suspicion among those who

 watched them pass.

 Upon reaching the turret of the western tower they were met by Queen

 Alinea, stepping out from the deep shadow of the doorway. "My Queen "

 said Rudd. She read at once the sheepish looks of the nobles.

 "Eskevar, I was Just looking for you. Dismiss your commanders for yet

 a little while; let them go to their men. Or if you will, allow them

 to gather in the council chamber. I would talk with you, my husband.

 It is so lonely this night."

 "Yes, Sire. We will talk soon. Send us back to our men that we may

 stir them to boldness with high words."

 Eskevar did not notice what was being said. He only looked at his

 wife, who linked her arm in his and steered him back into the tower.

 "Yes, go to your men. Tell them we must be ready. We must be ready."

 The King turned away, his face white in the glaring light of the star.

 The lords of Mensandor, glad to be relieved of the responsibility for

 the King, though sick at heart for his most unusual condition, hurried

 back to their posts to reassure their men that the King was sound and

 would lead them when the time came. But in their hearts they

 wondered.

 They stood on the floor of an enormous vault at the very roots of the

 mountains. Quentin stared wide-eyed like a child, blinking in utter

 disbelief. The magnificence of the chamber was beyond his ability to

 form words to give utterance to his thoughts. Toli, too, stood by him

 in mute wonder at the splendor of the subterranean treasury, for

 treasure it was.

 Inchkeith had shouted for joy and gamboled like a kid down the long,

 winding ledge where they had entered the vault. He still darted here

 and there examining first one kind of ore formation, and then another.

 Din-win, by contrast, seemed almost sedate and restrained. But he was

 as excited as the others, Quentin knew. His pbilance took the form of

 speech Durwin had not stopped talking since they had entered the vault

 the second time, bringing Toli and Inchkeith.

 Quentin turned to the hermit, who was babbling about the various

 devices the Ariga had used to mine the lanthanil, and asked, "What was

 that you said about some sort of collapse at the main entrance?"

 "What was that? Oh, yes, I found the main entrance to this room, this

 castle, with no trouble. Our path led straight to it. But it was

 blocked by a fall of stone." He turned around, searching for the

 entrance, spied it and pointed out across the expanse toward an

 opposite wall. "There, see all that rubble? It is there the entrance

 lies."

 Quentin saw a tumbled mass of rock slabs and boulders, some as big as

 houses, that looked as if the tunnel had collapsed. "What happened

 there?" he asked.

 "I can only guess, of course, but I imagine the Ariga blocked it off

 for some reason. They were far too skillful as miners to have allowed

 such a catastrophe to happen accidentally. I think they intended it.

 There came a time when they decided to close off this particular part

 of the mine."

 "This part? This is where the lanthanil is."

 "So it is! They had a reason for it, of that you can be certain. What

 that reason was I cannot say, any more than I can say how the Ariga

 vanished, or where they went. But leave it they did... for us to

 find."

 "But it would have taken us years to dig through that confusion at the

 entrance. What made you think there would be another way in?"

 "I do not think they determined to keep everyone out Just the curious,

 the fortune hunters and desecrators."

 "I would never have thought of trying that hole in the wall. It looked

 like a drop to certain death lo me. How did you think of it?"

 / 651 I

 Durwin smiled and shrugged. "I do not know. But if you believe that

 it was meant for us to find it then we would have found it in any case.

 If the Most High had so wished) the mountains would have opened up

 before usi"

 Toli had been scraping around the mounds of stone that sloped up from

 the floor, and he came gliding back to where Durwin and Quentin were

 talking. "Come with me," he said, pulling them away. "I have found

 something!" He ran away again with Quentin and Durwin tagging after

 him. As they rounded the heap of stone, Toli pointed to something

 which shimmered in the glowing light of the cav em

 "What is it?" asked Quentin, bending to get a better look.

 "I think it is an anvil," Toli answered.

 "An anvil like none I have ever seen."

 "That is because it is gold! And look at these." The Jher stooped and

 began picking up objects from the floor, where they were arrayed as if

 waiting for the master to return and take up his work once more.

 "Let me see those." Inchkeith pushed in and took two strange looking

 objects from Toli. He turned them over in his hands and tested their

 heft.

 "What are they? Tools?"

 "Exactly," replied Inchkeith. His face shone with excitement. "But

 such tools! These are the tools of a great master craftsman. And they

 are made of gold, too. Imagine thinking so little of gold that you

 would make tools of it! They are of very old and unusual design, but I

 can readily perceive their purpose. And look here is a hammer."

 "I recognize that at least. But it must be very heavy, and much too

 soft for a hammer." Quentin took the hammer from Inchkeith and tried

 it. The golden hammer was not as heavy as he expected; in fact, it was

 only slightly heavier than a hammer made of iron.

 "Lanthanil can be worked with tools of any kind," the armorer

 explained. "It is wonderfully malleable. But gold does not diminish

 its power. Gold is the only substance which does not transmit the

 power of the metal. And the Ariga no doubt used a secret alloy to

 strengthen the gold for use as hammer and anvil.

 "It was foolish of me to have brought those." Inchkeith gestured

 toward the pile of baggage that lay stacked on the floor a few paces

 away. "Between these" he shook the tools in his hand "and the forge

 yonder, we have everything we need."

 "The forge?" Quentin looked around. "I do not see a forge."

 "There, set in the wall. Mind you, it does not look like one of our

 forges; it is more like a shrine. But I can tell what use it had.

 "Tis a forge."

 Quentin felt very small and insignificant in the magnificent chamber.

 He turned his eyes once more toward its huge dome, glowing amber and

 green, and to the walls streaked with blue and violet veins, and to the

 floors suffused with red-gold and rose. He felt like a thief in a

 king's treasury who might be caught at any moment and thrown out.

 "Now, then. Here are the tools and anvil. The forge is close by. We

 lack only the ore and we can begin," said Durwin.

 The words shook Quentin out of his reverie. He had forgotten all about

 their reason for coming, so taken was he with the otherworldly beauty

 of the Ariga vault. "Begin?"

 "Yes," Durwin laughed. "We have a sword to make!" .

 FORTY-EIGHT

 "No," INSTRUCTED Durwin. "These will not do." He handed two shining

 green rocks back to Toli, whose eyes sparkled as he looked at them.

 "Neither green, nor amber, nor blue, red, nor even gold is suitable.

 Perhaps for chalices and utensils and the like, but not for the

 Zhaligkeer. The Shining One must be made from white lanthanil, for it

 is most rare and possesses the greatest powers."

 Quentin looked around. "I wondered why so much of the precious rock

 lay about. It was the white the Ariga prized most."

 / 653 /

 "So it is! We will have to delve for it if we are to fashion a sword,"

 Durwin stated. "For I have not seen a showing of white since we

 entered here."

 "Nor have I."

 At Inchkeith's suggestion they spread out, each to a different quarter,

 to search for a vein of white ore among all the rainbow traces of

 colored lanthanil. Inchkeith schooled them on what to look for and how

 to go about it, so that at the end of several hours search they were

 well-acquainted with the methods of miners. But by the end of an

 entire day's search they were no closer to having found a speck of the

 rare white ore.

 The next day's search brought nothing but sore fingers and knees to the

 miners. The day following it was the same. Quentin considered these

 periods of activity to be days since they were bound on each side by

 intervals of rest, but how long in duration they were, he could not

 say. At the end of it, as they sat before the small fire Toli had made

 in a ring of stones, frustrated and longing for sleep, Inchkeith

 grumbled to himself a habit he had fallen into of late.

 "What was that?" asked Durwin.

 "Nothing," growled Inchkeith. He raised his cup once more to his

 mouth.

 "You said something about the water," replied Durwin. **I think I

 would like to hear it again."

 "I said this water tastes as stale as stone!" Inchkeith glared SO.

 the hermit with a look of smoldering exasperation.

 "I think you may be right," said Durwin, tasting his water. "Very like

 stone."

 "What is so odd about that?" inquired Quentin. He believed they were

 all beginning to show signs of strain and exhaustion. "We have been

 drinking this water for two days."

 "Yes," added TOH) "ever since we emptied the skins we brought in with

 us."

 "Where did you fill them, Toli?" asked Durwin eagerly, leasing forward

 in the light of the fire.

 "Why, at the pool over there. Just below where we entered- But it is

 safe enough. I tested it myself and found no ill effect. It is stale

 because it had been so long in the cave, away from sun and air."

 "Then the pool is not fed by a spring?"

 "I should say not. If it were, perhaps the water would have a fresher

 taste." Toli looked narrowly back at Durwin.

 "Why this sudden interest in our water? We have been drinking it two

 days, as Toli says. It has brought no harm." Quentin shrugged and as

 a show of confidence in Toll's judgment he drained his cup.

 Durwin stood abruptly. "Take me to the pool." No one moved.

 "At once!"

 Toli rose and led him off. Inchkeith and Quentin stared at one

 another, mystified. "Well, we might as well trail along after them as

 wait here. I am ever amazed at the notions that hermit takes into his

 head. There will be no sleep until he is satisfied anyway."

 So the armorer and Quentin followed the figures receding in the glowing

 half-light of the great vault. When they caught up with them, Durwin

 and Toli were down on hands and knees peering into the ebony depths of

 a pool whose surface looked as hard and polished as black glass.

 "No, I cannot see anything," sighed Durwin. "But I think we must

 try."

 "Try what?" asked Quentin.

 "I cannot be certain," began Durwin. "But..." He hesitated. "Out

 with it, you pesky hermit. What do you suspect?" "Only this, and it

 is a forlorn guess that it would be very like tfae Ariga to further

 conceal their prize in a way that did not altogether hinder

 discovery."

 "You think it is in the pool?" Quentin knelt and stared into the water

 in disbelief.

 "Perhaps," intoned Durwin. "I did not say for a certainty that it

 was."

 "Bahl" said Inchkdth. "This is seepage water, nothing else.

 You will find nothing down there."

 "Ob, do not be so sure. Have you seen any seepage or running water

 since we have entered the mine?"

 "A little, of course."

 "Very little, sir. The Ariga miners knew their craft far better than

 any miner living today. Water is a constant danger in a mine.

 / 655 I

 But as you yourself have seen, no such hazard threatens this mine;

 the Ariga had ingenious ways of disposing of it. Therefore, I am

 inclined to believe that this pool is here for a purpose."

 "Of a purpose or no," Inchkeith said, squinting into the fathomless

 depths, "bow do you propose to delve down there?"

 Durwin shook his head and stood. "That I do not know. But let me

 sleep on it. Perhaps something will come to me in my dreams."

 They all went back to the place where Toli's fire still burned and

 pretended to try to sleep. But the attempt was far from effective

 because each had fallen prey to the puzzle of the pool: how to remove

 the water. So each tossed and heaved under their cloaks and thought

 about nothing but the pool and the white lanthanil that might lay

 buried in its black depths.

 At last Quemin sat up and said, "It is no use. I can not sleep, and if

 my ears tell me anything, they tell me no one else is sleeping either.

 We may as well talk about it."

 "You are right," grunted Inchkeith. "There will be no rest until we

 have solved the riddle of how to get ore from a puddle."

 "So it is," Durwin said, rising up. "Has anyone thought of a way?"

 Blank stares met over the fire. It was clear that no one had any idea

 of how the mining operation might proceed.

 Slowly Toli got to his feet. "There is only one way," he said. "I

 must go down there."

 Silence followed this pronouncement. Toll's features had become a mask

 of fear and revulsion such as Quentin had never seen on his friend

 before, not even in battle. "Toli, there is no need; we will find

 another way."

 "What way would that be?" Inchkeith muttered.

 "We could drain it, or " Quentin could not think of another way to

 suggest.

 "You see, my way is best," said Toli softly. He appeared as a man

 going to his death.

 "But " Quentin started to object.

 Durwin stopped him, saying, "No, I believe Toli is right. His is the

 only way. I see no reason to talk about it any longer. We might as

 well get on with it since no one feels like sleeping."

 "Nol** Quentin protested. "I will not hear of it, even ifDurwio thinks

 it the only way. If anyone must go, let it be me. It is supposed to

 be my sword, after all."

 "Think of what you are saying." Durwin turned a steady gaze on Quentin

 that made him feel like a small child. "Are you fit to swim and wield

 a pick underwater? With your arm, what could you do?"

 Durwin continued, "Who of us better than Toli? Inchkeith?

 Myself? No. Toli is right. He is the only choice. Of all of us, he

 has the best chance of succeeding."

 "Then I will go with him," said Quentin hotly. Durwin shrugged. "You

 may be of some help. All right.  Let us begin."

 Within a short time they were ready. Toli and Quentin stripped off

 their clothes and, wearing only their leather baldrics to which had

 been attached long ropes, tools and, on an inspiration from Inchkekh,

 small pieces of glowing lanthanil so that they might be seen as they

 descended and worked in the inky depths they stood on the brink,

 looking morosely into the pool as if Heoth himself waited below to

 embrace them in his icy grasp.

 Durwin and Inchkeith held the ends of the ropes. "Remember, you have

 but to tug on the rope and we will pull you up in an instant. Do not

 try to swim save your energy and lungs. It will allow you to work

 longer. The weight of the tools you carry should take you down quickly

 enough. Save your strength, both of you."

 Toll said nothing. His countenance had hardened into features as cold

 and unreadable as the stones of a castle walL "Whatever be felt inside

 had been pushed far back into some remote corner of his being.

 "This is a brave thing you are doing, fair friend." Quentin put a hand

 on Toll's shoulder and fdt the tenseness of the Jher's muscles. "Do

 not worry. I will be beside you."

 Toli nodded briefly, never lifting his eyes from the pool. Then he

 took one step in and sank out of sight with scarcely a ripple. Quentin

 took a deep breath and followed, clutching his injured arm to his chest

 so that it would not float awry.

 The shock of the icy water upon his bare skin almost caused

 I 657 I

 Quentin to gasp at once. It felt like 10,000 dagger points tearing at

 his flesh. He swallowed air into his stomach, and bubbles spouted from

 his nose. An instant later he was benumbed to the icy assault of the

 chilling water. He opened his eyes as he drifted down and down into

 the black, silent, dreamlike void. He looked up to see the faintly

 luminescent glimmer of the cavern above as it receded and dimmed with

 his descent.

 Close beside him Quentin could feel Toll's presence, though he could

 but faintly see his friend. At three spans or so below the surface of

 the water they reached a sharp overhang and felt along this shelf like

 projection with their feet, almost walking along it, until it dropped

 off again. Underneath the shelf was a great hollow, or that was the

 impression Quentin received, for he could see nothing at all. Even the

 dim glow above was now obliterated beneath the overhanging rock

 ledge.

 It was with some surprise that Quentin's feet touched smooth rock once

 more. Whether it was another rock ledge or the bottom of the pool he

 could not tell. But here it was where Toli decided to begin searching

 for the elusive white ore- Quentin felt a slight swirl of movement

 beside him and knew that Toli was inching forward toward the wall which

 he imagined was directly before them.

 Quentin made to follow and immediately stubbed his toes against a lump

 of rock. The sudden pain caused him to lose some of his air as he

 stumbled awkwardly and slowly to his knees- With grace and ease he

 righted himself and weighllessly followed after Toli, whose belt of

 glowing lanthanil he could see just before him.

 Toli had reached the rock wall, and with a jarring bump Quentin reached

 it too. They had only been underwater for a few moments, though

 already it seemed like hours to Quentin, He wondered how Toli was

 taking it. Another swirl of movement, followed by a dull clink, and he

 realized that Toli had wasted no time or morion and was already picking

 away at the surface of the rock face with one of Inchkeith's

 handpicks.

 With his good hand Quentin fumbled at his baldric for a tool and

 followed Toli's example. He picked blindly away with the slow,

 cushioned movements of the swimmer. He could hear, like the clink of

 coins struck together^ the tap of their tools upon the rock. After but

 a moment of this exertion Quentin's lungs began to burn, and he reached

 out to signal to Toll that he was going up for air. Toll acknowledged

 his signal with one of his own. Queniin tugged on the rope and stepped

 back away from the rock wall. All at once he began ascending rapidly

 so much so that he had to kick furiously in order to avoid the

 overhanging shelf above.

 With a fizz of bubbles and a gasp Quentin bobbed to the surface. Durwin

 and Inchkeith were peering down at him intently. "It is c-cold as ice

 down th-th-there!" Quentin chattered involuntarily.

 "Could you see anything?" asked Durwin, ignoring the temperature

 report. "What is down there?"

 "There is a rock ledge three or five spans below me here. Just under

 that is a space large enough for a man to stand and work. Whether it

 is the bottom or not, I cannot say. Toli is still there, but he should

 be up for air shortly."

 "That sounds as good a place as any to begin looking," said Inchkeith

 eagerly. Quentin thought the old armorer would gladly have changed

 places with him if offered the chance; his face gleamed in the soft

 light of the vault with a glaze of intense anticipation.

 "Toli is staying down too long," observed Quentin- He ducked his head

 beneath the water, but could catch no sign of Toli's glowing belt

 surfacing. Inchkeith still held Toll's rope slack in his hands.

 "I shall fetch him; he has been down long enough." "Yes, go and see

 what is keeping him. No need to overexert his lungs, even if he can

 swim like a fish." Durwin began paying out the rope again, and Quentin

 dropped at once back into the cold, silent viscid world of the pool.

 Once below the rock ledge Quentin could see the dimly shining belt of

 Toli just below. He pushed on as quickly as he could and approached

 his friend in long, weightless strides.

 Quentin felt in the water for Toll's shoulder and touching it,

 turned the Jher around. But Toli turned away again and Quentia felt

 the swirl of motion and heard the odd, faraway clink that meant Toli

 was continuing with his picking.

 Quentin, becoming worried for his friend, thought to grab

 / 659 /

 Toll's rope and tug it himself and so get him hauled to the surface

 whether he wanted to go or not. As he reached out for the rope, he saw

 something out of the corner of his eye.

 He turned and saw a very faint spidery crack appear in the rock wall,

 as if a shining web of delicate silken strands was glowing there. He

 took up his own pick and, following Toli's lead, began chopping away at

 the rock before them, leaving Toll to his own Judgment.

 In a moment the black wall of rock before them crumbled away with a

 flash of silver and there before them, blazing like the sun with cold

 brilliance, opened a vein of white lanthanil two hands wide.

 Toli, quick as a snake, reached out and placed his hands on the radiant

 stone, and Quentin saw, in the inundating glare which so suddenly shone

 forth, Toli transformed. It seemed to Queniin, feeling so cold and

 unnatural in this watery grave of a place, that Toli suddenly appeared

 larger, stronger and more noble.

 He had little time to wonder about what he saw, for Toli was already

 hammering at the stone and breaking off a big chunk of the precious

 rock. Quentin had hardly blinked his eyes when Toli offered him a huge

 piece of while, shining ore. Quentin looked at it, strange in this

 underwater world, and at Toli, who was grinning in spite of himself.

 Already Quentin's lungs were beginning to burn again it was time to

 surface. He wondered with amazement how Toli could remain submerged

 for such a time.

 Quentin reached out to grasp the scone Toli offered him, with no more

 thought than to take it up to the surface for Inchkeith and Durwin to

 see, to tell them they had found their treasure at last. But as Toti

 tumbled the stone into his hands Quentin felt a shock of heat pass

 through his body like a flame of ice. He tingled all over as if he had

 been struck by lightning, but the burning passed in an instant leaving

 behind a warm glow of peace and well-being. Even the ache of his lungs

 vanished in that instant. He suddenly felt more alive and whole and at

 peace than ever in his life.

 In the very same moment though Quentin was never really certain, for it

 all happened so fast he felt a long shiver course through his right

 arm. The arm tingled as if needles pierced it all over. And then,

 deep within his arm, in his very bones, he felt a strange warmth that

 grew and grew until he thought his bones were on fire.

 But the fire left just as quickly, to be followed by a rush of soothing

 cold, as if water were running over his arm. This startled Quentin as

 much as the fire had, for it was the first time he had experienced any

 feeling in his arm in many long weeks. He looked at Toll in the weird,

 shining light, and Toli grinned knowingly back at him. He stretched

 out his hand to touch Toll's face and the hand obeyed him once again.

 The fingers flexed and the arm swung freely, though encumbered somewhat

 by the splint still attached to it.

 Toli broke off another piece from the vein of blazing ore and Jerked

 his hand upward, signaling for them to rise. Quentin had quite

 forgotten they were underwater, the urge to return to the surface had

 vanished the instant he touched the stone. But now he was eager to

 show their find to the others. So, quite forgetting to tug on the

 ropes, they began swimming to the surface.

 Durwin and Inchkeith, growing apprehensive over the unusually long time

 the two had been down, were discussing whether to pull them up

 especially Toli, who had not come up for breath at all.

 Suddenly Durwin shouted, "Inchkeith! By my lights, look there!"

 The armorer looked where the hermit was pointing and saw two bright

 objects like the glowing white eyes of some great monstrous sea

 creature, rising rapidly toward the surface. With a hop Inchkeith

 Jumped back a step and threw his hands out before him, so strong was

 the illusion of a sea monster boiling up out of the pool.

 But next the hermit's voice split the air like thunder that rolled and

 echoed through the vast cavern. "It is the lanthanil! Praise be to

 the God Most High! He has shown us his high favor! We have found

 if!"

 Then, quite unceremoniously, Durwin began to hop about in a wild dance

 with Inchkeith while the two water-soaked, happy divers looked on.

 FORTY-NINE

 UPON THE straining backs of groaning slaves Nin advanced along the old

 river road from Undalia on the western coast eastward toward Askelon.

 Fifty thousand footmen followed in his train. The Arvin here ran bold

 and deep, and wide enough for those who could find boats and even those

 who could not to escape to the other side as Nin's terrible caravan

 passed by.

 He had sat in his palace ship waiting just beyond the island where the

 river mingled its waters with bright Gerfallon's. But his rage had

 flared and burned while he waited for word from his warlords that

 Askelon had fallen. When it was not forthcoming, the Supreme Deity of

 the Ningaal had decided to go himself and see to it that the end came

 swiftly.

 He ordered his standing army of fifty thousand foot soldiers, waiting

 in their ships, to disembark upon the western coast, and then he had

 ordered his throne to be carried ashore. There he mounted his throne

 over the prostrate bodies of his slaves and, with a wide, generous

 sweep of his hand, ordered them ahead. Like an army of locusts they

 cut down everything standing in their path:

 crops in fields, the hovels of peasants, small villages. Nothing

 deterred them, and no one lifted a hand to prevent them.

 By night and by day they in arched tirelessly, relentlessly, inexorably

 drawing nearer and nearer to Askelon.

 By night and by day the evil Wolf Star shone in the heavens. By day it

 could be seen shining low on the horizon, a bright spot appearing as a

 tiny second sun. By night it nearly assumed the brightness of the sun

 itself, transforming night into an eerie, mocking reflection of the day

 just passed. Unnatural shadows stood upon the land; birds fell silent

 in the trees, and animals huddled in the field uncertain whether to

 sleep or graze; the masses, crouching in temple courtyards and castle

 wards across the land, wailed with fear and covered their heads.

 And Nio marched on toward Askelon.

 In Askelon the lords met secretly and discussed the strange behavior of

 me King. Some said it was the star which had driven him mad, that it

 had touched him as it had touched the people cowering within Askelon's

 mighty walls. Others said his illness was upon him again. They all

 worried together what would happen if their knights and soldiers should

 find out that the Dragon King would be unable to lead them in battle,

 for none of them held the slightest hope that they could long endure

 the siege. Sooner or later they must meet the enemy on the field to

 defeat him. Desperately they hoped Eskevar would be recovered in time

 to lead them, if only for a show to the men, for they were certain the

 fateful battle was drawing swiftly nearer.

 "Is there any word?" asked Eskevar anxiously. He seemed composed and

 in his right mind resting peacefully in his bed. Biorkis and the Queen

 stood by him, and the lords entered his chamber.

 Lord Rudd, who had taken it upon himself to speak for the rest of the

 lords, approached the King's high bed.

 He knelt, saying, "Sire, we have had no word and now the opportunity

 for such is gone. The warlords of Nin have surrounded the castle on

 all sides. They occupy the plain below the rock and have taken the

 town as well. They have as yet not dared to draw near the ramp, but

 that will come soon, I have no doubt. Askelon is besieged."

 "So it has begun," sighed Eskevar wearily. "I had hoped a messenger

 might come from the lords of the north to bring word of their decision

 to Join us."

 "It is too late, I fear. Even if a messenger came now, he would not

 get through the enemy. But even so, the lords might still come."  Lord

 Rudd glanced at his peers and hastily added, "We would seek a boon.

 Sire."

 I 663 I

 "You shall have it." replied Eskevar. "Ask it and it is yours."

 "We would have you come speak to the knights and men. Your Majesty.

 There are rumors .." Rudd fell silent, feeling he had said too much.

 "Rumors? Ah, yes, what are they? You need not fear to anger me. I

 know full well the rumors voiced about."

 Rudd looked nervously to the others for help.

 "Well?" demanded Eskevar, his temper rising. "Speak, man!"

 "Some say that you are changed. Sire. That you do not have the will

 to fight-"

 "They say that I am insane! That is what you mean. Say it so!"

 "It is so, my Lord." Rudd lowered his head.

 Eskevar made a move as if to leap out of bed. "Please, Sire!" Biorkis

 jumped to life. "Stay abed but a little and regain your strength."

 "Listen to him, my Lord," pleaded Alinea, rushing up. She threw a

 dark, disapproving look at the unhappy lords who made a move as if to

 withdraw at once.

 "No!" Eskevar held up a hand toward the priest and his Queen. "Do not

 hinder me. I will go with my lords to speak to the soldiers. They

 must have no doubts, nor harbor despair in their hearts for their King.

  I will show them I am neither ill nor afraid."

 He turned to the lords. "Assemble the knights and men in the inner

 ward. I will speak to them from the battlements of the inner curtain

 and will pass among them when I have spoken to quell their fears and

 apprehensions. They will see me and will know I am with them and will

 lead them."

 The lords, anxious to be away from that room, bowed as one and rushed

 out to begin bringing their troops together. When they had gone,

 Biorkis and Alinea came close to the King and helped him up.

 "You are so weak, my King," Alinea sobbed. Tears filled her green eyes

 and ran freely down her cheeks.

 "Let me tell them you will come tomorrow," suggested Biorkis. "Rest

 just this night, and you will feel stronger."

 "No, it cannot be. Tomorrow may be worlds away. I must go at once.

 The rumors must not be allowed to persist if I can stop them,

 for they would eat away my soldiers hearts. A soldier needs his bean

 if he is to fight for his homeland. I must go

 Leaning heavily on their arms he stumbled toward the door. When they

 had reached it, Eskevar squared his shoulders and raised his head. "I

 will walk alone," he said and went out.

 When he had gone, Alinea turned tearfully to Biorkis. "He should never

 have gone into battle, Biorkis. He was Just getting better. He

 exerted himself overmuch and has not recovered his strength, and...

 and, oh, now I fear he never wilit" She buried her face in her hands.

 "If Durwin were here, he would know what to do," she sobbed.

 Biorkis wrapped one arm around her slim shoulders and comforted her.

 "Yes, Durwin would know what to do, but he is not here. We will have

 to think what he would do in our place, and then do it."

 "I am sorry," sniffed Alinea. She raised her eyes to the kindly old

 priest's. "I did not mean to belittle you. Your help has been most

 valuable. I just "

 "Say no more. I, too, wish Durwin here. He has far more knowledge of

 the world and men than I. I have been too long on my mountain removed

 from the ways of mortals, and I feel old and useless. Let us hope that

 Durwin will return soon."

 "Let us pray that he does."

 "Yes, my Lady. By all means let us pray that he does

 Eskevar went out from the eastern tower and strode along the

 battlements in the cold, mocking light of the star. His great cloak

 swept like a huge dark wing after him, the silver dragon device

 glittering in the strange light. Theido and Ronsard marched gravely by

 his side, and when they had reached the midpoint along the inner

 curtain battlements Eskevar stopped and looked down at the ranks of

 soldiers which had been joined to hear him speak.

 As he looked down upon them, seeing their fearful faces turned upward

 to his, seeking strength there and wisdom and assurance, he felt very

 old and very tired. They were sapping him, he thought, and it was as

 if he felt his strength ebbing away even as he gazed down upon them. He

 felt too tired, too used up, to speak.

 / 665 f

 But they were waiting, watching him. His men were watching and waiting

 for him to banish their fears. How could he do that, he wondered, when

 he could not banish his own? What words were there? What magic could

 make it happen?

 Without knowing what he would say, Eskevar opened his mouth and began

 to speak, his voice falling down from on high like the voice of a

 god.

 He spoke and heard his voice echoing back into the small places of the

 inner ward. Murmurs arose in response to his words, and Eskevar feared

 he had said something wrong, that he had run afoul of his own purpose.

 But he spoke on, oblivious to the words which tumbled from his mouth

 unbidden. They are right, be thought bitterly, the King is insane. He

 is babbling like an idiot from the battlements and does not know what

 he is saying.

 The murmurs changed gradually to shouts and then to cheers. As

 Eskevar's last words died away, the inner ward yard erupted in shouts

 of acclaim and hearty cheers and battle cries. Then suddenly the

 soldiers were singing an ancient battle song ofMensandor and somehow

 he, Eskevar, was moving through the thronging soldiers, touching them

 and being touched by them.

 The Dragon King stood among his troops, bewildered by their cheers and

 high acclaim. He was humbled, realizing he did not know what he had

 said, he was gratified, knowing that his words had been the right

 ones.

 The cheers and songs had not run their course when they were

 interrupted by a sound not heard in Askelon for five hundred years.

 Boom! The sound rolled away like hollow thunder. Boom! Boom! It

 came again, and all around the Dragon King became silent. The cheering

 stopped, the singing shrank away. Boom! Boom! Boom!

 The Ningaal had brought a battering ram to the gates of Askelon. The

 siege war had begun.

 FIFTY

 "I CAN SCARCE believe it still," Quentin said, flexing his arm. "It is

 as if it had never been injured at all. Better even! And look; the

 skin is not withered and the muscle is firm."

 Toli, standing near as Durwin unwrapped the bandages and removed the

 splints, replied, "I can well believe it. The stories of old were true

 ones. The Khoen Navish still exist after all these years."

 The two glowing lumps of rock shimmered like fiery white coals fresh

 from the fire as they lay beside the black pool. Durwin finishing

 examining Quentin's arm and satisfied himself that, indeed, it was

 whole and healthy once more. "So it is!" the hermit said, still

 prodding Quentin's arm with his fingers. "Your arm is folly healed

 most wondrously. If I had not set it myself, I would say that it was

 never broken."

 Durwin cocked his head to one side and observed Quentin closely. "I

 see nothing now that would prevent you from lifting the Zhahgkeer. Do

 you?"

 With a thrill like the touch of a spark to the skin, Quentin remembered

 all his old misgivings which he had succeeded in putting far out of his

 mind. In an instant they all rushed back upon him like a flood,

 quenching his' excitement of the moment. Something like fear grabbed

 him in his gut and squeezed with an iron grip.

 "Do you still think I am the one?"

 "Why do you fear? You have already chosen to follow the Most High.

 This is the way he has set for you. Do not turn away from it."

 Quentin stood looking at the blazing stones. "But the prophecy ... It

 is ..." Words failed him.

 / 667 /

 "You think that you will be alone? Is that it? Ha! You will not rid

 yourself of us that easily. We will be ever at your side. Do not

 think the Most High makes his servants tread only lonely paths. His

 ways are more clearly seen with the help of others ofUke spirit. He

 has given us to you, as you have been given to us, that we might help

 each other.

 "Take it, Quentin. It is for you." Durwin threw out a hand toward the

 white stones and Quentin slowly, reluctantly bent toward them and

 picked them up.

 "Yes, I will take it. I will claim the Zhaligkeer." So saying he

 lifted the stones high over his head as if he already had a sword in

 his hands. "Inchkeith! Let us begin. Time is drawing short. There

 is a sword to be made!"

 But when they looked around, Inchkeith was not to be seen.

 Boom! Boom! The sound of the ram against the gates thundered on and

 on. The peasants who had crowded into Askelon to escape the enemy

 screamed in terror at every dreadful knell. The outer wards were

 roiling in panic.

 Archers had mounted to the gatehouse barbican and were endeavoring to

 pick off the Ningaal plying the massive battering ram against the drawn

 bridge of the castle. Occasionally an arrow would strike home, and an

 enemy warrior would tumble off the narrow plank they had thrown over

 the chasm which divided the end of the ramp from the cas dc despite

 this annoyance the Ningaal were not greatly hindered. They were

 protected by the ironclad roof over their implement, and any unlucky

 wretch who chanced to show himself too openly was replaced in a trice

 by another. So the drumming continued on and on and on.

 "Call off the archers," said Theido, gazing down from the battlements.

 "We may as well save our arrows. They are not going to prevail against

 that gate. No one ever has."

 "We could pour fire down upon them," suggested Rudd, wearing a worried

 expression. "That would get rid of them."

 "And it would also burn down our own gatesi" snapped Ronsard

 irritably.

 "I do not think even fire would harm those gates," mused

 Theido, shaking his head. "But I could be wrong. Still, it would be

 better not to take an unnecessary chance. We will wait to see what

 they try next.

 "They cannot tunnel beneath the walls, for they rise out of solid rock

 and the mountain is stone as well. The postern gate is well-protected,

 and the maze of waits leading to it prevents the use of a ram such as

 this. Our archers can keep them at bay there, too. My guess is they

 must find a way through that gate and that gate alone, for there is no

 other way into Askelon Castle."

 As he finished speaking, the Ningaal took up their pounding again.

 Boom! Boom! The timbers of the gate shuddered with each massive blow,

 but held firm.

 Theido turned away from the battlement and Ronsard followed him, after

 instructing his officers to bring him word if the situation should

 change in any way.

 "Theido, I would talk with you awhile," he said, falling into step

 beside his friend. "Let us go inside where we may speak freely."

 They strode to a near barbican and went inside, ascending to the higher

 platform of the round turret to look out over the plain and the city

 below. From that lofty vantage they could see the better part of one

 side of the castle and a portion of a second side. The Ningaal had

 indeed surrounded the castle on all sides, being most heavily deployed

 around the main gates and throughout the town. They had set fire to

 sections of the city, and the smoke swept up in black columns to streak

 the sky above.

 "It is an evil day." Ronsard turned a careworn visage to his friend.

 "How is Eskevar faring?"

 "He is the same. No change."

 Eskevar had nearly collapsed when the sound of the ram commenced. It

 was as if each blow had been so aimed as to strike directly to the

 King's heart. It was only with difficulty that the two knights had led

 their sovereign away without the soldiers witnessing his fall. Upon

 gaining the security of the tower, they all but carried him to his

 chambers. Biorkis and Alinea had been in attendance since then, and

 the knights had returned to watch through the day-bright night as the

 Ningaal strove to batter down the doors.

 "Will he ride, do you think?" asked Ronsard.

 "Why do you ask me? You have stood with him in battle enough times to

 know. But we are under siege! Why does everyone insist upon talking

 about battlefields and riding?" Theido snapped. After a long, silent

 moment in which Ronsard merely looked back at him sadly, Theido sighed,

 "Forgive me, my friend. I am tired. I have not slept in three days

 that I can count one cannot even tell day from night anymore! I am

 tired."

 "Go and rest. Let me take your watch. You yourself have said that

 nothing will happen soon. Have something to eat, and lay yourself down

 a little. You will feel better."

 "Yes, perhaps I should do that." Theido turned his eyes away toward

 the north. "They should be coming. They should have been here by

 now'

 "They will come. And do not forget that Quentin, Toli and Durwin are

 abroad. Theirs is some errand that will make good; of that I am

 certain."

 "So I believe. I only hope they are in time." He smiled briefly and

 gripped Ronsard by the shoulder. "Thank you. I will rest a bit as you

 suggest. It has been a long time since I endured a siege. I have

 forgotten my manners almost completely'

 "You have forgotten nothing, my friend. Go now, and I will send for

 you if anything changes."

 When Theido had gone and his footsteps descending from the barbican

 could no longer be heard, Ronsard settled himself against the stone

 crenellation of the turret. He looked long and hungrily to the north

 for the shining armies he hoped he would see riding to their rescue.

 But the far vista shimmered instead with the heat of the summer sun.

 Nothing moved out on the plain.

 Still, the knight watched and waited and his thoughts became a prayer,

 turning toward the new god he had so recently elected to serve.

 "God Most High," Ronsard mumbled, "I do not have the knowledge of your

 ways that others do. But if you need a strong sword, here am I." There

 was a long lapse before be spoke again. "I know not how to pray in

 seemly words. I have never been a man of prayers. But I believe you

 helped me once, long ago, so I pray you will listen to me once again.

 Lead us against this terrible host which gathers at our gates and seeks

 to destroy us. And if it be my lot to die, so be it. But let me face

 the moment like a true knight and seek to save another's life before my

 own."

 He prayed on, pouring out his heart as the words came to him and would

 have continued praying but for the alarm which brought his instantly to

 his feet and sent him off to meet a new disaster.

 THEY FOUND Inchkeith huddled behind a hill of stone not faraway from

 the pool. All wondered at his odd behavior in hiding and at the look

 of fear which twisted his features as he raised ha eyes to meet them.

 "What is wrong, Inchkeith? Why did you disappear like that?" asked

 Quentin. The master armorer peered at his discoverers wit a

 distrustful look. His hands trembled as he worked up the nerve to

 speak.

 "Do not make me touch it! I beg you, sirs! Do not make me touch it!"

 He hid his face in his hands once more, and his shoulders shook as if

 he were sobbing.

 "This is very strange," remarked Quentin, turning to Toll and Durwin.

 The hermit gazed with narrowed eyes upon the huddled body of the

 deformed man.

 "I think I know what ails him. He is afraid to touch the blazing white

 lamhanil, he has seen its power and what it can do. He saw your arm

 healed, and he fears what it might do to him."

 "But " Quentin sputtered in amazement, "certainly you are wrong here,

 Durwin. If anything, he should rejoice and rush to take it into his

 hands that he might be healed of his crippling deformity. So I would,

 and anyone else, I would think."

 "Would you?" asked Durwin. His bushy eyebrows arched high as they

 would go. "Think again.  His twisted spine cripples him, yes. But he

 has lived his life with it and has come to accept it and himself for

 what he is. His spirit has risen above his physical limitations in the

 beauty of his craft. There is a strong pride in that."

 "To be healed, to be made strong and whole again what can be the harm

 in that?" Quentin shook his head slowly from side to side. The thing

 was a mystery to him.

 "Quentin, have you never had a flaw of some sort, a hurt that you

 carried with you?" Quentin's brow wrinkled sharply. "You cursed it

 and fretted over it and longed to cast it aside, and yet you secretly

 caressed it and held it close lest it should somehow slip away. For

 that weakness was part of you, and however hateful it was it defined

 you; you took strength from it. With it, you knew who you were;

 without it, who could say what you would be?"

 Quentin answered slowly. "Perhaps it is as you say, Durwin. When I

 was a child I held many such childish flaws and weaknesses as virtues-

 But I put them away when I became a man."

 "Ah, yes- But your weaknesses were not of the same kind as Inchkeith's.

 His is not so easily put aside. How much more roust he fear losing the

 thing ugly as it is that has given him such comfort all the long years

 of his life? It is no wonder that he shrinks away from the Healing

 Stones. For though he would give anything in his power to be made

 straight and strong, he would give much more to remain as he is."

 Quentin turned to regard Inchkeith where he sat a little way off, still

 huddled and trembling. There were no words to describe the pitiful

 picture that met his gaze. Sadly, he turned away from it.

 "Go and ready yourselves for another dive," suggested Durwin. "I will

 talk to him a little and convince him that whether he touches a stone

 or not, the decision is his. We will not think the less of him for

 refraining if that, in the end, is how he chooses. Go on, now- We will

 come hence directly."

 Quentin and Toli did as Durwin told them and returned to the pool.

 "Look how they shine, Toli," marveled Quentin as he knelt before the

 two lumps of glowing rock. "Have you ever seen any thing like it? It

 is as if they burn with an inner fire. They should be hot to the

 touch, but they are cool."

 "They possess very great power. Of that there is no doubt. I

 understand now why the Ariga closed off the mine and concealed what was

 left of the white lanthanil in the pool. The temptation to wield such

 power must drive men mad."

 Quentin nodded silently. "I wonder what else the stone can do?" he

 asked at last. His bright face shone in the aura of the stones.

 "We shall see, Kenta. You have been chosen to carry the Shining One;

 you will find out."

 In a moment Durwin came, leading a sheepish Inchkeith toward them.

 "Very well, shall we continue? We have much work to do and have only

 begun."

 "One moment, Durwin. Please, I would speak." Inchkeith held up his

 hand. "I am ashamed of my behavior, and you would do a kindness to a

 foolish old man if you would wash it from your minds. I am sorry to

 have embarrassed my friends so. I promise I will embarrass you no

 further."

 "Think no more on it, master Inchkeith," replied Quentin happily. "I

 assure you it is already forgotten, and you shall never hear of it from

 our lips again."

 They all returned to work as before and threw themselves into their

 labors. The enervating force of the ore-bearing stones which Quentin

 and Toli brought up allowed the two divers to remain underwater for

 greater periods of time, and before long a fair-sized pile of the

 shining stone was heaped beside the pool.

 When the heap had grown to the size of a pyramid half-a-man high,

 Inchkeith called a halt to the diving. "This is enough for our

 purpose, I believe. If this magic stone be similar to other ores I

 have worked, we should have enough to make a sword and a scabbard and

 chain, too."

 Quentin and Toll dragged themselves out of the frigid water and dried

 themselves. Inchkeith left them to bobble to the forge at the far end

 of the cavern. "Bring the lanthanil when you are ready. I will begin

 firing the crucible."

 Filling Inchkeitb's empty tool chest with ore, Quentin and Toli carried

 it to the forge where, using fuel he had found neatly stored away

 beside the forge, Inchkeith had a fire roaring and ready. Durwin

 busied himself preparing food for them, as it appeared there would be

 no sleep for any of them for some time.

 When Toli and Quentin had filled the crucible with ore, it was rendered

 into the fire where a curious transformation took place. The stones

 did not crack and release their ore as the stones bearing copper and

 iron do. Instead, they very slowly melted away like ice in the spring

 when plunged into running water. Using a long rod, Inchkeith poked and

 stirred the molten lanthanil, causing the impurities to flame into hot

 ash and ascend up the chimney of the furnace. With long tongs he

 introduced new ore into the crucible and kept his ceaseless vigil at

 the fire, maintaining a constant temperature.

 This went on for many hours, during which the others watched and dozed

 and ate by turns. At last Inchkeith pulled the crucible white-hot from

 the flames and gingerly set it down.

 "Quickly, now!" he shouted. "Take up the forger's yoke and lend a

 hand. Step lively!"

 Quentin was nearest at hand and took up the tool Inchkeith had

 indicated a long iron utensil with two handles and a circular bulge in

 the center. Inchkeith took the yoke and placed it over the crucible,

 directing Quentin to take one of the handles and carefully follow his

 instructions.  Quentin did as he was told and they proceeded to pour

 out the molten ore, now a shimmering pale blue like liquid silver, into

 four long, narrow molds which Inchkeith had arranged along the floor.

 There remained a fair amount of the precious metal when the four molds

 were filled, so Inchkeith poured the rest into a sheet mold, and then

 they sat down to wait for the metal to cool.

 Waiting for the glowing lamhanil to cool was like waiting for an egg to

 hatch, Quemin thought. But at last the four rod molds were judged cool

 enough. Inchkeith took up a dipper of water and poured it over the

 still-hot metal, sending billows of steam rising into the dimly

 luminescent air of the cavern. He then broke apart the molds and, with

 tongs and heavy gloves on his hands, drew out four square rods nearly

 four feet in length.

 The master armorer bopped to his anvil, took each rod and pierced one

 end; then he joined the rods together by passing a rivet cut from the

 sheet of lanthanil he had made.

 "Now, then. I have done all I may do," he said, holding up the four

 newly fastened rods for the others to see. "Durwin tells me that you

 must do the rest, Quentin."

 Quentin rose to his feet. "Me? You jest! I know as much about making

 a sword as I would know of making a tree."

 "Then it is time you learned. Come here." Inchkeith held the rods in

 the tongs and indicated for Quentin to take them. Quentin stepped

 forward, looking to Durwin for approval. Durwin waved him on, and

 Quentin took the rods.

 "Now, do not think for a moment that I will allow you to mar my

 greatest masterpiece, young sir. I will guide your hands even to the

 smallest movement. I will be your brain and your eyes, and you will do

 as I direct to the utmost. Do you understand?"

 Quentin nodded obediently, and they began to work.

 Under Inchkeith's watchful eye he took hammer and tongs and began to

 braid the still malleable metal, one rod over the other in a tight

 square braid. When he had finished the task, sweat was dripping from

 his face and his bare arms. He had long since stripped off his shirt

 and tunic and wore only his trousers.

 The braided rods were then thrust into the pit of the forge among the

 burning embers, and Quentin turned the core as Inchkeith called it

 constantly, while the armorer plied the creaking bellows.

 Soon the core began to glimmer blue-white once more and

 Quentin pulled it from the fire, his own face glowing red and flushed.

 Taking the core, he placed one square end into the square hole in the

 side of the golden anvil and with the longs began to twist the braid

 together.

 He twisted and twisted, winding and winding until he could twist no

 more. Then Inchkeith let him stop, and the core was plunged back into

 the pit of embers and heated to blue-white once more. Then came more

 twisting and still more. Quentin was exhausted and feeling more so all

 the time, but the rhythm of the work began to steal over him and he

 found he entered a free-floating state where he moved in concert with

 the master armorer's wishes so

 I 675 I

 much so that he began to feel as if it were Inchkeith's will directing

 his hands and muscles and not his own.

 The braided core was twisted again and again until, by the very tension

 of its coils, it began to fuse together. When it had fused completely,

 Inchkeith had Quentin cut the long thin core in two, for it had nearly

 doubled its length with all the twisting- One half was then set aside

 and the other half was pounded flat on the golden anvil with the hammer

 of gold. Every time Quentin struck the core, dazzling sparks showered

 all around and a flash like lightning was loosed.

 The flattened core was heated and pounded, heated and pounded time and

 again until it was very thin and flat. Then it was set aside to cool.

 Toll was given the task of dowsing it with water numerous times to cool

 it more quickly.

 Taking up the length of twisted braid that had been set aside. Quentin

 thrust it into the forge pit to reheat it. He then began twisting it

 again and again, drawing it out into a thin rod. This rod was pinched

 in half as well and these two pieces, along with the cool flat piece,

 were thrust into the burning coals once more as Inchkeith explained

 that the repeated heatings and coolings of the metal tempered it and

 made it stronger, as did the braiding of the original rods. "You have

 then the strength of four blades, not just one," he crowed. "This is

 how the legendary blades of old were made. There is a tension in the

 twisting of the braid that is never undone. This tension is what makes

 the sword leap to the hand and sing in the air. No common blade forged

 of a rod and flattened can stand against it."

 When the three long pieces were once more burning with blue brilliance

 and crackling with sparks, they were withdrawn. Quentin was so

 absorbed in his working it seemed as if he walked in a dream;

 all his surroundings blurred, becoming faint and insubstantial as be

 worked on. His eyes had sight only for the flaming blue metal turning

 under his hands.

 The three hot pieces were placed precisely upon the anvil according to

 Inchkeith's exacting specifications. With quick, sure hammer blows

 Quentin welded the two rounded pieces to the flat one. This action

 resulted in a very long flat piece with a rounded ridge in the center.

 When that was done, Inchkeith sent him to plunge the core into the pool

 and leave it there until it could be handled freely.

 Quentin hurried off, so absorbed that he nearly stumbled over the

 curled figures of Durwin and Toli rolled in their cloaks fast asleep.

 After a time Inchkeith came and settled himself down beside Quentin to

 wait. "You are doing a master's job, sir. A master's Job. If you

 were not spoken for, I would take you in and teach you the armorer's

 craft. You have the heart for it and the soul. I have seen how you

 look upon your work. You know what I am talking about,

 eh?"

 "It is true. I have never done anything like this, but it is as if I

 feel in my hands what the metal would have me do and I do it though you

 must take the credit there, for I would not begin to know what to do.

 But when I lift that hammer and I see it fall, a voice says 'strike

 here!" and it is done." Quentin lifted the core from the pool. Water

 slithered down its pale blue surface and slid back into the pool in

 shining beads. "It does not look very like a sword yet," remarked

 Quentin.

 "Oh, it will. It will. The work is just begun. Now we will see how

 this metal works. Now will come the test!"

 Inchkeith and Quentin worked on and on, pausing to take a little food

 now and then, and to rest only in idle moments, though there were few

 of those. Toli and Durwin looked on and uttered words of encouragement

 when such words were needed, but mainly kept themselves out of the way

 and silent, allowing the master and his eager apprentice to work on

 undisturbed.

 There was much heating and cooling, hammering and shaping of the

 gleaming metal. It was chiseled and chased, beaten and burnished,

 until at last the blade of a sword could be seen emerging from the long

 flat length of metal. A hilt and handle were fashioned from the solid

 sheet which had been put aside. For this a flat piece was rolled and

 flattened, and it too was twisted and twisted and then coined to the

 emerging blade.

 The blade was fired and retired. Each time it was scraped

 / 677 /

 smooth and filed again and again with long, careful strokes. Inchkeith

 bent his face over the hot metal and directed Quentin's fingers here

 and there along the length, pointing out minute flaws that only he

 could see. If his young apprentice's strength and enthusiasm flagged,

 the old master's never did. With praise and threats and stubborn

 demands Inchkeith challenged Quenrin to better and higher work, at one

 point taking Quentin's hands in his own and guiding them over the blade

 to do the job that he knew must be done.

 And then it was finished.

 Quentin sat exhausted on a large rock and looked at his handiwork as it

 lay across the golden anvil. Inchkeith studied it carefully, nodding

 and puffing out his cheeks alternately. Durwin and Toli were nowhere

 to be seen. Quentin's eyes burned in his head, and though tired, he

 watched Inchkeith's every wink and frown with breathless

 anticipation.

 At last the master craftsman turned to Quentin, his face beaming, his

 chest swelling with pride. "Yes, it is finished." He hesitated,

 seeing Quentin hungrily grasp at his words. "And it is a

 masterpiece."

 Quentin leaped up and shouted with joy. "We have done it!" he cried.

 "We have done it!" He grabbed the old man and began dancing around the

 forge where they had lived and worked and sweated for what seemed weeks

 on end. They were so caught up in the relief and exultation of the

 moment that they did not hear Durwin and Toli return.

 "Does this unseemly exhibition mean that you two have finished your

 labors at last?" Durwin called, bounding forward to clap them both on

 the back. He slopped, and a look of reverent awe lit his eyes. Toli,

 coming hard on his heels, stopped and began speaking in his native

 tongue.

 "It is " Durwin searched for words. "It is indeed a thing of fearsome

 beauty." His hands flew up toward his face as if he feared the sight

 would burn him.

 "It is the Zhaligkeer," said Toll. "It is the Shining One."

 Quentin took it from the anvil and held it in his hand, lifting it

 toward heaven. "This is the Shining One of the Most High. Let it move

 as he alone directs. As I am his servant, let it be filled with his

 power and let our enemies fly before its terrible fury."

 "So be it!" shouted the others. Durwin stepped up and brought out a

 vial from the leather pouch at his side.

 "I have kept this for this time. It is oil which has been blessed in

 Dekra. With it I will anoint the blade of the Shining One."

  

 Quentin held the sword across the palms of both hands as Durwin opened

 the vial and poured the holy oil along the length of the blade, which

 shone with a pale, silvery-blue light. The sword was indeed a thing of

 dread beauty. It was long and thin, tapering almost imperceptibly

 along its smooth, flawless length to a gleaming point. The grip and

 hilt sparkled as if cut from gemstone.

 As Durwin poured out the oil he blessed the sword, saying, Never in

 malice, never in hate, never in evil shall this blade be raised. But

 in righteousness and justice forever shall it shine." Then he took his

 fingers and rubbed the oil over the finely worked blade.

 As he touched the shining metal Durwin felt the power of the lanthanil

 flow through him, and it was as if the years fell away from him; he was

 a young man again and marveled at the sensation, for he had quite

 gotten used to his numerous aches and pains. When he turned to the

 others he was the same Durwin as before, but vastly changed in aspect.

 He appeared wise, stronger and more noble than before. He laughed out

 loud and pointed a long finger directly at Inchkeitb who gazed at him

 with some alarm, seeing the sudden change which had come over the

 hermit.

 "Look there, Inchfceith, my friend. The blade has worked its

 enchantment upon you as well, I see."

 Inchkeith, aghast, sputtered, "What are you talking about? I never

 touched the stone, nor the blade. What do you mean?"

 Quentin looked at the hunchbacked armorer and saw that he was standing

 erect and tall; he seemed to have grown several inches. How or when it

 had happened he had not noticed. Perhaps when the master had placed

 his hands upon Quentin's, the power had gone into him; but they had

 been so completely absorbed in their

 I 679 I

 work, they had not noticed until Durwin pointed it out to them just at

 that moment.

 "Yes!" shouted Quentin. "You are healed, Inchkeith. You axe

 whole."

 A look of stunned disbelief shone on the craftsman's face, he squared

 his shoulders and raised his head- It was some minutes before he would

 believe that his hump had disappeared, but when that belief finally

 broke in upon him he sank to his knees and began to cry.

 "Your god has done this, Durwin!" he cried as tears of happiness

 streamed down his face. "I believe now. I believe all you have ever

 told me about him. Blessed is the Most High. From now on I am his

 servant."

 They all rejoiced together, and the high-domed roof of the great cave

 echoed with their voices. The halls of the Ariga, deep beneath the

 mountains, rang with joyful sounds such as had not been heard in two

 thousand years.

 FIFTY-TWO

 WHEN RON SARD arrived at the gatehouse barbican, he was met by the

 worried glances of his officers and Lord Rudd. "What is it?" he

 asked. "What is this alarm?"

 "I ordered it," explained Rudd. "Look down there. They are bringing

 some machine up the ramp."

 Ronsard looked down and saw that what Rudd said was quite true, two

 hundred or more Ningaal were laboring with ropes and poles to drag an

 enormous device up the ramp. The battering ram had been taken away,

 and this lumbering object was being wheeled with great exertion to

 assume its place before the gates.

 "What is it?" a perplexed Ronsard asked"I have never seen anything

 like it."

 "I cannot say I have seen such a machine in war either. But I can tell

 you I do not like the look of it, whatever it is."

 "Direct the archers to hinder them as much as possible. I have no

 doubt it would be better that it never reached the gates. I will fetch

 Biorkis; I would have him look at it. Something tells me that thing

 down there belongs more to his ken than ours'

 Shortly the Lord High Marshall was back at the battlements, dragging a

 blustering priest behind him. "What do you make of that?" Ronsard

 asked as they peered over the stone ramparts onto the activity below.

 "It is a strange thing indeed!" said Biorkis, pulling on his braided

 beard. Very strange."

 His old eyes gazed upon the massive black object inching its way up the

 long incline under a bail of arrows. Its black skin shone with a dull

 luster in the sunlight and two great arms thrust forward, patois upward

 as if to receive the supplications of the castle dwellers. It stood

 with the legs and torso of a man, one leg thrust forward, bent at the

 knee, the other stretched straight behind. But its face and head were

 its most distinguishing features, next to its size, for it bore the

 head and mane of a lion and the gaping maw of a jackal with a jackal's

 sharp fangs bared in a furious, frozen snarl of rage. Two huge black

 horns swept out from either side of its hideous black head, and its

 unblinking eyes stared angrily ahead as it groaned forward under its

 immense weight.

 Ronsard's archers were causing much consternation among the enemy, but

 not as much as Ronsard would have liked; for no sooner had one

 rope-bearer fallen than another sprang forward to take his place. Soon

 those in the forefront had been provided with shields which they held

 over their heads to fend off the deadly rain and the arrows rattled

 harmlessly down, striking only at random and seldom causing any mortal

 hurt. Ronsard called for the arrows to cease, but for the archers to

 remain alert to any target careless enough to present itself. Still

 the thing inched forward.

 "Well?" asked Ronsard. "What say you. Biorkis?"

 I 681 I

 "Undoubtedly it is an idol of some sort. But to which god I am not

 certain. I have never seen it before, and the thing that puzzles me is

 this: what kind of idol is it that is taken into war to do battle with

 men? What kind of god do these Ningaal worship?"

 "Why should that puzzle you? Men are always calling on their gods to

 lead them in battle, to deliver the victory into their hands, as you

 well know. This is only slightly more obvious, I will warrant, but it

 is the same."

 "Yes, it is the same, and not the same at all. This is more primitive

 and more savage. It is a thing unholy and evil. Even the gods of

 earth and sky are offended by such as this- It belongs to a

 long-distant time and place, back in man's darker past. It is evil,

 and it breeds evil."

 "But does it have any power?" asked Ronsard. Biorkis looked at him

 oddly. "You know what I mean. Of itself is it a thing of power?"

 Biorkis thought for a moment before answering. "That I cannot say with

 certainty. Your question is perhaps more difficult than you know." He

 fingered his while beard as he gazed at the monstrous Ihing "An idol is

 but wood or stone," the priest continued. "It is the image of the god

 it represents. Images do not often have power, except for the ones who

 worship them, and then the power can be very great indeed."

 "This one has power," said a gruff voice behind them. Ronsard and

 Biorkis turned to see Myrmior standing behind them. "And yes, it is

 evil. Well I know it, for I have seen it work often enough. It is an

 idol, yes. But its purpose is far more coldly cunning than you

 suspect. It is foremost a machine of war, known in other lands as a

 Pyrinbradam ^ fire-breather."

 A glimmer of understanding appeared in Ronsard's eyes. "If that is

 true, I will order water to be brought up at once."

 "It would be wise," Myrmior assented. "Wet skins, if you have them,

 might offer some protection."

 Ronsard called to his officers to relay his orders and see that they

 were carried out. Water was to be poured over the gates and wet skins

 draped across them in an effort lo reduce their flammability.

 "Is there nothing else that may be done?" he asked. "Nothing but to

 wait. Wait and pray," muttered Myrmior.

 The waiting began and lasted for twelve long days. And each of those

 days was filled with ceaseless labor as water was hauled in buckets to

 the top of the drawbridge gate and poured over the great wooden planks.

 By night and day the water cascaded down the gates, and skins of cattle

 were soaked and spread only to be retrieved, soaked and spread again.

 The fire-breathing idol spewed flames from its mouth and nostrils in a

 never-ending torrent, scorching wood and stone, and heating metal until

 it glowed with a ruddy cast. The Ningaal tore apart the dwellings of

 the townspeople to fuel the monster at the gates. Into a cavity at the

 idol's base they threw the lumber and oil that sent the flames and

 sparks gushing from its white-hot mouth.

 On the evening of the thirteenth day an officer approached Ronsard

 timidly. The knight rested on his arm and watched with weary dread as

 the flames and water did battle one with the other, clouds of white

 steam resulting from the conflict.

 "Lord Ronsard, I " The man hesitated and fell silent.

 Ronsard swung his tired eyes toward the man. "Yes? Say anything but

 that we are running out of water." The thought had occurred to him

 often during this long vigil.

 The man's face went white, his mouth hung slack.

 "By Azraell I meant it as a jest! Speak, man!"

 "What is the trouble?" Theido said as he strode up to relieve Ronsard

 at his post. He was fresh and rested, eyes alert and tone confident.

 "I am trying to find out, sir," said Ronsard hoarsely. "It seems, the

 news he brings steals his voice."

 "Well? Speak, sir. We are stout enough to hear it." Theido looked

 furiously at the officer and folded his long arms across his chest.

 The man licked his lips and worked his jaw, but it was some moments

 before any words tumbled out and when they did it was in

 I 683 I

 a tangled rush. "Lord Rudd has sent me ... the water... supplies too

 low ... we cannot last the night."

 Ronsard needed to hear no more and sent the man away. "That cuts us to

 the quick. What are we to do now? Wait until our gates crumble away

 in flames, or until we die of thirst? Which would come first, I

 wonder?"

 "We have our wits about us yet. But we have been too slow in

 comprehending this menace, and that may be our undoing. I have an idea

 I should have had days ago, but it may work yet. Quickly, send some of

 your men to bring ropes and grappling hooks. Tell them to hurry,

 Ronsard, and bring all they can find. There is little time."

 Theido took his place on the barbican directly over the flame throwing

 idol. After soaking a long rope in water he tied a three pronged

 grappling hook onto one end and, leaning as far out over the wall as he

 dared, held only in Myrmior's and Ronsard's steely grasp, he lowered

 the hook toward the monster. The Ningaal, guessing his intent, howled

 with rage at the sight as above them the long length of swinging rope

 snaked down the face of the castle wall.

 After several futile attempts, Theido swung the hook out and by a

 chance it caught on one of the iron beast's fangs. He called for a

 group of men to take the rope and pull it tight as he readied another

 rope and hook. In the space of an hour he had another hook lodged in

 the idol's horns. The Ningaal were now in a maddened frenzy, helpless

 to prevent what they feared might happen. They screamed in frustration

 as a third and then a fourth rope snagged the fire monster.

 "That should suffice," said Theido as he scrambled back to safety on

 the battlements not a moment too soon, for the howling Ningaal had

 begun launching rocks and flaming debris from slings and mangonels.

 "Do you think it will work?" asked Myrmior. He eyed Theido's web of

 rope and hooks suspiciously.

 "We will soon see. I can think of no better course."

 "Then let us hope this one does not fail," replied Ronsard. He

 signaled the men, three hundred in all, holding the ropes to begin

 pulling. With a mighty groan all heaved at once. There came a

 resounding roar from the enraged Ningaal below as they saw the ropes

 pulled tight.

 "Heave, men!" shouted Ronsard. "Heave!"

 A few of the enemy, braving the arrows which still whistled through the

 air on occasion, threw ropes of their own over the ropes Theido had

 fastened to the idoL Now they skittered up these like spiders, armed

 with knives which they carried in their teeth in the hope that they

 might somehow cut the ropes binding their fire breathing god and which

 threatened to overturn it.

 The King's archers managed to keep the ropes of the Ningaal unoccupied,

 though at great price, for the warlords had appeared on the scene and

 were directing the efforts to save their endangered machine. The first

 act of the warlords was to order the mangonels to be filled with

 flaming coals from the idol and these flung aloft into the archer's

 faces. More than one bowman fell screaming to his death after being

 struck with the flaming debris.

 The ropes were pulled and pulled with force, but the iron image did not

 move. Three hundred more men were ordered to the battlements, and the

 ropes were lengthened to accommodate them. They heaved and pulled,

 straining to their task until their hands bloodied the thick lines. But

 still the idol stood.

 "It is not working," observed Myrmior. "We need more ropes."

 "We have no more," reported Theido. "At least not the length we

 need."

  

 "Then we must tie them together, and our cloaks and trousers too if

 necessary. Your plan will work if we have more ropes."

 "Wait! I have a notion," announced Ronsard. "What about chains? There

 are long lengths of chain in the gatehouse below. Let the ropes be

 fastened to the chains and the chains to the windlass of the drawbridge

 and the counterbalance."

 "Can such a thing be done wondered Theido. "It might mean disengaging

 the drawbridge."

 "It is a chance we must take. Send for the gatekeeper

 What Ronsard had proposed was done without great difficulty. The

 massive drawbridge ofAskelon was operated by not one, but

 / 685 I

 two windlasses and a system of counterweights. It was quick work to

 release the chain and allow the ropes to be bundled and threaded

 through a large iron ring. Then, with the counterweights once more in

 position a dozen brawny men were placed on the windlass and began to

 turn,

 The chain wound around the windlass and disappeared into a hole in the

 stone floor of the gatehouse. Theido and Ronsard dashed back to the

 battlements above to see the effect of their labors.

 "It is working!" shouted Myrmior as they came panting up. "You lazy

 geniuses! It is working. May the gods be praised!"

 They looked down to see the ropes stretched tight as harp strings. The

 iron idol teetered ever so slightly as the ropes pulled it upward.

 "I pray those ropes can hold," said Theido.

 "They will hold you shall see," replied Myrmior. **I have a feeling

 about this. They will hold."

 No sooner had Myrmior spoken than he was nearly proved wrong. One of

 the ropes snapped, its ragged length sang through the air and lashed

 four Ningaal to the ground as it struck like a whip. "Bring grease!"

 cried Theido.

  

 "Stop pulling!" shouted Ronsard. The chain stopped moving as the men

 at the windlass obeyed the Marshall's order.

 Grease was brought up from the gatehouse in buckets and smeared on the

 ropes and on the ledge of the crenelle where the ropes passed over the

 stone. Two men were stationed to swab the grease onto the ropes as

 they passed over the stone, and the windlass began turning again.

 In a few moments the flaming idol was slowly lifted up off the ground,

 and then began to swing forward toward the gate. A tremendous knock

 sounded as the enormous iron image banged into the drawbridge; smoke

 from its fire rolled up the walls, stinging the eyes of the men at the

 battlements.

 "Keep turning!" shouted Ronsard to the men below at the windlass. The

 Pyrinbractam inched slowly up the drawbridge, its snout pressed against

 the bridge's planks, which began to smolder.

 "The gates are burning!" cried a voice from below.

 Ronsard shot a quick glance toward Myrmior and Theido. "I did not

 foresee that."

 "Do not turn away now said Myrmior. "Stay with your plan."

 "Yes, just a little while longer," agreed Theido, peering over the

 battlements.

 "Bring water to the gatesi" barked Ronsard. "Continue turn ingi"

 More water was poured down the outside of the gates to quench the fire

 that had started. White billows of steam rose with the black smoke of

 the flames.

 The idol rose a few more inches and then stopped. The men at the

 windlass strained; the windlass creaked.

 "The cursed thing is caught on something," called Theido. "I cannot

 see what it is."

 "Keep turning and perhaps it will come loose' suggested

 Myrmior.

 "Put more men on the windlass! Keep turning ordered Ronsard.

 A dozen more strong men were added to the windlass and they fell to

 with all their might. The windlass creaked in loud complaint, the

 ropes stretched, and the chain moved but one link.

 "It is not working," reported Theido. "Call them off. The gates have

 caught fire again."

 Ronsard moved to relay the orders below when there came a whooshing

 sound and the ropes went slack. A thunderous crash was heard, and

 everyone dashed to the battlements to see the flaming monster teetering

 on the edge of the ramp. The ropes had burst under the strain and had

 dropped the iron image back to the ground, where it had rolled to the

 edge of the ramp and was in danger of toppling over the edge into the

 dry moat below.

 The King's men saw this and began to cheer wildly, urging the thing on

 to its own destruction. Nmgaal warriors, half-crazed with anger, leapt

 to the dangling ropes in an attempt to haul it back from the brink. It

 appeared as if they would succeed.

 The image righted and stopped rolling with two of its six huge wheels

 spinning out over the chasm. Hundreds of Ningaal were

 / 657 /

 now swarming to the ropes and were tugging it back inch by inch. The

 cheering from the battlements abated.

 "Well, we are in for it now, I fear," sighed Theido. "No better off

 than before."

 "It was a good idea, my friend," said Ronsard. "It almost worked. At

 least we did not let the monster destroy our gates without a fight."

 The enemy had placed long beams under the wheels and were attempting to

 rock the ponderous image in order to allow the rearmost wheels to be

 pulled back onto the ramp. But the rocking loosened one of Theido's

 hooks, and it broke free.

 "Look!" cried Mymiior. "We are saved!"

 Ronsard and Theido turned in time to see fifty men tumbling down the

 ramp, grasping the end of a falling rope. The snap of the rope caused

 the lowering statue to lurch violently, teeter once and then plunge

 over the edge, dragging a hundred men with it, still clinging to the

 lines.

 The terrible idol spewed fire as it spun slowly in the air, ropes

 snaking after it with men attached like insects, plummeting to their

 deaths. The idol landed on its wicked head and crumpled in a shower of

 sparks, one arm breaking off and opening a great hole in its chest

 where flames leapt up and showed those looking down from the

 battlements that the monster was indeed ruined completely and many of

 its wretched keepers as well.

 "We are saved to fight another day!" shouted Ronsard happily.

 "Yes, but how many days will we last without water?" asked Theido, the

 short-lived triumph dying in his eyes and his features giving way to

 the black cast of despair.

 FIFTY-THREE

 THE COUNCIL was held in Eskevar*s chambers with the King sitting up in

 bed, frowning furiously and darting quick questions to his advisors.

 Though he appeared even more gaunt and pale than ever, his eyes burned

 intensely and his hands were steady as he shook his finger in the

 air.

 "This is not good!" he shouted. "It leaves us no choice but to fight

 them on the plain. The siege can but kill us one by one as we drop

 from thirst."

 "We have a little water left, Sire," put in the warder weakly.

 "How little?"

 "Three days. Four."

 "So we prolong the agony that much longer. No, I will not see soldiers

 weakened by thirst attempt to hold off the fall ofAskelon. If Askelon

 falls, it must be on the field of battle. If the end is to come, let

 it come. But let us have our wits about us, and let us die with our

 swords in our hands.

 "We can at least give these barbarians a fight they will long remember.

 This Nin will live to regret the day he set-foot upon the soil of

 Mensandor, though every one of us perish."

 This fiery speech of the King greatly heartened several of the lords in

 attendance. Rudd, Benaiot and Fincher had grown restive during the

 siege. Not men of patience, they itched to take up arms and meet the

 foe in fair contest, even though as greatly outnumbered as the King's

 forces were there was nothing fair about it and not much of a contest.

 Still, the idea of taking once and for all a stand worthy of brave men

 appealed to them. They were ready to fight.

 / 689 I

 "What say the rest?" asked Rudd when he and the others had spoken

 their support of the King's plan.

 Theido was slow in speaking, and as he stepped forward all eyes turned

 toward him. "Sire, what you propose is the last desperate act of

 desperate men. I do not think we are pressed that far just yet. I say

 we should wait a few days. Much can happen in that time, and we are

 safe within these gates. The Ningaal have done their worst and have

 failed. I think we may yet prevail against them if we but wait a

 little."

 "The time for waiting is over! It is time now to act. We have waited

 these many days, and we are no better for it. I am with the King; let

 us fight and die like men since we have no better choice." Rudd threw

 a defiant look around the room and gathered support for his position

 with his fearless tone.

 "I am much inclined to agree with you, Rudd," said Ronsard. "And when

 the time comes to stand toe to toe with the enemy, you will find me in

 the foremost rank. But there is good counsel in waiting. Three or

 four days may mean much. The lords of the north may yet appear at any

 time, and we would do well to be ready in that event.

 "I say let the time be spent in readying ourselves to fight, but hold

 off the fighting until we must." Ronsard's logic cooled several heads

 which had been hot to rush into battle that very moment.

 "What do you say, Myrmior?" asked Eskevar. "Your counsel has been

 invaluable to us in these last days. Speak. Tell us what you would

 have us do."

 Myrmior looked sadly at the King and at those around him. His large

 dark eyes seemed wells of grief, and sorrow tinged his deep voice. "I

 have no counsel to give, my Lord. I have said all I thought best, and

 it has brought us to this extremity. I will speak no more but rather

 take my place alongside these men worthy to be called your loyal

 subjects and lift my blade with theirs against the hated foe."

 The effect of Myrmior's words was like that of a pronouncement of doom.

 He had said in a few words what most of them felt but had resisted

 giving words to: There is no hope. We must prepare to die.

 "Sire," said Theido, coming near to the bed, "let us not act hastily in

 this matter. Let us rather withdraw from here for a time and search

 our hearts before pressing for a decision,"

 Rudd, too, stepped up, shouting, "And I say we must not wait. Every

 day we stand by our men will grow weaker and our chances worsen. Now

 is the time to strike!"

 The room fell silent as everyone looked to the King to see what he

 would do. "Noble lords," he said gravely, "I will not force you to a

 decision- Neither will I tax you further with waiting which can belabor

 a man's spirit."

 They all watched him intently. Theido noticed the set of the Dragon

 King's jaw and knew whal was coming before the words were spoken.

 "Therefore, I say that we will ride out tomorrow and engage the enemy,

 that what little advantage there may be in surprise we may carry with

 us. Go now and look to your men. See that they are well-fed and made

 ready. Tomorrow at dusk I will lead them into battle."

 The lords murmured their approval and left at once to begin preparing

 for combat. Theido and Ronsard lingered and spoke to the King in an

 effort to change his mind. But he turned a deaf ear to them and sent

 them away. After they had gone. Queen Alinea came ' in to spend one

 last night at the side of her King. t

 Eskevar had chosen dusk to lead the attack because reports from his

 sentries had it that the enemy's watch on the postern gate was reduced

 at that time, while the Ningaal took their evening meal. It was a bold

 move and a clever one. It was to be assumed that an attack by the

 castle dwellers would issue from the main gate here it was that the

 warlords had positioned their greater strength in anticipation of such

 a move. The postern gate, being smaller and the long crooked ramp that

 led from it being walled and narrow, permitted knights to ride but

 three abreast.

 These things Eskevar took into consideration and decided the result was

 favorable. He would achieve a fair measure of surprise in such a

 maneuver, and he would catch the Ningaal unprepared and in the wrong

 position to begin a battle. They would mass quickly as the call to

 arms was given, he knew, but by that time he hoped to have his own men

 ranged upon the plain and ready, having already dispatched a goodly

 number of the foe.

 The Dragon King and his army spent the day preparing and positioning

 men and horses to move through the postern yards and through the gates

 as quickly as possible.

 When all was ready, a hush fell over the wards and yards where the men

 waited. The sun sank in the west, a great crimson orb, and the Wolf

 Star shone fiercely in the east, shedding its cold, harsh light upon

 all who huddled beneath it. The villagers and peasants gathered to

 send their champions forth, and to pray to all the gods they knew for

 the victory. Women cried and kissed the brave knights; horses snorted

 and stamped their feet; children stood stiff legged and stared

 round-eyed at the men in their glittering armor.

 At the far end of the ward yard a commotion arose, and those at the

 near end craned their necks to see the banner of the Dragon King lofted

 on its standard and wavering toward them as a path opened before it.

 And then there was the King himself, sitting erect upon a milk-white

 stallion that pranched in trotting steps toward the gate. Over his

 silver armor he wore a royal blue coat which had the dragon emblem

 worked in gold. His helm bore no crest but the simple gold circlet of

 his crown. Ranking him on either hand two grim knights, one astride a

 black charger, the other riding a sorrel, gazed resolutely ahead. The

 shield of the dark knight bore the device of a hawk; the blazon of the

 other showed a mace and flail held in a gauntleted fist.

 Behind them rode Myrmior who, after the fashion of his own people, wore

 no armor, but carried only a light round shield and a short sword.

 Ronsard, however, had prevailed upon him to don greaves, and a brassard

 for his sword arm at least. He had refused a helm, complaining that it

 was impossible to see out of the iron pot.

 They passed through the yard to the gate, followed by ranks of nobles

 and knights three abreast. When they reached their position, the King

 raised his hand and the procession stopped. He looked to the

 gatekeeper who, peering down from the barbican, nodded in return,

 declaring that the Ningaal had moved off from the gate leaving only a

 small force to watch. Then Eskevar, his face gray and hard, his eyes

 gleaming cold in the evil light of the star, drew his sword with his

 right hand. It whispered softly as it issued from the scabbard, but

 the sound soon filled the ward as the movement was repeated a thousand

 times over. The heavy iron porticullis was raised and the plank let

 down over the dry moat. And the Dragon King rode out to battle.

 The Ningaal at the postern gate were scattered as chaff on the

 threshing-floor. Several of them foolishly drew their weapons and were

 cut down before they could lift their hands, the rest ran howling to

 sound the alarm that the defenders had broken free and were in

 pursuit.

 Eskevar turned the attack not toward the town, where the main body of

 the enemy waited, but to the more lightly manned cordon which had been

 thrown around the castle. This tactic proved successful, for the

 thundering knights easily routed the ill-prepared foe and dispersed a

 great many who could have formed a second front if given the chance. No

 sooner had this been accomplished than the knights wheeled to face the

 charge sweeping down around the castle rock behind them.

 The full force of Eskevar's army met this hastily assembled attack and

 drove through it with little hurt. They then moved quickly on to

 thrust into the larger of the Ningaal's many siege campS, where several

 thousand of the enemy had gathered to eat and sleep that night. The

 sight of three thousand knights charging through their camp banished

 all thoughts of food and slumber from their barbarian minds as the camp

 instantly became a boiling caldron of confusion and terror.

 The Ningaal were caught unaware; the alarm had not reached them before

 the knights fierce attack. In moments the scene was one of fire and

 blood, of rearing horses and slashing blades. Many of the Ningaal fled

 from the camp rather than face the fierce justice of the King's swords-

 And for a fleeting moment it appeared to the defenders that the Ningaal

 would be overcome and crushed.

 But that notion faded with the appearance of two warlords astride black

 war-horses, rallying their panic-stricken troops with cool control.

 The knights had encompassed the camp and had driven

 I 693 I

 through to the center of it. Seeing the warlords bringing their

 scattered regiments together, Eskevar sent a company of knights against

 them to quell that opposition before it could materialize in force.

 The rest strove to keep the Ningaal running and confused, not allowing

 them time to coalesce into a unified front

 But too soon the body of knights surrounding the camp was outflanked by

 a larger ring of bellowing Ningaal led by the two other warlords. These

 began pressing forward, pushing the knights inward, shrinking the

 diameter of the circle by force of superior numbers. It seemed that no

 matter how many of the enemy were killed, there were more standing than

 had been there before.

 Eskevar realized that the position was indefensible. With Theido on

 his right and Ronsard on his left, the Dragon King led a withering

 charge toward a weak section of the circle. There was a tremendous

 clash and many knights fell into the wall of Ningaal axe-blades, never

 to rise again. But the circle bowed and broke, and the King led his

 soldiers out upon the plain.

 When they reached a place in the center of the plain, half a league

 from the castle, Eskevar halted and turned to face the enemy which was

 now massing for the final assault.

 THE WARLORDS, perceiving that the victory was theirs to be won, did not

 rush at once to the attack. They waited, gathering their forces and

 ordering their troops for the final conflict. This gave the Dragon

 King time to position his knights as well, placing them in stout ranks

 around scores of footmen with pike and spear who had Joined them from

 the castle.

 The first clash with the Ningaal found the Dragon King ready

 The Warlords 0} Nm and waiting at the forefront of his army. The

 bellowing mob, with battle-axes swinging, rushed down upon the Dragon

 King's forces from the upper plain, led by two warlords. The two

 remaining warlords held a vast number of their foul flock in reserve.

 Amut and Luhak rode with the charge and were met with. a wall of

 steel. The Dragon King's knights, fighting with a strength born of

 desperation, held the line against the warlord's fearsome bodyguard and

 reduced that number effectively. The Ningaal axe-men boiled onto the

 field like a tempest-driven flood- Though they beat against the armored

 knights with terrible blows of their cruel axes, the defenders

 withstood all.

 At the end of an hour's time the attack broke off and the warlord's

 withdrew to the cheers of the knights leaving the field dark with the

 blood of their fallen.

 Theido, astride his charge on the King's right hand, lifted his visor

 and looked over the battlefield. "We have made a good account of

 ourselves," he said. "What is more, we have not suffered much loss."

 "Even one man is too many, brave sir," said Ronsard, from his place on

 the King's left. "They propose to wear us down one by one if need be,

 until there is none left standing."

 "By Azrael!" said Eskevar, "it is the only way they will take Askelon.

 But we are far from defeated yet. And I have a plan that may confound

 them. Theido, gather the commanders. I would speak to them before the

 next attack."

 They met on the field and the King spoke hurriedly, finishing just as

 the rolling whoop of the advancing enemy once more filled the air. As

 the Ningaal closed on the defenders for the second time, there was a

 stirring within the King's army and the attack met not a solid wall

 this time, but a rank which gave way before them. The enemy was

 instantly drawn inside the ring, like water into a flask, and then the

 stopper was replaced, cutting off the axe-men from their leaders, who

 were now inside. Thus the battle began with the Ningaal herded

 together within a palisade of stinging blades.

 No one in the enemy's camp noticed the small force which broke away

 from the rear of the Dragon King's army and made its way back to the

 castle.

 / 695 /

 Once more the King's knights stood to the task, hewing down the enemy

 before them. The pike-men worked among the flashing hooves of the

 horses to bring the warlords' bodyguard down, where they were pierced

 with spears. The Ningaal axe-men, separated from their commanders

 within the palisade, ran screaming around the outer ring, throwing

 themselves ineffectually upon the unforgiving lances of the knights.

 Warlords Gurd and Boghaz, watching from a distance, soon realized what

 had happened and readied a second wave to smash the outer ring of the

 King's defenses and thus lay open the battle for a speedy end.

 Mounted upon their sturdy' black steeds, they swept down into the fray.

 They had nearly reached the field of' combat when their attack faltered

 and broke apart amidst a deadly flight of arrows. The Ningaal fell in

 such numbers that the warlords pulled up short of engaging the King and

 swerved to meet the archers who were now running to join their comrades

 on the plain, having staved off the second wave. The archers, who had

 been left behind to defend Askelon in its last need, were led by

 Myrmior and several of the boldest knights. They had been sent to

 bring the archers as part of Eskevar's plan to divide and confuse the

 enemy.

 The charging Ningaal could not draw within blade range of the archers

 and were at last forced to retreat and regroup. The archers reached

 the plain with ease, and the air sang with their killing missiles.

 Within moments of their arrival, the Ningaal withdrew once more and

 left the field to the Dragon King.

 "We have not fared so well this time," said Theido, once more surveying

 the carnage around him. "We have lost many good men. Perhaps too many

 to withstand another charge."

 "Withstand we must!" shouted Eskevar. "We must hold

 "We have surprised them twice. I do not think we will again," said

 Ronsard. "But we have stood them a battle that will be sung in the

 halls of brave men everywhere. That is something to take with us. Yet

 I begin to think that if we last this day, we may yet turn the tide of

 battle in our favor."

 "IfWertwin were as good as his word and brought the armies ofAmeronis,

 Lupollen and the others with him, I would agree with you," said Theido.

 He turned his eyes to the north but saw nothing moving on the horizon.

 "But even if they came now, I think it would be too late."

 "Do not talk so!" charged the King. "We will prepare to meet the

 attack with courage."

 "As you say, my Lord." Theido looked at his King and his noble heart

 swelled within him almost to burst, for he seemed to see a dark shape,

 like the wings of a raven, hovering around the King's shoulder. When

 the knight spoke again, it was with a voice choked with sorrow. "You

 have ever shown us courage, my King. Lead us and we will follow

 through the gates of death itself."

 Eskevar's face shone fierce in the strange white light of the star,

 shining as bright as day. But when be spoke it was with a gentler

 tone. "You have served me well, brave friends. I have trusted you

 with my life on more occasions than a king ought, but I have never

 found you wanting." He stopped and looked long at each of them before

 continuing.

 "This is how I want to be remembered turned out in my finest armor at

 the head of loyal men and brave. This is how I would enter the rest of

 my fathers."

 Ronsard raised a hand to protest, but Eskevar waved him silent.

 "Enough of dying," he said. "Now to arms' For the enemy once more

 draws near."

 Across the broken battlefield, now slippery with the blood of the dead

 and dying, the Ningaal advanced, slowly this time, behind a vanguard of

 horsemen with flaming pikes. The four warlords had positioned

 themselves so as to command a phalanx of troops ahead and behind them.

 This time there would be no force held in reserve, and there would be

 no tricks, for they moved over the plain step by step, wary of the

 slightest shift among the soldiers of the Dragon King.

 The baleful Wolf Star burned down upon the scene with its hateful

 light, bright as noonday sun, casting shadows all around. It seemed to

 grow larger and to fill the sky, making the forlorn moon rising in the

 east a pale and insignificant thing.

 Eskevar turned his face to the Wolf Star. "Surely that is an cvtt

 thing. I feel its fire in my bones. How it burns. Ronsard, Theido*'

 he turned to them both "do you feel it

 / 697. /

 "It is the heat of battle I feel. Sire," offered Ronsard.

 "Aye, that, too," agreed Eskevar. The King seemed to come once more to

 himself and looked out across the battlefield, now rolling in the smoke

 of the fiery pikes of the Ningaal.

 "If they think us slow-witted enough to wait here like cattle for the

 slaughter, they are mistaken," said Eskevar as he glared out over the

 field. "Assemble the commanders!" he called. A trumpeter sent the

 message ringing in the air.

 "We will charge them there in the center," said the King, pointing

 toward the advancing body of the enemy with his long sword. "We will

 show them how the knights of Mensandor value their lives."

 "Aye," agreed the gathered lords, their armor battered and bloody, but

 their faces still eager in the light of the hateful star.

 "And we will show them how the knights of Mensandor value their

 freedom," shouted Rudd. "For glory!" The nobleman raised his voice

 and led them in a rousing battle chant.

 "Go back to your men," instructed Eskevar. "Be ready, and wait for my

 signal." Eskevar took his place at the head of his knights. Theido

 and Ronsard stayed at either side. i Tbeido, guessing the end was

 near, looked across to his friend P Ronsard and offered a wordless

 salute. This was the long dark road he had seen so long ago. Now that

 it stretched before him he did not fear it, though it saddened him. He

 wanted to speak some final word to his friend, but none would come. The

 salute said all.

 "Farewell, brave friend," said Ronsard as he returned the salute. He

 closed the visor of his helm and raised the point of his sword toward

 Theido.

 "For Mensandor!" cried Eskevar suddenly. His voice sounded clear and

 strong as thunder as it carried across the plain. He raised his sword

 and spurred his courser forward, and with a roar the army of the Dragon

 King leaped as one into furious motion.

 The shock of the clash as the charging knights met the stubborn Ningaal

 shook the earth. Horses screamed and wheeled, plunging and plunging

 again. Knights cut the air with mace and flail; swords flashed and

 spears thrust and bowstrings sang.

 Eskevar's white stallion could be seen dashing straightway into the

 thick of the fighting. Ronsard, bold and bright, defended his

 King's left with a tireless arm. Time and again the champion's sword

 whirled through the air, dealing death with every blow. Theido guarded

 the King's right and strove to keep himself between his Lord and the

 bloodthirsty axes of the barbarian horde.

 Here and there amidst the furious melee the standards of the

 Mensandorean lords could be seen as islands of defenders, surrounded by

 a sea of enemy fighting men, labored to remain abreast of one another.

 But one by one the standards fell, some never to rise again, as the

 long night of battle wore on.

 The daring attack of the Dragon King produced at length an unexpected

 result. So fiercely did the King's army fight, and so well, that they

 succeeded in punching through the center of the Ningaal formation.

 Despite the enemy's superior force, the defenders cut a wide swath

 through the heart of the warlords' offensive and in time came together

 behind the Ningaal lines.

 "This is unexpected!" cried Eskevar, breathing heavily and leaning

 forward in his saddle. "Our cause is not yet lost. Look there! See

 Rudd drives through to join us, and yonder Fincher and Benniot."

 Theido looked at the swirling maelstrom before him and separated the

 shapes of the Dragon King's knights from the darker forms of the

 Ningaal. The din of the fight rang loud in his ears, but he did see

 the faintest glimmer of hope that the battle could be won, as Eskevar

 had said. Their charge had scattered the larger part of the Ningaal

 and had divided them like a wedge. The warlords of Nin circled round

 the outside of the battle storm and sought to rejoin their troops, but

 in vain. The enemy was falling away in droves.

 "Is it true?" shouted Ronsard, throwing his visor up to view the

 contest.

 "Yes!" agreed Theido. "See how they crowd toward the center their own

 numbers crush them. If we direct a sally there, we can further divide

 them."

 "By the godsl You are right. Trumpeter! Rally the men. Onward we

 go!" Eskevar urged his steed once more ahead, and the Ningaal felt the

 heat of his blade like a flame kindled against them. The King's

 knights formed a spearhead which drove through the milling mass and and

 cut it down. Ningaal warriors forgot iheir discipline and ran

 screaming from the battlefield in great numbers, their commanders slew

 many deserters with their own hands in order to stop the rout.

 This second charge was successful, and the defenders took heart that

 they might indeed carry the victory. With jubilant whoops and

 courageous battle cries they stood shoulder to shoulder and fought,

 urging one another to greater deeds of valor.

 By the time the sickly moon had advanced two hours' time, the army of

 the Dragon King had for the first time taken the upper hand in the

 battle. The warlords were fighting a defensive action, seeking a

 retreat whereby they could regroup their lagging regiments. But

 Eskevar and his commanders, though suffering from fatigue and the

 terrible attrition of their numbers, doggedly struggled on to put the

 invaders to flight.

 At midnight an entire Ningaal regiment broke and ran from the field.

 The sight of the beaten enemy dragging itself away from the combat

 greatly heartened the defenders, who sent a cheer aloft which reached

 Askelon and was echoed by the fearful refugees who peered anxiously

 from the battlements of the fortress.

 "We can seize the day!" shouted Eskevar. "The barbarians have lost

 the heart to win."

 "Sire, let us pursue them and drive them from the field," said Ronsard.

 "But you remain here where your soldiers can see you. Gather your

 strength."

 "Yes, my Lord," agreed Theido. "Let your commanders earn some glory.

 Do not endanger yourself further. Rest a little, and regain your

 strength."

 Eskevar glared dully at his knights as be sat hunched in his saddle,

 unable to sit erect any longer. His visor was open, and his face

 showed white with exhaustion. He shook his head wearily and replied,

 "I will rest when the day has been saved and not before. If my knights

 wish to see me they must look toward the heart of battle, for that is

 where I will be."

 Theido and Ronsard exchanged worried glances. They would have

 preferred to have their King stand off from battle at least for a time.

 Theido was about to protest further when Eskevar closed his visor and

 Jerked the reins, plunging once more into the clash. The two trusted

 knights had no choice but to surge after him and protect him however

 they could.

 For a moment it appeared as if this final assault would indeed shatter

 the Ningaal strength, for the howling axe-men of the warlords melted

 before the defenders' blades as snow before the flame. And for a

 moment the Dragon King and his knights stood unchallenged on the

 hard-won battleground as the enemy roiled in retreat.

 But the illusion of victory was fleeting, for there came a sound that

 seemed to come tearing out of the ground as if the very earth were

 rending. It filled the air and soared aloft to shriek across the

 plain. Those who heard it quailed in its presence; even the stoutest

 among them trembled.

 All eyes turned toward the south and for the briefest instant the

 rolling smoke parted to reveal a solid wall of warriors stretching

 across the plain. Nin the Immortal had arrived with his fifty

 thousand.

 FIFTY-FIVE

 THE BATTLE-WEARY defenders watched in horror as the conquest, so nearly

 won, raced away on wings of hopelessness, and certain doom swarmed in

 to take its place. The cheers of triumph turned to bitter wails of

 despair, as the Ningaal, seeing their sure salvation, halted their

 retreat and turned once more upon the Dragon King's battered army.

 Eskevar had but little time to rally his flagging troops before the

 enemy surged around them like a flood whose waters rose to overwhelm

 all. At once the hapless defenders were surrounded on every side and

 cut off from any possible retreat. The warlords urged their

 / 701 I

 || warriors to fighting frenzy, and one by one the Dragon King's '

 brave soldiers fell.

 Ronsard and Theido fought to keep abreast of the King and protect him

 to the very end. But a sudden rush of enemy swirled up before them and

 drove them apart.

 Three black-braided howling Ningaal, mouths foaming, eyes wild and

 faces smeared with blood, leaped up and grabbed the reins of Theido's

 mount. One of the attackers instantly lost a hand in a crimson gush;

 another dropped dead to the earth, never feeling the stroke that split

 his skull. The third smashed his axe into Theido's chest, and the

 knight felt the blade bite deep as his armor buckled and parted. He

 reeled in the saddle, falling back beneath the force of the blow which

 would have killed most men.

 The Ningaal attacker, still clutching the haft of his axe, was pulled

 off the ground as Theido's courser reared. Theido swung his buckler

 down upon the enemy's head, and his opponent fell sprawling to the

 earth where the warhorse's flashing hooves made short work of him.

 Theido, by some miracle, remained in the saddle and wrenched the axe

 from the crease in his chestplate. He knew himself to be grievously

 wounded but turned to look for Ronsard and Eskevar.  The current of

 battle had carried them far apace. He saw Ronsard engaging four or

 five enemy with flaming pikes and swords, trying to keep them from

 reaching the King, when suddenly a warlord, charging into their midst

 with his black cape flying, struck into the fight.

 Instantly the warlord was met by the lightly armed figure of Myrmior.

 The seneschal, his face a mask of hate, thrust himself between the King

 and the warlord. Theido saw Myrmior's sword flash in the starlight in

 a shining arc. The warlord raised his blade, and Myrmior's sword

 shattered with the force of his mighty blow. The warlord struck again

 and beat angry Myrmior's shield. Theido watched, helpless, as the

 warlord's cruel and curving blade flicked out and buried itself deep in

 Myrmior's unprotected chest. Myrmior clutched at the blade with one

 hand and pulled, even as the warlord sought to withdraw it, jerking the

 battle lord forward in the saddle. In the same instant Myrmior brought

 his broken sword

 up and slammed it into the warlord's throat. Theido then saw the two

 men topple to the earth.

 So quickly did this happen that Theido had scarcely lifted the reins to

 send his mount forward and it was over. From his vantage point the

 knight saw Ronsard, who had killed three of his assailants, lurch away

 and drive once more to the King's side. But in that momentary lapse

 worlds were lost, for Theido, already pounding to his aid, saw Eskevar

 pulled from the saddle to sink into a boiling knot ofNingaal with pikes

 and axes.

 Ronsard reached the spot where his monarch went down first. He killed

 two with one stroke and four more in as many passes. Tneido's arrival

 sent the rest darting away as Ronsard, heedless of his own safety,

 flung himself from the saddle and knelt beside his

 King.

 Soon there were shouts all around. "The King has fallen! The Dragon

 King has fallen!" The defenders swarmed to his side, forming a wall

 around the body of their beloved ruler.

 Ronsard held Eskevar's head in his hands and carefully removed the

 King's helmet. "It is over, brave friend Eskevar gasped. "I shall

 lift my blade no more."

 "Say not so. Sire," said Ronsard, tears seeping out of the corners of

 his eyes to run down his broad cheeks. He tore off his own gauntlet

 and thrust a corner of the King's cloak into a bleeding wound at the

 base of Eskevar's neck.

 "There is no pain... no pain," said Eskevar, his voice a whisper.

 "Where is my sword?"

 "Here, Sire," said Theido, placing his own weapon into the

 King's grasping hands.

 Eskevar clutched the weapon to his breast and closed his eyes.

 Those watching from the castle ramparts and battlements saw the King

 fall, and a cry of grief and dismay tore from their hearts as from the

 throat of a mortally wounded beast. But the cry had not yet died in

 the air when someone shouted, "Look to the easti" All eyes turned their

 gaze eastward where the forlorn watchers saw a strange and wondrous

 sight.

 / 703 /

 It appeared to those watching, and to the soldiers crouching over the

 body of the Dragon King, that lightning flashed out of the east with

 the brightness of the blazing sun, for there was a sudden blinding

 flare which seemed to fill the sky, outshining even the light of the

 Wolf Star.

 Another burst of brilliant light struck the sky and the surging Ningaal

 paused to look up from their bloody work to view with alarm this new

 marvel.

 Suddenly all anyone could see was the form of a knight on a white steed

 bolting out of the east. In his upraised arm he carried a sword that

 blazed and flashed with living light.

 All the earth seemed to fall silent before the approach of this unknown

 knight- The thunder of his charger's hooves could be heard pounding

 over the plain as he flew as on eagle's wings into battle.

 "Zhaligkeer!" someone shouted. "The deliverer has come!"

 A murmur swept through the ward yards and towers ofAskelon. Alinea,

 Bria and Esme, holding vigil in the eastern tower, looked out through

 tearful eyes to see this strange sight. The soldiers of the Dragon

 King, standing shoulder to shoulder around their fallen Lord, raised

 their visors in astonishment.

 ^; The sword in the knight's hand seemed to cast a beam of light toward

 heaven as he rode swiftly onward. The Ningaal, amazed at this

 unheralded apparition, looked on with gaping mouths. Even Nin, Supreme

 Deity of the Universe, struggled to his feet from his throne upon its

 platform to better see what was happening.

 Quentin, astride the speeding Blazer, saw the remnant of the Dragon

 King's army surrounded by the enemy upon the plain. With Toll at his

 side he had no other thought but to rush to their aid and take his

 place beside them. In his dash he saw the standard of the Dragon King

 fall beneath the flood of the enemy. He had then drawn his sword as

 with a battle cry he launched himself straight toward the place where

 he had marked the banner's fall.

 Zhaligkeer burned with the brilliance of a thousand suns, throwing off

 bolts of lightning that seared the air. For the Ningaal, transfixed by

 the unearthly vision, this was too much. Unafraid of bold earthly

 warriors, they were terrified at the appearance of this heavenly foe.

 The barbarians threw down their weapons and fled before him. Quentin

 drove into the center of the reeling horde and rode untouched into the

 midst of the Dragon King's awestruck army.

 Quentin glanced down and saw his friends Theido and Ronsard kneeling

 over the body ofEskevar. He read the sadness in their eyes and knew

 die Dragon King was dead.

 Without a word Quentin wheeled Blazer around and leaped after die

 fleeing Ningaal. An unspeakable grief seized his mind and Quentin had

 no thought but to drive the hated enemy, before him, to ride until he

 could ride no more, to the sea and beyond. In his mindless grief he

 drove straight toward Nin the Destroyer and his fifty thousand

 panic-stricken warriors. The Ningaal parted before the invincible

 knight with the flaming sword, as waves before the tempest.

 Quentin saw nothing distinctly; it was as if he had entered a dream.

 Pale shapes moved before him, rolling away on either side like clouds;

 the night sky was filled with a burning white light. Then there was a

 darkness before him which rose up in a seething mass.

 Zhaligkeer flashed in his hand. Quentin raised himself in the saddle

 and flung the sword skyward with a mighty shout. The sword spun in the

 air, and it seemed that as it reached the apex of its arc it suddenly

 exploded with a blinding crack that showered tongues of fire all

 around.

 The sky went white, and every man threw his hands before his face to

 save his eyes. None dared look upon the terrible splendor of the

 moment. It seemed to Quentin that he entered his vision, for he was

 once more the knight standing upon a darkling plain wearing the shining

 armor and lofting a blazing sword which burned into the heart of the

 darkness gathered round about.

 There was a shudder in the air, and he felt the fire rush through him.

 Though the lightning danced blinding waves around him, he opened his

 eyes and saw the darkness roll away, revealing a city splendid and

 beautiful, shimmering in the light as if carved of fine gold and gems.

 The exquisite sight brought Quentin to his knees.

 / 705 /

 He threw his hands before his face to blot out the vision, and the

 tears came rising up as from a spring, in that moment he felt in his

 inmost soul the hand of the Most High God upon him.

 When Quentin raised his head, he was alone and the night was dark. The

 Wolf Star had disappeared in a great flash. Some said that the Shining

 One had reached up into the sky and smote the star and extinguished it,

 for it vanished in the same instant that Quentin had thrown the

 sword.

 Zhaligkeer had fallen to earth and was found buried to the hilt in the

 obscene body of the Immortal Nin. The Conquerer of Kings lay dead,

 pinned to the ground like a serpent. His unhappy minions, witnessing

 the swift miracle of their cruel lord's death, fled screaming over the

 plain. Their pitiful cries filled the night as they sought to escape

 the justice that would soon overtake them. The warlords of Nin fell

 upon their swords and joined their loathsome sovereign in his

 well-deserved fate.

 Quentin returned to the place where Eskevar lay. Together with Theido

 and Ronsard and the lords and knights ofMensandor, he picked up the

 body of the King and, lifting it upon his shoulders, bore it away to

 Askelon.

 FIFTY-SIX

 THE FUNERAL of the Dragon King lasted three days and his mourning

 continued for thirty. During this time Wertwin and the armies

 ofAmeronis, Lupollen and the others arrived greatly saddened and

 contrite, for news of the King's death had overtaken them on the way.

 They were sent in pursuit of the Ningaal who were fleeing back along

 the Arvin toward the sea where their ships still waited. The lords

 slew many of the enemy in their flight, and the rest were driven into

 the sea at lance point.

 Eskevar's body was taken at once to the castle, where it was placed

 upon his own bed. Durwin, aided by Biorkis, came to minister to the

 body, washing it and composing it for entombment. Inchkeith worked

 long hours over the King's armor, pounding out the dents inflicted upon

 it in the last battle, and shining it bright as new. Queen Alinea

 herself dressed her husband in his finest garments; Bria and Esme

 adorned him with his most treasured jewels. And then he was taken to

 the great hall, where he was solemnly laid upon his bier.

 The King's body lay in the great hall for two days, guarded by a

 sorrowful contingent of knights and nobles throughout the day and night

 while a steady procession of tearful subjects filed past the litter.

 The miserable wailing of the peasants filled the ward yards, and

 afflicted citizens roamed the streets of the town, inconsolable in

 their grief. The great Dragon King had passed, no one had ever thought

 to see that dark day.

 Quentin remained in his chamber and would see no one. He did not even

 venture to the battlements to watch the funeral pyres of all the brave

 dead of the King's proud army as they burned upon the plain. He held

 himself to blame for the King's death, reasoning that if he had arrived

 but a few heartbeats sooner Eskevar would still be alive. Only Toll

 was allowed in to serve his master. But Quentin's needs were few, for

 he would neither eat nor sleep, but sac slumped in a chair before the

 darkened, empty hearth.

 At midnight on the second day Quentin bestirred himself and crept

 quietly to the great hall. The mourners had gone, and no one lingered

 in the hall except the ten knights standing as statues of stone around

 the body. Torches burned on standards at the four corners of the bier,

 casting a soft, hazy light over the pall. Quemin moved close, mounting

 the flower-strewn platform to kneel beside the body.

 In the lambent glow the King's features were relaxed and calm;

 except for the unnatural stillness, he might have been asleep. Gone

 were the traces of the illness which had so wasted his noble frame.

 I 707 !

 Gone, too, were the lines of care and concern which had creased his

 visage of late. The years seemed to have been rolled away, and Quentin

 saw a younger Eskevar than he had known. His hair was dark and swept

 back over his temples. The high forehead was smooth, the nose straight

 and well-formed above a firm but not ungentle mouth. The hard jut of

 the jaw had been softened, revealing a man at peace within himself, and

 the deeply cleft chin spoke of the unflinching purpose of the man who

 had been.

 The King wore his armor and held his helm nestled under his left arm.

 His sword lay upon his chest, where it was held at the hilt in his

 right hand. The writhing dragon device on the King's breastplate

 seemed to twist and wink in the firelight. A cloak of royal blue edged

 in silver and gold was fastened at the throat by a golden chain and the

 King's favorite dragon brooch. Eskevar appeared ready to leap to his

 feet and ride once more to the trumpet's call.

 Quentin bowed his head, and hot tears fell upon the bier. He recalled

 so vividly the time when he had seen his King just so, held in the evil

 Nimrood's spell. Then, by an impossible miracle, the necromancer's

 enchantment had been broken and the Dragon King freed to live again.

 But it was a far more powerful sorcery that embraced the King now, one

 that claimed alt men in the end and from (which there was no release.

 Quentin heard a soft step behind him, and he felt a light touch on his

 shoulder. He glanced up to see Queen Alinea, dressed all in sable,

 looking down on him, her green eyes deep pools of sorrow, but shining

 more beautifully for the compassion with which she regarded him.

 "I have sought you these past two days, my son." The Queen spoke

 softly, and the tone eased Quentin's troubled heart. He did not

 speak.

 "You must not blame yourself, for in the end he chose his own course,

 as he ever did. It was his wish to die serving the kingdom he loved.

 And of all his loves this one, his love for his realm, claimed his

 highest devotion. He was a king first and a man only second."

 "Thank you for your words, my Lady. They do soothe me well. I will

 not blame myself, though I did at first. I know now that his course

 was set for him long ago. He would not bend to another."

 "Not and remain Eskevar for very long. Look at him, Quemin. See how

 peacefully be slumbers. Death held no terror for him; he had conquered

 it many times. The thing be feared and hated most was that his realm

 would Gill before him and he would not be able to save it. That gnawed

 at him; it poisoned his last days. But be conquered that, too, in the

 end."

 "How well you knew him, Alinea."

 "Knew him? Perhaps I knew him as well as anyone could.  And I loved

 him with all my heart. He loved me, too, in his way. But a King does

 not belong to himself, or to his family. He belongs to his kingdom.

 Eskevar felt this more intimately than any I have known. He died for

 Mensandor as he lived for it.

 "But there was much that even I did not know of him. The long years of

 war, years away from his home, took more than time away from us. Many

 was the night I cried out in loneliness for my husband and would have

 had a strong hand to hold my own. There was none. Eskevar was away,

 fighting for his kingdom. Even when he returned he never rested; he

 was always turning his eyes here and there, searching every remote

 corner of Mensandor for any sign of weakness or trouble.

 "He once told me by way of apology, I think "If you seek to know me,

 know first my kingdom." He was Mensandor, its life was his."

 Quentin looked upon the dead monarch, realizing there was much he would

 never know of the man who had adopted him to be his own. "Now that be

 is dead, what will happen to his realm?" he wondered aloud.

 "It shall live on in the life of the new Dragon King," murmured the

 Queen softly. She bent over her husband's body and removed the dragon

 brooch and chain. She then turned and drew Quentin to his feet. "You

 will find this to be far heavier than the weight of its gold, my dear

 one. But he wanted you to have it, and all that goes with it."

 Quentin shook his head slowly, fingering the golden brooch which the

 Queen had fastened on his cloak. "I was never his son. As much as I

 love you both and am grateful for your kindness to me these many years,

 I am not fit to be King."

 / 709 I

 "Who would be better

 "His true-born son, perhaps."

 "You know he had no male heir. But I shall tell you something. I have

 always thought it strange that a man who valued his throne so highly

 would have "

 "Given it away so freely," muttered Quentin.

 "No, he did not give it away at all, Quentin. You see, Bria was born

 just before Eskevar went to war with Goliah. When he learned that I

 could have no other children, and his one offspring was female, I

 expected him to be angry. I offered to relinquish my crown so that he

 could take another, but he would not hear of it. He said he was

 content, that he would trust whatever god that ruled him to provide an

 heir when the time came. He never spoke of it again.

 "So when he chose you to be his ward, I knew he had found his heir. How

 he knew, I cannot say. But he saw something in you that pleased him

 very much."

 "It seemed a kingly whim to me, my Lady. Not that I was not overjoyed

 to receive his high favor- But as much as I loved him and Askelon,

 Dekra is my home. He must have known that."

 "It did not matter. He wanted for you only your happiness. He knew

 that when the time came you would fulfill his hopes and expectations,

 so deep was his trust."

 "I hope he was not mistaken. I pray he was not," said Quentin. Alinea

 looked upon the still form of the King and, drawing a long breath,

 turned away at last, offering Quentin her hand.

 "He was not mistaken, my son. All is as it should be as he would have

 had it. You will see."

 Quentin cast a last glance toward the body and withdrew with Alinea on

 his arm. Their footsteps echoed in the darkened hall, and when they

 had gone silence again reclaimed her own.

 The next morning the body of the King was taken to the Ring of the

 Kings, the ancestral resting place of the Mensandorean monarchs

 established within the green walls of Pelgrin Forest.

 The funeral cortege, made up of knights and nobles on horseback and

 loyal subjects on foot, wound through the hastily cleared streets of

 Askelon. Townspeople stood among the ashes of their

 The Warlords of Not ruined city to pay a last farewell to their

 sovereign. Quentin rode on Blazer, next to Alinea and directly behind

 the funeral wain. Bria and Durwin followed and were in turn followed

 by Theido and Ronsardi who led the procession of noblemen. Others came

 on in turn, riding beneath their colorful devices and banners. At the

 head of the cortege the Dragon Ring's own standard carried his red

 dragon hung with pennons of black.

 The Ring rode to his tomb on his bier beneath a sky of radiant blue

 sown with tufts of white clouds. A cool wind freshened the summer air

 and bore sorrow far away, though here and there a tear still sparkled

 in an eye. The sun shown down upon the body of Eskevar fair and full,

 and the wind ruffled his hair as his armor glinted hard and bright in

 the sun.

 Eskevar was placed in one of the beehive-shaped barrows within the Ring

 the very barrow Quentin had found him in years before to rescue him

 from Nimrood's fell scheme. The barrow was clean and well-ordered,

 having been swept and appointed by Oswald, the Queen's chamberlain.

 With much ceremony and dignity Eskevar was laid to rest upon his stone

 slab, which had been spread with fur coverlets from his bed. His most

 highly prized possessions were placed about him, and when all had

 looked their last upon the Ring, the tomb was sealed and the entrance

 filled in with earth. Quentin assisted in this work rather than stand

 by and watch. And when it was over, he turned away and did not look

 back.

 As the funeral party emerged from the green silence of the Ring of the

 Kings, they were met by a party of lords, led by Wertwin. The noblemen

 bowed in their saddles and gazed down at Quentin, who stilt walked

 beside the Queen, holding her arm. "We are told," began Wertwin, "that

 you are to be the Ring's choice to succeed his throne."

 "I am," Quentin said flatly. No one could determine from his tone how

 he felt about the matter.

 Wertwin appeared disconcerted and glanced at the lords around him. "We

 mean to offer you our fealty," he explained.

 Quentin only stared at them. "He who wields the Shining One is our

 Ringi" said someone from among them. A chorus of hearty

 / 711 I

 approval endorsed this statement. From somewhere nearby Toli appeared,

 bearing a sword in his arms. Quentin smiled at his servant and took

 the sword.

 He felt the quick warmth of its grip as it touched his fingers and he

 heard the blade whisper as he drew it forth. Then suddenly the forest

 glade was awash in a brilliant light as Quentin lofted the sword for

 all to see.

 The assembled lords dismounted at once and came forward to gather

 around him and to kneel. Quentin held the sword high and said, "May

 the god whose power burns in this blade burn in me as well. I will

 accept your fealty."

 The forest rang with cheers and shouts of acclaim. Theido and Ronsard

 shouldered their way to his side and clapped him on the back, and then

 he was borne away on the shoulders of his loyal subjects A jubilant

 parade returned to Askelon, in marked contrast to the one that had

 issued from those gates earlier in the day. Although the official

 period of mourning would continue for many more days, from that moment

 the healing process throughout the ravaged land was begun. In Eskevar

 all the dead were buried and the old order laid to rest. In Quentin

 the new order was present with a promise bright as the future which

 shone like the light of the Shining One at his side.

 A new age had dawned, and a new king had been chosen to lead the way.

 And of all those who reveled in it and welcomed it, only Durwin, the

 faithful hermit of Felgrin Forest, knew it for what it was: the Priest

 Ring had come at last. The promise of the ages had been fulfilled.

 The End....................

About this Title

 This eBook was created using ReaderWorks®Publisher 2.0, produced by OverDrive, Inc.

 For more information about ReaderWorks, please visit us on the Web atwww.overdrive.com/readerworks