“We do,” they answered.

Just then there was a commotion in the hall. Amidst angry vows, fierce gestures, and dark, threatening looks, Lord Holben and his party stalked out of the council chamber in a great show of protest. The smile which had only moments before curled the corners of Prince Jaspin’s fleshy lips now faded slowly.

Other nobles and knights now took their leave and began filing out of the chamber, attended by their pages and standard bearers, each with the banner and device of his lord. Prince Jaspin rose and called Ontescue to him. “Some of the voices were not loud enough in their approval of my new regents. Go to them and smooth any uncertainty with whatever means seems best to you. I will have these men, as many as can be won with favors, on my side.”

“Of course, my Lord. You, as always, know what is best. Your cause shall not suffer for want of generosity at my hands. I will bring them around,” the would-be chancellor declared. Already his shrewd eyes were stealing after the nobles as he calculated the price of fealty for one and then another.

“Good,” said the Prince, adding, “Have I told you that I am considering giving you Crandall? No? ‘Tis true. It only needs a slight demonstration of your loyalty to secure that estate-one of the largest in the realm, I am told.”

“I am flattered, my Lord.”

“Go now and bring me word of your success as soon as may be. Other matters now beg my attention. Go.”

Ontescue hurried after the departing lords, engaging each one in private conversation and pressing upon them promises, gold and royal pledges of the Prince’s undying loyalty to them, greasing the machinery of state with warm words and lofty indulgences.

Prince Jaspin hurried out of the council room by a side door and went directly to his apartment where five men waited in his anteroom.

“The knaves! The fools!” he fumed as he bustled along. “They will see how Jaspin deals with troublemakers! Ah, but first to loose the Harriers upon that blasted Hawk and his miserable friends.”

“THE NEED is great-already it may be too late. If there were another way, or a lesser cost, I would not insist. But there-the choice is mine and I say we must go to Dekra.” The voice was Durwin’s, and from what Quentin could tell the discussion, which had started again as soon as the breakfast table had been cleared, was a continuation of the one he had interrupted earlier. He lazed in a patch of warm sunlight, half-awake, sitting on the floor under a thick-glazed window which the low winter sun filled with streaming yellow light. Quentin basked in the light and let the warmth seep into his bones.

“No,” said Theido, objecting once again-and with, what seemed to Quentin, a god’s own obstinacy. “We will find another way. We have time yet, and we know not what Jaspin plans…”

“Precisely! We know not what Jaspin plans, but it is certain to be nasty and cruel. Most likely his malice is already afoot. But what of that? He only wants a crown. Nimrood will not be so easily satisfied-he wants a world! We must go to Dekra.”

Who or what Dekra was Quentin did not know. But the conversation had been going on so long he had lost interest in it and had retreated into the background to doze. The Queen still sat at the table with the two men, but it had been a long time since she had occasion to speak. Quentin knew that nothing would be settled until this impasse between the two men was resolved.

Presently he stood up, yawned and wrapped his cloak around him and slipped quietly outside. The cold air tingled in his lungs, and the piercing white light thrown up by the sun’s reflection upon the snow brought tears to his eyes which he rubbed away with the back of his hand. For the first time since leaving the temple Quentin wondered what the kindly and plump Biorkis, his only friend among the priests, was doing at this moment. Working among his medicines, no doubt; or blistering the ears of some poor acolyte over letters unlearned or scrolls unread.

Quentin heard the door creak open and turned to see Alinea slip out beside him. She was as lovely dressed in the attire of a ranger as in the fine raiment of a queen. Her hair gleamed in the sun, and the cold brought a rosy blush to her fair cheeks.

“Do you miss the temple, Quentin?” she asked lightly. Alinea regarded him with a warmth and understanding Quentin had only rarely felt from another person.

“In a way,” he replied, “but not so much. I have had but little time to miss anything.”

“Yes,” she laughed, and once again the music was in her voice. He had not heard it since he had given her Ronsard’s message at their first meeting. “Yes, there has been little time for anything but escape.” She smiled and, drawing Quentin by the arm, began to walk. “Tell me about what you did in the temple. How did you come to be an acolyte?”

“I cannot say, my Lady. I was very young. My parents were lost to the sleeping plague that swept over the land in the Spring of Death. I don’t remember them or much about my home. I see a face sometimes-it might be my mother’s. Mostly, I have always lived in the temple.”

“Why did you volunteer to leave it then, since you have no other home?”

“I felt…” he hesitated, searching for the right words, “… felt something was pulling me. Like I was supposed to go… it was right for me. I have never felt that way about anything before.”

“It must have been a very strong feeling for you to forsake all that you had known-your home, your friends.”

“I have no friends in the temple. Only Biorkis, one of the elder priests.”

“Was it lonely for you?”

Quentin could not think how to answer her at first. “No-that is, I don’t think so. The temple is… the priests exist to serve the god. Acolytes serve the priests. There are rules and tasks. That is all.”

The Queen nodded thoughtfully. Quentin had not been lonely because he had known nothing but the rigorous order of the temple where each had his place and his task. “What would you be doing now if you were there?” she asked after a long silence. “Oh, studying. I had much to learn-more than I could master, sometimes. And soon we would begin making ready to receive the god back from his winter journey. He will come in the spring as he always does, and the temple must be ready. Rites of purification must be performed; the sacred stones washed and anointed. There is much to do.”

“I believe you.”

“But then,” Quentin continued, his eyes kindling with excitement as he warmed to his story, “when everything is ready the god comes and there is celebration-it goes on for weeks. There are feasts and games and so much happiness. The temple is opened to the pilgrims who have gathered outside the walls, and all join in the celebration.”

“Yes, that is a good time for our people. I have attended some of those celebrations-when I was a little girl. I was always afraid of the priests; I thought they were the gods.”

“Sometimes they think they are, too,” remarked Quentin. His face brightened momentarily with a grin. “Or they’d like to have you believe it. But I think there must be more to it somehow. I don’t know…” His voice trailed off, unable to express what he felt. They had reached the foot of the hill below the hermit’s cottage.

“I know what you mean. I often think that the gods are not the least bit interested in us or our problems. And sometimes I think there are no gods at all. And yet… even in my doubting I feel a presence I cannot explain. A moving within. A longing in my spirit for something more.”

“You have felt it, too,” said Quentin firmly. “Perhaps that is why I chose to leave; I could no longer stay.”

“Often I would lay awake at night burning with a strange fever. I would hear someone call my name, and yet the night was hushed around me. I used to tell the priests about these things and they said that it was the god calling me, that he had something special for me. But deep inside I knew that wasn’t it. Finally, Biorkis told me not to speak about it any more with any of the other priests.”