“We watched him as soon as he entered the wood. When he appeared to be heading in this direction we took him,” said Voss casually.

“Trenn, what are you doing here?” Alinea’s eyes searched his face for a clue. “Has Jaspin discovered our game?”

“As I fear, my Lady,” said Trenn, rising to his feet and bowing. “I came to warn you all: Jaspin has put Harriers on your trail. I prayed to every god I knew that I would not come too late.”

At the mention of the dreaded trackers even Voss’ broad face blanched. “This is dire news,” he said.

Alinea’s hand went to her face. She shot a hasty look to Theido who stood unmoved. “There is our answer,” said Durwin.

“How long ago did this take place?” asked Theido with forced calm. He spoke very carefully and smoothly, not allowing his voice to betray the alarm he felt.

“I saw them enter the postern gate this morning about midday, conducted by several of Jaspin’s knights. There was also much activity through the main castle gate this morning-knights and nobles, some from as far away as the flatlands. Rumor has it that Jaspin had called a hasty council to catch those that helped you escape.”

“What? The man is mad,” said Theido.

“That was just a ruse,” explained Trenn. “Prince Jaspin accused two nobles of lending aid to your escape. I got it from the jailer-the new jailer,” a quick chopping gesture showed what he meant, “that two nobles were being held-Lords Weldon and Larcott.”

“The snake!” said Theido quietly. “He is using my escape to alter the Council of Regents. I suppose he wasted no time in having two new regents enfranchised. Do you know who took the others’ places?”

“I cannot say positively, but I think Sir Bran and Sir Grenett,” answered Trenn. “It was said that Lord Holben stood up to him-saved the lives of the lords. The Prince wanted them bound over for treason. Lord Holben appealed to the King’s law.”

“He saved their lives for the time being, and probably lost his own,” replied Theido.

“Does Jaspin dare so much?” asked the Queen, shocked that such bold effrontery should take place in her own court. “I had no idea.”

“We cannot help Weldon and Larcott,” said Theido, sadly. “We must help ourselves now.”

“Trenn, how did you get here without the Harriers seeing you?”

“I left before they did, and as I knew where I was going had little trouble in making good time, though I must have nearly killed my good horse.”

“They will have followed you,” pointed out Voss. “It’ll make their task so much the easier.”

“I hope I have more wits about me than that,” sniffed Trenn. “I had some of my men ride out with me to muddle the trail. They rode with me a way and then each split off to a different direction. It was all I could do in the time I had.”

“Good,” said Theido, jumping forward. “That will buy us some time.”

“My comrades and I can purchase some more,” said Voss. “I will put them to work at once confounding the trail. We can lead the fiends through the forest for days.”

“These are Harriers, not ordinary hunters,” said Theido.

“And we are not ordinary game,” boasted Voss. “They will not see us, nor learn our trick until you are well away from here. Still, we will not be able to stop them forever.”

“We could fight them,” suggested Trenn.

“And die trying,” replied Theido. “No, our only hope is to stay ahead of them until we cross the Wall. I doubt if even Harriers can find us once we have crossed over into the Wilderlands.”

“So it is!” replied Durwin, triumphantly. “You admit it now. We are going to Dekra.”

“Yes, we are going to Dekra. You have your way, my friend. And it is our only hope. We go to Dekra… and we leave tonight.”

FROM DURWIN’S cottage in the heart of Pelgrin Forest, under night’s dark wing, the unlikely rescue party set forth on their quest. They little dared hope for the success of their labors, nor scarce conceived a plan by which they might obtain their goal of freeing the King from the malignant magician, Nimrood.

In a fortnight upon the trail, heading north and east through the furthest reaches of Pelgrin and the low foothills of the Fiskills, they had encountered no other living soul. This, however, was accounted as an auspicious tiding for it meant they had not seen what they feared most to see, and that which kept them all peering over their shoulders when they thought no one else was watching-they had not seen a trace of the merciless Harriers.

Led by Durwin, and urged on by Theido, they pursued a course that would skirt the treacherous mountains and lead them instead across the hilly woodland regions of Askelon, bending ever eastward toward Celbercor’s Wall.

Once over the Wall-traversing that formidable obstacle would be an ordeal all its own-the rescuers would make straight for the Malmar inlet, crossing it on foot over the ice. Safely across Malmar they would have a brief rest in the small fishing village of Malmarby, one of the few outposts of human habitation in all of the vast peninsula of Obrey. They would have time, it was hoped, to replenish their supplies and to obtain a guide who could be induced to lead them to Dekra.

Quentin had at last learned that Dekra was not a person, but a place: the forgotten city of a mysterious people long ago vanished. No one now remembered what had happened to the city’s strange inhabitants; but they had left behind a fantastic dwelling which had grown rich and wonderful in song and legend, although few men had actually ever been there to see it. Fewer still believed its existence, regarding it as mere glittering fancy spun by bards and minstrels to tickle the ears of the gullible. Some though, insisted that it did exist and was a very evil place where men were not welcome-those daring to search for it never returned, so it was told.

“Never heard of Dekra, my boy?” questioned Durwin. His bushy eyebrows arched in a quizzical look when Quentin ventured to ask him about it. “No, I don’t suppose you have. The priests of Ariel do not willingly admit that it exists. Well, you shall have a chance to do something most men never do: you shall see it with your own eyes.”

“Is it a very bad place, then?” asked Quentin. “Is that why Theido wished not to go there?” He was riding Balder abreast of the hermit, having left his usual position at the rear of the train just ahead of Trenn. Quentin liked to ride up ahead with Durwin whenever the trail permitted.

“No…” Durwin replied, after a pause in which he tried to think of the correct words. “Dekra is not an evil place, though many believe that it is. It is one of the seven ancient places of power on the earth. And though the power is mostly gone now, remnants still linger for those who know where to look.”

“But it is not an evil place-that is not why Theido argued against our going. He knew it to be a dangerous journey and a long one for nothing if we should fail to obtain what we seek.”

Quentin had had to content himself with that answer, for Durwin would say no more about the ruined city, or their reason for going there. Yet, the hermit was withholding more than he would say-Quentin sensed it in his voice. Something there Durwin avoided telling, and Quentin, his youthful curiosity piqued, itched to find out what it was. So he listened constantly for any clue which Durwin or Theido might let fall at meal times or around the fire at night. He was most often disappointed.

Theido spurred the party forward at a relentless pace, never stopping long or allowing a fire by daylight. Nights were short by design-stopping at dusk, sleeping only a few hours and then moving on well before dawn. Quentin had mastered the art of sleeping in his saddle when he could no longer keep his eyes open. In fact, he had found himself rapidly becoming a better horseman all around. He reveled in the new skills he was developing day by day and the woodland lore he was learning from Durwin, who proved an inexhaustible source of knowledge.