Durwin paused, looked at the still form in the bed, and sighed. “Still our purpose in coming here has come to naught. It was my willfulness and pride, Theido. That is why young Quentin suffers now.”

“It was your healing skill, good hermit. That is why he still draws breath.”

Theido did not speak again for a long time. Then, hastily, as if fearing what he must say, he blurted, “We cannot wait any longer, Durwin. We must leave. The ships will be sailing soon from their winter’s harborage. We must secure a ship to take us to Karsh.”

The hermit lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “You think you will find a merchant who will endanger his ship so?”

“For the King, yes.”

“For no king or kingdom. The fate of a king matters little to these sailors. They care nothing for the rise and fall of nations. Their loyalty swings by the heft of your purse.”

“Then the captain who casts his lot with us will earn a king’s ransom for his trouble. The Queen herself will vouch it.”

“Do not be so sure. They are a wild, superstitious lot. Worse than peasants when it comes to charms and sacrifices. Karsh may hold a power over them which even the love of gold cannot release.”

“We shall see. Anyway, we have no other plan-we cannot fly.”

“No, I suppose not. I doubt if even old Nimrood could foresee that,” Durwin laughed.

It had been meant as a joke, but Theido remained grave at the mention of the magician’s name. “Do you think the necromancer sees so much? Does he know of our enterprise?”

“Undoubtedly he knows-whether by art or by spies he knows we are abroad. But I do not think he considers a party of five…”

“Four,” corrected Theido. Durwin was about to continue when he heard a rustle at the door and Alinea stepped into the room. She went to the bed and placed a warm hand on Quentin’s cool forehead. She looked sadly upon his upturned face and then stepped over to where the men stood talking.

“Is there nothing more we can do?” Her voice lightly pleaded for the young man’s release; her eyes held a touching pity for her fallen friend.

“All that can be done has been accomplished. Now we must watch and wait,” said Durwin.

“Yes, I know. So you have told me often enough. I only wish there was something that could sway the balance. It is hard, this waiting.”

“Our wait is nearly at an end,” said Theido. He caught the Queen’s questioning glance and explained, “We must begin our journey to the island Tildeen. The ships will be sailing again soon, and I am anxious to secure our passage.”

“Then we must leave him?”

“I think it is for the best,” offered Durwin. “He cannot travel as he is, that much is obvious. Even if he were to awaken now, he would still be too weak to travel safely. We have no choice but to leave him here. The Curatak will take care of him. When he is strong enough he can return to Askelon; Toli will bring him safely as far as Pelgrin.”

“Yes,” agreed Theido, “it is for the best. We do not know what awaits us on Karsh. No doubt, Quentin will be safer in Durwin’s cottage.”

“It will break his heart to find us gone,” said Alinea. “He has come this far only to be denied…”

“It cannot be helped, my Lady,” said Theido. He too felt badly that Quentin, who had shown himself to be a stalwart and worthy companion, should now have to remain behind.

“I know,” she said, brightening somewhat, “I will compose a letter of safe conduct for him-should any of Jaspin’s men be roaming the way.”

“Do you think that will matter very much?” asked Theido.

The Queen paused and looked at the two men sorrowfully.

“No,” she said quietly, “but it is the one thing I can do.”

“Yes,” agreed Durwin. “I shall compose a letter myself explaining all that has happened and what we intend. That should help ease his mind that we have not abandoned him unreasonably.”

“Good! A fine idea. I will begin seeing to our provisions and equipment,” said Theido, feeling better about their leave-taking. As with most knights, he did not like leaving a fallen comrade behind in any circumstances that he could improve. He left the room with a more resolute tread than he had entered it. His mind was at ease now.

“I do not know…” murmured Durwin into his beard.

“What troubles you, friend Durwin,” wondered Alinea. “Is there something more?”

“More than I am telling? Yes, I do admit it.” He moved to Quentin’s bed and sat down on the edge. He placed his hand upon the boy’s chest for a moment. “I told him once that he had some part to play in this-so I still believe. But beyond that, I cannot say. And the god I serve has not illumined me.” He gazed fondly down upon the motionless form beside him. “It could be this is the beginning for him, not the end.”

Queen Alinea nodded silently and placed her hand on the hermit’s shoulder. After a few moments of silence they left together, leaving Quentin’s care once more to the old woman.

THE SNOW lay melting in Askelon’s inner ward yard. The high windswept dome of the sky appeared spotless and clean, heralding an early spring. Servants of various rank scurried across the yard avoiding the mud and standing water as much as possible. Each was intent upon some important task. To look at them was as much as to see a column of ants hurrying about their chores with more than the usual amount of vigor.

In a constant parade to his chambers, where Prince Jaspin held court amidst the bustle of servants packing his furniture and belongings, came the knights and nobles, some of whom would ride in his train. They all came to pledge their fealty and support to his cause, and to receive some indulgence for themselves in return. The sycophant Ontescue stood at the Prince’s left hand, bending close to whisper in the Prince’s ear how much this noble’s allegiance had cost, or what boon that knight required to satisfy his conscience.

A young knight who wished leave to take back the lands of his father (which he had squandered away in dissipation), by right of the point of his lance, entered and knelt before Jaspin. He pleaded his cause when asked, and the Prince acquiesced as instructed by Ontescue’s intimations. As the knight rose to leave, bowing deeply, Prince Jaspin asked, “Will you be attending us to our summer castle at Erlott Fields?”

“If it so pleases you, Sire,” replied the knight. Several of the younger knights, and a few of the less secure nobles, had begun using the royal designation as a show of deference, and it did not fail to please the greedy Prince who took it as his right. Those who knew better withheld their esteem judiciously.

“It pleases me to have your lance ever ready at my side, sir knight,” the Prince replied. He did like to be attended in style when he chose to move about the country. “I daresay there will be sport and games enough to occupy a young and lively blade anxious to win some valor among his peers.”

“It is my honor, kind Prince,” said the knight, bowing again. He would rather have seen to the retaking of his forfeited lands, but a request of the Prince was not to be trifled.

When he had gone Jaspin turned to Ontescue. “You have sent my chamberlain and attendants on ahead to ready Erlott for my arrival, have you not?”

“Yes, of course. They left day before yesterday, and should be even now seeing to your homecoming,” Ontescue replied. Of late he had weaseled himself into a position of growing consequence in the Prince’s estimation. “We may leave as soon as you yourself give the order.”

“That is well. I am weary of this accursed castle. I want to see my own lands again.” The prince pouted. “And another thing: I am not at all pleased with the way the Queen has disappeared. She has been away far too long without word or sign of her whereabouts.”

“Why should that trouble you, Sire?”