“Not so much in appearance, maybe, though they were taller and stronger than our people are. That we know from the many murals which abound in every house and public building. Among them were many artists and writers of surpassing skill.”

“One of the first buildings to be restored was the library of Dekra, a vast collection of writings. Many of the scrolls were in readable condition still; many others have been preserved and restored, though it is a long and often frustrating process. But we have learned how to read their words, and many of the Curatak engage themselves fully toward learning the teachings of the ancient scholars. What we have read reveals a wise and benevolent race of high intelligence; their teachings are not easy to understand, but we have learned much. Much more remains to be discovered.”

The three were moving toward the temple along one of the straight, bisecting streets. As Quentin listened to the old woman he watched in fascination as the temple grew larger with their slow approach. The holy place rose majestically over the tops of the trees surrounding it-all clean lines and pinnacles pointing heavenward.

“Who were they?” Quentin asked, more to himself than to Mollena, experiencing a growing sense of suppressed excitement, mingled inexplicably with a grief he could not place, as if someone he knew did not exist might yet appear at any moment.

“Who were they?” repeated Mollena as the three stepped onto the broad plaza surrounding the soaring sanctuary. “They called themselves Ariga-children of the god.”

“And who was their god?” Quentin asked. “Do we know him?”

“Many know him, but by no name. The god of the Ariga has no name. He is one, nameless and supreme. Their holy writings sometimes use the words ‘Whist Orren,’ or Most High, and ‘Peran Nim Gadre,’ or King of the Gods. Most often they called him Dekron-the One, or the One Holy. But his name, if he has one, is never written.”

Without another word Mollena led them inside the great temple. Quentin saw Curatak moving quietly about their work within the temple. One section of the west wall, opposite them, had given way. Scaffolding was erected around the damaged portion, and workmen were painstakingly laboring with the rebuilding. All moved about their tasks with great reverence, it seemed to Quentin.

“We Curatak,” explained Mollena, “have ourselves become Ariga in that we worship the nameless god as our own.” When she saw Quentin’s questioning glance she continued, “We believe, as did the vanished ones, that their god has many children.”

“Where did the priests stay?” asked Quentin, looking around. Most of the inner temple was given over to a vast open area, raised at one end by a dais which was reached by stone steps ringing its circumference. He saw no place where priests could live, unless their chambers lay underground somewhere.

“There were no priests-that is, not the way you think of priests. The Ariga approached the god alone, though they had readers-men who had studied the holy texts extensively, who spoke to them when they assembled, reminding them of the various tenets of their religion. But no priests interposed for the people.”

They turned to leave then and when they had returned outside once more Quentin was struck by a thought suddenly remembered, a thought he had often wondered and often had meant to ask Durwin along their journey to the ruined city.

“Mollena, why was Theido frightened of coming here? Why did he wish Durwin to stay away?”

The old woman turned a wrinkled squint upon him. “Who told you he was afraid?”

“I heard them talking about it. Durwin said from the beginning that we should come; Theido was against it. Then something happened-Trenn came with word that the Harriers were after us-and Theido relented. What was he afraid of?”

“That is not for me to say, but you may ask Yeseph, one of our leaders. He may give you an answer to your question, for I cannot.”

Again the cryptic reply, thought Quentin. What was it that these Curatak were withholding from him? Certainly he had seen nothing so far to be afraid of. He puzzled on this the rest of the day and far into the night before dropping off to sleep. The next day he awoke determined to seek out Yeseph and put the questions to him. Why was Theido afraid for Durwin? And why had he changed his mind?

“WE HAVE luck with us yet, my friends,” exclaimed Theido upon his return from the shipyards of Bestou.

“You have found a ship to take us to Karsh?” asked Alinea. She and Durwin sat in the lodge of the inn Flying Fish, waiting for Theido to arrange their passage to the island stronghold of Nimrood the Necromancer.

“Yes, though it has not been easy. I have asked fully half of the captains in the yard if we may be accommodated-always the same reply, ‘We stay far away from Karsh! Not for gold, nor for the blessing of the sea gods themselves would we go there!’”

“One man sought me out, however. He said he is captain and owner of a ship that would pass near Karsh, and would be willing to land us on a friendly shore, if there be such things in Karsh.”

“He sought you out, you say?” mused Durwin. “We must be suspect of any offering aid too readily. They may be in Nimrood’s employ.”

Theido brushed the observation aside impatiently. “We cannot always be looking under every rock and behind every tree for a spy. We must trust to our own initiative; we must act!”

“Of course, Theido. But we would do well to remember that our foe is a sorcerer of great skill, adept in evil of every kind. And his net is cast wide indeed.”

“That may be,” said Theido, a little angrily. It chafed him to remain idle; a man of action, he wanted to move at once. “But we cannot wait forever for a sign from heaven-whether your god smiles or no, we must go.”

“Gentlemen, please! Restrain your tempers for the sake of our cause,” pleaded Alinea. She had seen the growing restlessness of Theido in the past few days as they waited for a favorable result from the docks. She had often to play the peacemaker, supplying a gentle word, or quiet touch in times of heated discussion between the two men. “I am as anxious as either of you to see the end of our journey, but not at the cost of enmity between us. That, I fear, would be disaster for us and our good King.”

Theido nodded, acknowledging the reproof. Durwin, too, admitted his irritation, laying a hand upon Alinea’s and saying, “You are right, my Lady. Our purpose will not be served if we are crossing swords with one another.”

“Then come, good friends. Let us be resolved. Our differences are slight, and were better put far behind us.” She looked long at Theido’s worn appearance and at Durwin’s usually cheerful countenance, now overcast with care. “My King has never had more noble subjects, nor any half as brave. His gratitude to you in this adventure will be hard pressed to find worthy enough expression.”

“To see him alive and safe once more will be payment enough for me,” said Theido. He smiled, but the tight lines around his eyes were not erased.

The party had reached Bestou on the island of Tildeen after a rigorous march through the tangled forest surrounding Dekra. Their path had become surer and the way easier upon reaching the fishing outpost, hardly big enough to be called a village, of Tuck. There they clambered aboard the ferry which plied the narrow channel to the island of Tildeen, one of the larger of what were called the Seven Mystic Isles. In truth, there was nothing particularly mysterious about any of the islands in the small chain-only that the largest, Corithy, had long ages ago been used as a primitive holy sanctuary of a shadowy, secret religion. Strange events were said still to take place on that odd-shaped, often mist-shrouded island.