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 of coastland 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 sea-birds.

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 of the 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 harts-tongue. 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.

“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 Dora,” 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 Halidom in the Suthlands came to Dora, 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.