“No.” She patted his hand. “I know that you would if you could. But I have sent for Durwin and have placed a heavy charge on him. It may take all of his healing powers to restore the King-if he is not now beyond them.”

“I will pray to the Most High that Durwin’s cures may have effect.”

“That is my course, as well,” smiled the Queen, and again the room seemed lighter, for a dark cloud had passed over Quentin’s heart as they talked. He rose more encouraged. “Go to him now, my son. And remember what I told you.”

“I will, my Lady. You need not fear.”

Quentin quietly left the room, and when he had stepped back into the corridor he found Oswald waiting for him. The chamberlain led him back to the King’s chambers, knocked, then admitted him.

“Your Majesty, Quentin is here.”

Quentin drew a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. In the center of the high-ceilinged chamber sat a heavy, round oaken table, shaped liked the room itself, for it was a part of one of Askelon’s many towers. Small round windows of amber glass tinted the afternoon light with a warm hue. Eskevar was standing in a shaft of light from one of these windows, his back turned, gazing out onto the courtyard below.

There was an awkward moment when Quentin could not speak, and the King did not seem to have heard the chamberlain’s announcement. Quentin hesitated, feeling suddenly trapped. Then the King turned slowly and fixed his eyes upon Quentin. A thin smile stretched his lips. “Quentin, my son, you have come.”

If not for the Queen’s warning, Quentin did not know what he would have done. He bit his lower lip to stifle a cry and then recovered himself and forced a grin.

“I came as soon as I could. Toli’s horses are magnificent. I believe they have wings. We flew over the land at a fair pace.”

Still smiling-the sad, weak smile of a dying man, Quentin thought-the King advanced slowly and offered his hand.

Quentin took it without hesitation and could not help noticing how weak the King’s grip had become, and how cold the feel of his hand.

Eskevar’s flesh had taken on a waxen pallor, and his eyes seemed to burn with a dull, feverish light. His lips were cracked and raw, and his hair, that crowning glory of rich, dark curls, hung limp and lifeless and had turned now almost completely gray.

Quentin found himself staring at the face of a strange man who looked at him intently with sunken eyes rimmed with dark circles. He looked away quickly and said, “This is a cheery room, Sire. Will we be alone, or are others expected?”

“Others will come, but not yet. I wanted to speak to you alone first. Please, sit down.” The King lowered himself slowly into a chair at the round table, and Quentin followed. He wanted to weep at the sight of Eskevar, the mighty Dragon King who was now tottering like an old man.

How could this be? wondered Quentin. How could such a change be wrought in such a short time? In a scant eight or nine months the King had deteriorated to a shocking degree. Quentin wanted to dash from the room, to remove himself far away from the creature who sat beside him and who wore the King’s crown.

Eskevar gazed into the young man’s eyes with a look of inexpressible gentleness; a fatherly compassion which Quentin had never seen there before suddenly flowered. Quentin was strangely moved and forgot for a moment the horror of the King’s shattered health.

“Quentin,” said Eskevar after a moment’s contemplation, “as you know, I have no son, no heir to my throne save Bria. My brother, Prince Jaspin, is banished, nevermore to return.

“I think it time for me to choose my successor.”

“Oh, no, Sire,” Quentin snapped. “Now is not the time to think of such things. You have many years ahead of you. You are strong yet.”

Eskevar shook his head slowly, frowning slightly. “No, it is not to be. Quentin”-again the sweet, sad smile and fatherly glance-”Quentin, I am dying.”

“No!”

“Yes! Hear me!” The King raised his voice. “Slowly it may be, but I am dying. I shall not live to see another spring. It is time for me to set my house in order.

“I intend to choose you as my successor-wait! Since you are not in direct bloodline, it will have to go before the Council of Regents. But I expect no problem there. As I have chosen you myself, they will ratify my choice gladly.”

Quentin sat gazing at his folded hands, speechless. The King’s words had stricken him mute.

After what seemed like hours he looked up and saw Eskevar watching him quietly, but intensely. “You honor me greatly, Sire. But I am not worthy of such high accord. I am an orphan, and of no noble birth. I am not worthy to be King.”

“You, Quentin, are my ward. You have been a son to me as I have watched you grow to manhood these last years. I want you, and no other, to wear my crown.”

“I do not know what to say, my Lord.”

“Say but that you will do as I command; ease my heart in this matter.”

Quentin stood up from his chair and then went down on his knees before his King. “I am ever your servant, Sire. I will obey.”

Eskevar placed a hand upon Quentin’s head and said, “I am contented. Now my heart can rest.” He touched Quentin on the arm. “Rise, sir! One king does not kneel to another. From this day on you are considered the heir to the throne of Mensandor.”

Just then there came a knock upon the chamber door and Oswald’s voice could be heard calling, “The others have arrived, Your Majesty,” as the door swung open.

In walked Toli and Durwin. Toli hesitated at the sight of the King, but Durwin did not flinch at all. He hurried to the table and, with a quick bow, began talking of his travels, all the while keeping a close eye on the ailing monarch as if weighing him for some remedy.

“Good, good. Be seated both of you. We have a matter to discuss.”

The King looked at his comrades closely and drew a deep, weary breath before he began.

“For some time I have been of an uneasy mind. Restless, hungry and uneasy. At first I attributed this to the illness which consumes me, but it is more than that, I fear. It is for Mensandor that my unease persists. There is some distress in the realm.”

The Dragon King spoke softly and distinctly, and Quentin realized that Eskevar had so long been the head of his land that he had developed a special feeling for it and knew instinctively when something was wrong. It was as if a part of him were hurt and he felt the wound. He had discerned trouble before anyone else had suspected even the slightest eddy in the current of peace and prosperity that flowed throughout the kingdom.

It struck him-absurdly at first, but with growing conviction-that perhaps what ailed the land was the cause of the King’s distress as well.

“To prove my intuition I summoned the faithful Theido and Ronsard to me and sent them with a small force to discover, if they could, whence the trouble came.

“The time for their return is now past. I have received no word or sign from them, and I am anxious for what may have befallen them. That is why I have summoned you”-he nodded to Quentin and Toli. “It becomes ever more urgent that we discover the source of our harm before it is too late. There is evil afoot; I feel it. Each day it grows the stronger. If we do not find it soon and crush it out…”

“My Lord,” said Toli, “we have seen portents which would indicate the prudence of your fears.”

“And I as well,” agreed Durwin.

Toli and Durwin shared with the King the signs they had observed, foreshadows of an impending evil they could not identify. Quentin noted that as his two comrades spoke, and especially when they mentioned the Wolf Star, Eskevar appeared to fall even further beneath the weight of his kingdom’s peril.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the King spoke solemnly. “Quentin and Toli, my brave friends, we must discover wherein our danger truly lies. My people require your courage.”