“We are grateful for your kindness,” said Quentin as they all moved off together.

They passed the simple dwellings which crowded one another all along the path right down to the water’s edge. Quentin saw an occasional fleeting face at a window or peering from a doorway, but by the time they reached the great wooden pier which served as wharf for the town’s fishing boats, most of Malmarby’s citizens were going about their business as though nothing unusual happened. Many followed them down to the pier, and many more hailed the regal travelers as they passed.

The boats of Malmarby were broad, boxy things-sturdy enough to withstand the anger of the harshest seas, which they never faced, since the bulky boats served but to ply the sheltered inlet from one end to the other along its length.

Milan’s boat was more than adequate for their need, though the horses showed some trepidation at being led aboard such a strange-looking vessel.

With Milan’s son, Rol, at the long stern oar, they waved themselves away from the throng on the pier. Rol’s strong hands worked the oar, and soon they had entered a deeper channel where a swift current pulled them along. They raised the small sail on its stubby mast and drifted smartly away.

“Where do you wish to land, my Lords?” called Rol from his seat at the tiller.

“Anywhere you think best, as long as it is west of the Wall” Quentin paused and regarded the hardy youth with his strong shoulders and thick thatch of brown hair. He remembered when the good-natured young man had been a skinny little boy who ran alongside the horses whenever a traveler passed through the village-such as Quentin and Toli often had occasion to do.

“What is it the village fears?” asked Quentin, stepping close to Rol. “What has come to pass since we have last come this way?”

The young man shrugged a muscled shoulder and continued working the oar. “I do not know. Stories, that is all. It does not take much to frighten such a small village.”

“What are these stories you speak of? Where do they come from?”

Toli stepped in to hear what Rol had to say.

“This spring some people came to us out of the Suthlands saying they had been set upon by demons and their homes burned.”

“Demons do not burn homes,” remarked Toli.

Again the tentative shrug. “I do not know if they do or no; that is what the people said.”

“Hmmmm… that is strange. Did they say what these demons looked like?”

“They were giants. Fierce. Fire spewed from their mouths, and each one had ten arms with claws for hands.”

“Where did these demons come from? Did they say?”

“No one knew. Some said they came from beyond the sea. From beyond Gerfallon. Others said they saw the sign of the Wolf Star on their foreheads. Maybe they came down from the sky.”

“This is an odd tale,” said Quentin to Toli as they drew aside.

“Why would anyone burn a village of peasants in the Suthlands?” Toli asked. “There is little enough there, and nothing to be gained by such doings.”

“I cannot guess. There has been nothing like this these past ten years. The realm is at peace. We must remember to tell the King about what we have heard.”

Rol proved an able seaman, and the day’s end found them close to their destination. A faint mist gathered on the water at the shoreline and pushed out into the inlet. Through the gray mist they saw the dark plane of the Great Wall jutting out into the deep water as the shadows lengthened upon the land.

Rol steered the boat around the Wall’s looming edge and made for the rocky strand. No one spoke as they passed by the imposing shape. The steady slap and dip of Rol’s long oar was the only sound which broke the stillness on the water.

Quentin watched the mist curling around the base of the Wall and thought it made the Wall appear to be floating on a foundation of billowing clouds while the deepening sky above seemed to grow hard and solid as stone as it darkened with the twilight. He started when he heard a hollow knock and felt the slight jolt that told him they had touched shore.

“Will you stay with us tonight, Rol? We will camp a little way along the trail, up there.” Quentin pointed to a tree-lined rise which bordered the shore. “Toli will have a fire going in no time, and we will have some hot food.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I am tired-and hungry, too. I cannot say which I am the more.”

“Well, you have done us a great service, and it shall be rewarded. Here”-Quentin reached into the soft leather pouch which hung at his belt-”a gold ducat for your trouble, and one for your kindness.”

Rol bowed low as he thrust out his callused hand. “Sir, it is too much. I must not accept so much.” He fingered the gold coins and handed them back to Quentin.

“No, you have earned them both, and our praise besides. Keep them and say no more about it. But look! Toli is already making camp. Let us hurry to join him, or we may be too late for our supper.”

The three reclined around the fire and talked as the stars came out in the immense black vault of the heavens. Below them on the strand the water lapped gently against the smooth, round rocks, and above them in the trees a nightbird called to its mate. Tall pines stood over them, and the air smelled of fresh wind and balsam.

Quentin drifted easily to sleep, nodding in his place, until he at last bade his companions good night and rolled himself in his cloak. Toli added another log to the fire and got up to check the horses before he himself turned in. Rol already slept soundly, judging from the slow, even rhythm of his breathing.

Toli stretched and lifted his eyes to the night sky, now sparkling with tiny lights. As he scanned the heavens his eye caught a curious sight. He stood for a moment contemplating what he saw, and then turned and crept softly toward Quentin.

“Kenta…” He nudged his sleeping master gently. “Kenta, I want you to see something.”

Quentin turned and sat up. He peered intently into Toli’s face, lit on one side by the firelight. He could not read the expression there.

“What is it? Have you at last seen the White Stag?”

“No, nothing so important.” Toli dismissed the jest. “I thought you might want to see this…” He led Quentin a short space away from the fire and the overhanging boughs of the trees.

“Look to the east… there just above the Wall. Do you see it?”

“A star? Yes, I see it-that very bright star.”

“See how it shines. Do you think it odd?”

“It is the Wolf Star. But you are right; it does have a different look tonight. What do you make of it?”

Toli gazed upward at the brilliant star and at last turned away, saying, “I do not know what to make of it. I only wanted you to see it, so that we may be agreed about it.”

Quentin was not satisfied with this answer. Toli, evidently withholding something, declined to speak further. There was no use in pushing the matter further until the Jher was ready to say more. Whatever was tumbling around in that head, thought Quentin, would come out sooner or later, but only when Toli desired it so. He would wait. Quentin sighed and rolled himself once more in his cloak and fell to sleep.