Quentin lay with his head resting upon his saddle with a clear, unhindered view of the spangled heavens. The stars never change, he observed. And then, even as he framed the thought, he remembered the conversation he had earlier with Toli. He turned his head toward the east and saw the strangely glittering star Toli had pointed out to him several nights before.
“The Wolf Star seems to grow brighter,” observed Quentin. “I have been thinking the same thing, Kenta.”
“I wonder what High Priest Biorkis would say to an omen such as this. The priests surely have their explanations.”
“Go and ask him.”
“What! Do you think I dare?”
“Why not? There is no harm.”
“I do not believe my ears! My servant tells me to seek an omen from an unholy source! You, Toli, of all people, know I have turned away from tokens and omens. I follow a different god-we both do.”
“I do not suggest you ask an omen of Ariel, or discard truths you have learned. Only that you go to your one time friend and ask his opinion of a strange event. There is no harm in that. Besides, Whist Orren, who holds the stars in their courses, sometimes declares his will through such portents. Any who will look may see what is written there.”
“You are right, Toli. Biorkis is still my friend. Besides, I would like to take a walk. Come along.” Quentin was on his feet and striding off across the meadow toward the temple trail, which showed in the bright moonlight as a silver thread winding its way up the side of the steep hill.
They reached the trail and began the circuitous ascent to the top. As they climbed higher, Quentin looked out into the moon-bright night. The valley glimmered darkly; every leaf of tree and blade of grass was traced in spun silver. Away in the distant hills shepherds’ fires winked like stars fallen upon the land.
They gained the top at last and entered the expansive courtyard. In the center of the white, stone-paved yard stood a torch on a carven stone stanchion. Its fluttering flame cast a wide circle of light around its base and reflected on the closed doors of the temple.
“We will see if pilgrims such as we are made welcome by night,” whispered Quentin.
They crossed the courtyard and climbed the many steps to the main entrance. Upon reaching the huge doors, Quentin lifted his poniard from its sheath at his belt and rapped upon the solid beams with its handle.
He waited, knowing at this late hour he must rouse some nearby priest from his sleep. As he waited, an uncanny sensation came over Quentin-a feeling that he was once more the skinny temple acolyte of so many years ago. For a moment he looked at the dark stone of the temple and the moonlight-filled courtyard through the eyes of his youth.
He knocked again and immediately heard the shuffle of someone on the other side.
“Be on your way, pilgrim. Come back tomorrow. The priests are asleep,” came the muffled voice from the other side.
“There is one who will admit us if you but tell him who it is who desires entry.”
“There is none who would admit you but the High Priest himself.”
“Excellent! He is the very man we seek!”
“No, go away! Come back tomorrow; I’ll not disturb him tonight.”
They heard the footsteps shuffling away again on the other side of the door.
“Well, he means to do us no favors,” said Quentin. “But there is another entrance at the rear of the temple. We will try that, having come this far.”
The two moved like shadows under the high portico of the temple and reached the far south side, that which overlooked the peaceful valley. They walked along the side of the temple, the moonlight falling in slanting rays, forming bands of light and shadow under the mighty eaves.
“Listen,” said Toli. “Voices.”
Quentin paused and cocked his head to one side. Voices from a little way ahead and below them carried on the still air. The sound was but a dull murmur, barely recognizable.
They continued more cautiously and the voices grew louder. Soon the travelers were crouching behind the immense columns of the temple, looking down upon a small circle of robed men bent over a shining object.
“They are star searching,” remarked Quentin excitedly. “And look-that one in the center. I think I know that shape.”
Quentin stepped boldly out of the shadow of the column and descended a few steps toward the group. He took a deep breath and said in a loud voice, “Priests of Ariel, will you receive two curious pilgrims?”
The startled priests turned around quickly and beheld the figures of two young men descending toward them.
The priest in the center of the huddle stepped forward and replied, “Pilgrims are always welcome to the shrine of Ariel, though most choose to make oblations in the light of day.”
“We do not come to make oblations, or to inquire of the god Ariel, but of a priest instead.”
“Priests are but the servants of their god; it is he who declares his will!”
‘Neither do we ask for the god’s interest in any affairs of ours,” said Quentin approaching the priest. He could see the man’s face full in the moonlight now and knew that he addressed his old tutor. “We would speak to you man to man.”
Quentin smiled as a faint glimmer of recognition lit the priest’s visage.
“My heart tells me that I should know you, sir,” said the High Priest slowly. The old eyes searched the young man’s features for a clue which might tell him who it was that addressed him. “But a name does not come to my lips. Have we met then?”
Quentin moved closer and placed his hands on the priest’s rounded shoulders. “Is the life of a priest so busy that he has no time for memories?”
“Memories do not walk the temple yards by night, nor do they confront their bearers face to face.”
“Then perhaps you will remember this.” Quentin dug into the pouch at his belt and produced a silver coin. He handed it to the priest.
“This is a temple coin. Then you must be…”
“You gave me that coin yourself, Biorkis; many years ago.”
“Quentin? Is this Quentin the acolyte?” the old man sputtered.
“Yes, I have returned to see you, my old friend-for so I always considered you.”
“But how you have changed. You have grown up a fine man. You are well-as I can see. What brings you here tonight of all nights?”
The other priests looked upon this reunion in wonder. They gathered close around to see who this returned stranger might be.
“Can we walk a little aside?” asked Quentin. “I have something to ask you.”
The two moved off, followed closely by Toli. The priests fell to murmuring their amazement and talking among themselves.
“Your name has grown in the land,” said Biorkis as they walked to a rocky outcropping at the edge of the plateau.
“Oh? You hear tales up here, do you?”
“We hear what we wish to hear. The peasants bring us no end of information. Some of it is useful. But you are known as the Prince who saved the Dragon King and defeated the monstrous sorcerer, Nimrood.”
“It was not I who defeated Nimrood, but Toli here, my servant and friend.”
Biorkis bowed to Toli and indicated that they should all seat themselves upon the rocks. “They also say that you are building a city in the Wilderlands which rises by magic from the stones of the earth.”
“Again, that is not my doing. Dekra is my city only in that the gracious Curatak have allowed me to join in their work of restoring it to its former glory.”
“This is what the people say, not I. As for myself, I surmise that the truth of these stories is to be found at the heart-like the stone of an apricot. But I know from this that my former acolyte is doing well and has risen in the esteem of his countrymen. But why should you seek me out now? The temple doors have not been closed these many years.”
“We come to ask your opinion of something we have seen.” Quentin turned toward the east and pointed out across the quiet, moon-filled valley. “That star rising yonder. The Wolf Star. Has it not changed in some way of late? Do the priests detect a waxing of its power?”