There was a quick movement beside him, a shout in the forest a little way off, and the thrashing of branches. He heard another shout further away and then silence.

Time gathered itself into a ball, slowed, and hovered without moving. Durwin’s mind raced. He had been struck down by an unseen sword. Instead of finishing him, the attackers had gone after Prince Gerin. He must alert Toli, but how? He tried to call out, but the effort brought a flash of white-hot pain to his side. He coughed and spat. His spittle was flecked with blood.

The wound is bad, he told himself, but no matter. He lay back, panting. Toli must be summoned. The Holy Hermit of Pelgrin Forest closed his eyes and began to pray.

“God Most High, hear your servant in his time of need. Guide Toli here to save us. Bring him quickly before it is too late. Keep the Prince safe, I pray. Keep him safe…”

Dark mist rolled over him, engulfing him, and slowly his lips stopped moving. He lay back in the soft, mossy turf of the forest pathway, an ugly red stain spreading slowly beneath him.

Quentin had reached the edge of Pelgrin and started back across the plain when he hesitated. Was that a cry he heard? He stopped rock-still.

The air was calm and warm; light breezes wafted idly, lifting the leaves and blades of grass around him. Nearby a skylark warbled a song to the sun.

But to Quentin it was as if the heavens had dimmed for an instant, as if a cloud had passed before the sun, blotting out its face for a brief moment. Then all was as before, except the King’s senses pricked and tingled to an unknown danger.

At once he turned Blazer back into the forest, sending his thoughts ahead to sift the wind for direction. He struck along a southerly path, sensing that the cry he imagined had come from that direction. The boles of trees, bands of light and shadow, blurred as Quentin flew along this dim corridor of Pelgrin. His heart thumped in his chest and he urged Blazer onward ever faster, choosing his course on instinct alone.

Upon reaching a small clearing, he halted. A bundle lay ahead in the trail. Was that a body?

Quentin slid from the saddle and hurried forward. He knelt down and rolled the body into his arms. “Durwin!”

The hermit’s face had gone gray as ashes. His eyelids flickered, and he focused cloudy eyes on his friend. “Ah, Quentin…”

“What has happened? Who has done this to you?”

“The Prince… your son. They have taken him…”

“Who? Here, let me help you-”

“No, no. Leave me. Find your son. They went through there.” He nodded his head weakly. “How many?”

“Three or four. I did not see them clearly. Maybe more. Toli-ah!” Pain twisted his features; his limbs convulsed and then relaxed.

“Easy,” soothed Quentin. “We will find them. Rest now.” He struggled to remain calm.

“Yes, I will rest.” The hermit’s voice was thin, but his eyes looked deeply into Quentin’s. “We have traveled far together, eh?” He coughed and his eyes squeezed shut.

“Yes, and we have many roads yet to ride.” Quentin held him more tightly.

“You will ride them alone, I think. But I am content-I am not afraid to die.”

“You are not dying!” Quentin shouted desperately. Tears rose in his throat. “You will survive. Help is coming.”

“I fear it will come too late.” He gazed at Quentin again. “Do not blame Toli. It is not his fault.”

“I do not understand,” Quentin said.

“Be strong, Quentin. Remember, you are the King. You must lead your kingdom. This will be your sorest test, your darkest day.”

“No!” Quentin could see his friend was slipping away. “You will never die!”

“So it is! The spirit never dies… never. We will meet again, fair friend. I will wait for you. No pain, no fear…”

“Do not leave me!” cried Quentin.

A slight tremor passed through the hermit’s body, and then he lay still. His breath whispered away in a sigh. Durwin was dead.

“FOOLS! IMBECILES!” Nimrood raged. “What have you done?” He whirled around the circle, thrusting a crooked finger into the grim faces before him. “You will pay for this with your lives!”

“We only did as you told us,” said the leader of the temple guards. “How were we to know he would leave the Prince? They were together.”

“Silence! Let me think!” He stopped to glare down at Prince Gerin, who stared back defiantly. “I send you out to strike down a man and you bring me a boy.”

“He’s the Prince, I say!” maintained the man.

“Is this true?” asked Nimrood. His eyes bored into the lad. “What is your name?”

“Gerin,” he replied steadily. “Who are you?”

“Impudent cub!” The old man reached out and cuffed the boy, leaving a red welt on his cheek.

“My father will deal with you,” said the Prince. “Let me go.”

“No,” said Nimrood slowly as an idea took shape in his mind. “Here is an opportunity I can turn to advantage.” He smiled cannily. “Oh, yes indeed.” He chuckled to himself and then snapped, “Bring him!”

They started off on foot, threading deeper into the forest. Two big men shoved the Prince forward. When he fell on hands and knees, they hauled him up by his collar and shoved him forward again. Another guard seized Tarky’s reins and led the animal away. “You two!” Nimrood said, pointing to the two behind. “Stay well to the rear of us. If anyone comes after, put them off the trail. Do you hear?”

The two men looked worriedly at one another, but nodded and dropped behind. Soon Nimrood, the Prince, and the others were lost in the dense growth of forest. The two guards watched their comrades disappear. One muttered to the other, “I do not like this foul business. Not a whit, by Ariel! We are guards of the temple, but he has made us highwaymen and kidnappers!”

“I did not hear your voice oppose him,” the other replied nastily. “We are in it now and have no choice but to see it through.”

“Aye, but where is it going to lead in the end? That is what I want to know. There is death here-mark my words. Death. This will be the undoing of the temple.”

“Silence! There is enough to worry about as it is. If we are to get out of this with our skins, we’ll need to keep sharp and stop mewling like sick cats.”

“He has taken the Prince! By Ariel-”

“Shut up! We are in this as deep as he. No sense in yammering on about it. Come on, let’s be about our business.”

The two walked off in the direction the others had gone, listening nervously to the forest sounds, hoping against hope that no one would come after them.

Toli entered the trail and proceeded to the clearing. Before he even saw the huddled forms upon the ground, he knew something was very wrong. His heart jerked within him, quickening to the terrible apprehension that overpowered him.

He threw himself down from his horse and ran toward the place where Quentin held the body of Durwin in his arms.

“My lord! Oh!” He stopped short and knelt, knowing now what had happened.

Quentin raised his head slowly. His face glistened with tears. “Durwin is dead,” he said softly. “Dead. Toli, I…” His voice trailed off and he clutched the body to him again, his shoulders shaking with the sobs that wracked him.

Toli felt as if his heart had been cut in two. He sat back on his heels and raised his face to the sky, showing pale blue overhead through the trees. In a moment the quiet green glade hummed with a gentle sound as Toli raised the ancient Jher song for the dead.

“Whinoek breafaro Ileani, Pallet semi nessina toea.”

The words were simple, and Quentin understood them. Toli sang, “Father of Life, receive our brother. Grant him peace in your great home.”

To the Jher people, who had no permanent home, roaming the northern forests as they did, Whinoek’s great home to them meant eternal joy and safety and comfort-and peace, which to the gentle Jher was the highest fulfillment.