Before the man could turn and flee, the Shining One whispered in the air and flashed in a deadly downward arc. The would-be assassin quickly lifted his blade above his head to take the blow, but the sword shattered in his hand and the pieces fell to earth. He shrieked and fell to his knees, the sound of certain death whistling after him.

“Mercy!” he screamed “Forgive me!” Bright Zhaligkeer filled his horror-stricken eyes with its unearthly light, and he threw his hands over his face. The stroke caught him at the base of the neck, cutting short his last cry of remorse. The man pitched forward into the road, dead when he met the ground.

A thin crimson ribbon trickled along Zhaligkeer’s blade. Quentin swiveled in the saddle to meet the second villain, who threw down his weapon and dove headlong into the brush, disappearing into the forest.

The rage which had burned so hot in Quentin’s veins left him as suddenly as it had flared. The King stared at the misshapen heap in the dust, then at the sword in his hand, and his heart froze in his chest. Zhaligkeer’s fiery blade now appeared as any ordinary metal, glimmering darkly in the fading light of late afternoon.

The bright white flame of the Shining One had gone out.

SILENTLY THE women entered the glade-little more than a wide place in the trail. Esme swung down from her horse, and Bria from hers. Lord Bossit halted the small, two-wheeled wagon which carried the bier. The wooden wheels creaked to a stop, the only sound heard in the place.

“Oh!” gasped Bria as she beheld the beloved hermit. She walked slowly but steadily forward and knelt beside the body. Quietly her tears began to fall.

Esme approached and put an arm around the Queen’s shoulders.

“Good-bye, fair friend,” whispered Bria. Her outstretched fingers touched Durwin’s folded hands, now cold. She then turned to Lord Bossit, who stood reverently nearby. “My mother is waiting,” she said. “Let us take him back.”

Bossit nodded to the driver of the wagon, and the two men lifted the body onto the waiting bier.

When told of the tragedy Alinea had said nothing, though her hands trembled. When she spoke, her voice was soft, yet steady; she had already mastered her grief, or had put it aside for the moment.

“Yes,” she had said, “you must go at once and bring him back, take him to his apartments. We will prepare the body there. I will await your return, and while I wait I shall pray-for Prince Gerin, yes, but no less for Quentin and for the rest of us. Now go, and may the Most High be with you.”

Esme had marveled at the dowager’s quiet strength; her bearing calmed those around her, removing much of the sting of the bitter news. Esme recalled another dark day long ago now, the day Eskevar had fallen in battle. Days after the King’s funeral, Esme had asked the Queen how she had been able to remain so strong, comforting all around her, yet seeming never to require comfort herself.

“No, I am not strong,” Alinea had told her. They were sitting in the garden among the primroses. Durwin was there, too. He had been the Queen’s constant companion during those troubled days. “Though it is true I am no stranger to grief, one never becomes a friend to sorrow. But Durwin here has shown me the way of hope. This hope I carry within me makes the burden lighter, and I find I am able to help others who have not such hope.”

“Then tell me, my Lady, for I would know. How can I obtain this hope of yours? Where is it to be found?” Esme had asked. She still remembered Alinea’s words.

And she remembered Durwin’s too. “The hope you seek is born of belief in the Most High, the One True God of all,” he had told her. “Seek him and you will find him. He is ever reaching out to those who truly desire to know him.”

“What must I do? Where is his temple?”

Durwin laughed. “He is not like other gods. He has no temple, and accepts no gifts of silver or gold, or sacrifices of helpless creatures.”

“No?” This she found most puzzling.

“No,” laughed Durwin again. “He wants you. All of you: your heart and spirit. He wants your love and worship, everything-he will not settle for less.”

“This is a demanding god you serve, hermit,”

“Yes, he is as you say-demanding. But the blessing he bestows

it was nearly severed from the shoulders. The man’s shattered sword lay in pieces beneath him.

“Someone wanted this one dead,” remarked Lord Galen, “to strike such a blow.”

“Who could have done it?” wondered Sir Dareth. “There are no robbers abroad in this forest, surely.”

“Highwaymen would not have set upon such as this. See how he is dressed?” replied Sir Hedric. “Perhaps there was a falling out among thieves.”

“Or kidnappers,” said Toli slowly. “Yes, I would swear this was one I dealt with in the forest earlier this day. Or another of their company.”

“But to strike him down in the road-why?” Sir Dareth shook his head. “It makes no sense. They must have known we would find him.”

Toli made a quick search of the immediate area, sifting among the confused tracks in the dust for a clue to what had happened. But he gleaned little for his efforts. There were far too many prints-it was impossible to tell how many men had passed, or who among them had horses and who were afoot. Still, he counted tracks of at least two horses, and one rider had apparently been involved in the fight that had ended the kidnapper’s life.

“I believe,” said Toli, looking southward, “the King might have passed this way.”

“You think this unfortunate attacked the King?” asked Lord Galen incredulously. “It was ill-advised, though there must have been a reason.”

Toli nodded thoughtfully and cast a glance skyward. The sun stretched long shadows across the road. “We must bury him quickly. We are already losing the light. I want to follow the trail as long as possible.”

At Toli’s command, the knights began hacking a shallow grave in the brush at the side of the road, using their swords for the task. Toli and Lord Galen examined the victim’s clothing for any clue to who he might have been, or where he might have come from.

When the corpse had been disposed of, the four set off again, though the sun was well down and the first of the evening stars winked overhead. A chill seeped out of the wood as the sky deepened to twilight, but the riders pressed on, heedless of their fatigue or the hunger beginning to gnaw just in back of their belt buckles.

I am certain Quentin was back there, thought Toli as he rode along. I can sense it. But there was something else, too. Something very powerful-more than the death of that unfortunate would account for. But what? What could it be?

“WELL, TIP,” the round little man said, “here’s a comely spot to rest yer bones, eh? Or shall we walk a wee bit further?”

The dog looked at her master and wagged her tail

“Oh, quite right, quite right. We’ve come fer enough today. No sense getting amuch away from the road. Quite right ye are.” With a clink and a clatter, Pym the tinker began shaking off his burdens, loosening packs and sacks and strings of pots, pans and tools, all of which he carried with him on his back.

But one package he placed carefully on the ground, propping it upright against a stone. His bright eyes glittered with glee, and he rubbed his hands with delight. “Now, Tipper, some firewood!” He clapped his hands. “Jest the thing, eh? Jest the thing. ‘Twill be darking soon. First fetch the wood and the fire will follow, eh? Quite right.”

In no time the little tinker and his dog were curled before a cozy fire, drinking their soup, watching the stars come out in the sky as night settled peacefully over the land. Every now and then the man stole a look toward the slender, rag-wrapped package that he had propped up against the stone.