Then, from the far side of the temple, came the faint glimmer of another light. The winking light approached, swinging in the hand that held it, accompanied by the muffled slap of sandals on the stones. The old man raised his head and smiled in the dark.

In a moment the stranger had come to stand before the seated figure. He raised the shuttered lantern and opened one of the small doors to let out more light. In the yellow glow of the lantern the priest studied his visitor.

“Who are you?” asked the priest.

“So, Pluell, you have come at last.”

“How do you know me?”

“You are the High Priest, are you not? Does not the High Priest have a name?”

“I have and you know it. I would know yours.”

“I think you do, sir.”

The High Priest squinted at the old face and held the lantern closer. “I have never seen you before, never.” Then he added slowly, “Have I?”

The old man shook his head. “No, perhaps not. It has been a long time since I have been in these parts.”

“You are no priest,” Pluell asserted, “though you wear the priestly garb. If you have not been here for many years, how is it that I should know your name?”

“You received my talisman, did you not?”

“I did.” He stuck out his hand and held out the black stone. The old man took it and held it up. “It is a most curious piece.”

“Yes, most curious.” The old man concealed it in his robe.

Just then the sky above was torn by lightning, illuminating the two figures in stark, unnatural light.

“The storm is upon us,” said the old man.

“Who are you?” asked the High Priest.

“I tell you that you know.”

“Bah! You’re wasting my time. I’ll have nothing more to do with you. You are keeping me from my bed.” He glared at the old man. “It was foolish for me to come.”

“And yet you came. Why, I wonder?”

The High Priest opened his mouth to speak, thought better, and closed it again.

“I will tell you why,” intoned the old man softly. “You came because you had to come. You had no other choice but to come and see for yourself if what you thought was true.”

The High Priest said nothing. The wind gusted and the torch flared. The tree branches above them creaked and groaned in the wind.

“You came because I summoned you.”

“You lying old fool!” said Pluell. “I will not listen to this.”

“Yon came because you know trouble approaches, and you know I can help.”

“You are insane. I have finished with you. Be gone!” he shouted.

“Very well,” said the old man evenly. He stood slowly as if he would leave at once. As he rose his hood fell back from his head, revealing long wispy locks of white hair framing a face as creased and lined as a furrowed field. Sharp black eyes shined out of the ravaged face. “I will go, but once there was a time when the name of Nimrood commanded a measure of respect.”

The High Priest stepped back involuntarily at the sound of the name. “Nimrood!” he gasped. “It cannot be!” There, you see? You do know me.”

“But-you are dead! Years ago… I was but a boy… I heard you were killed in the battle with the Dragon King…”

“Ah you see, I was not,” replied the old man.

“Nimrood! I dare not believe my eyes!”

“Believe them, sir! It is Nimrood and none other.”

Lightning streaked the sky, loosing thunder to march out in booming steps across the valley. Heavy drops of rain began thudding to earth, splashing against the stones in the temple yard.

“You spoke of trouble,” said High Priest Pluell. “How can you help?”

Nimrood turned his face to the sky. “The storm is come in force. Would you not rather invite me into your private chambers? I think we might have much to discuss.”

High Priest Pluell stood in momentary indecision. He glanced at Nimrood sharply, weighing the matter. Rain spattered down into his face. The torch on the pylon guttered out, hissing like a serpent in the dark.

“Very well,” Pluell said. “Follow me.” He led them to the little-used side entrance, leaving the temple yard to the rain and the night.

BRIA LAY for a moment listening to the drip of the rain onto the bartizan outside their chamber. The doors were thrown open wide and the gentle summer breeze blew in, bringing with it the fresh clean scent of rain-washed air. Tiny blue birds twittered on the balustrade, making joyful music to the morning.

The Queen rolled over and flung an encircling arm to her side. Her hand patted the empty bedclothes where her husband would have been. He was gone. She opened her eyes lazily and murmured, “Oh, Quentin, do you never rest?”

She rose and threw on a robe. At once a maidservant came scurrying with a fresh summer gown of sky-blue samite with a belt of finely wrought gold.

“My Lady slept well?” asked the young woman. “Well, thank you, Glenna. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“Yes, my Lady. Beautiful.” She smiled, and light shone in her eyes. “Almost as beautiful as my Lady.”

“Your flattery is as easily given as the bird’s song.” Bria laughed and the room was brighter. “Have you seen the King?”

“No, my Lady. Shall I send for the chamberlain?” The Queen shrugged. “There is no need. I know where he has gone.”

The servant helped her Queen dress and then set about tidying the room. Bria went out from the royal apartments and made her way to the kitchens.

She passed lightly through a corridor and down a flight of steps to a banqueting hall. No sooner had she set foot in the hall when there was a squeal and a sudden flurry of motion toward her.

“Mother! Did you hear? Oh, did you hear the news?” Two young girls rushed up to her on prancing feet and grabbed her hands, pulling her toward the breakfast table.

“And what news have you heard, my darlings?” She smiled and stroked their golden heads.

The younger of the two children, Princess Elena, her hair in long braids woven with golden thread so that they shined and shimmered as she danced on her tiny slippered feet, smiled happily up at her mother, her green eyes twinkling with the merriment of her secret. Her sister, Princess Brianna, slender as a new spring shoot and dressed in bright blue like her mother, pressed the Queen’s hand and said, “Come and sit with us, Mother. We have so much to tell you!”

Princess Elena shook her head vigorously. “Yes, oh yes. So much to tell you!”

“Very well,” said Queen Bria, settling herself lightly on the bench at the table. “What is your news? I cannot wait another instant!”

The older girl glanced at her sister, and both burst into laughter. The sound was pure delight. Several kitchen servants stopped to look on and smile, arrested by the little Princesses’ happiness.

“Will you keep your poor mother in suspense? I confess I must know at once!” Bria took their hands and squeezed them both.

Still laughing, the words tumbled out. “Esme is coming! Esme! Isn’t that wonderful?” they shouted. “Esme will be here tonight!”

“That is indeed wonderful news!” cried Bria, hugging her daughters.

“Oh, but please don’t tell Father,” said Brianna. “We want to tell him. Please?”

“Yes, you shall tell him. It will be your surprise.”

“Oh, let’s go find him!” cried Elena.

The two would have darted off at once, but the Queen called them back.

“The King is not here, my doves. He rode out this morning early to the temple.”

“May we go, too? Please, Mother?” they asked excitedly. “Come and eat a bite of breakfast first, and we shall see.” Bria glanced around the room quickly. “And where is your brother? Still abed? The day is fleeing!”

“Oh, no. He grabbed a seedcake and ran off a long time ago. He is meeting Toli in the stable yard. They are going riding.”

“Riding again! Always riding. It is a wonder the boy does not grow hoofs and a mane.”