“They will come here soon, I am certain.” Esme watched her friend closely, looking for any sign of the malady that had stricken Bria.

Bria caught her scrutiny and said, “I am much better now.” She paused and then glanced toward the grave. “It is just that it does not seem right without Quentin here.”

“He would be here if he could, you know that. Quentin’s first duty is to find the Prince and bring him back safely. The King cannot rest until his son and heir is safe.”

“You are right.” She paused and added, “But look at Toli. It tears at my heart to see him like this.”

Esme observed the glum, silent Jher and nodded sadly. It touched her deeply, too. She wished nothing more than to be able to go to Toli and comfort him; and she would have, but for fear of Toli’s rejection.

For his part, Toli had told no one but Theido of Quentin’s harsh words. Those had been his due; he had deserved them. He signaled to several of the lords and knights in attendance, and they moved to the bier. Laying hold of the long plank on which the body rested, they lifted it to their shoulders. Bria and Esme went to the litter too, and Alinea; they took up bouquets of flowers that had been placed on the funeral wain early that morning and followed the body to the grave.

The men lowered the hermit’s body into the hole dug in the rich black dirt. Sunlight filled the hole and fell on the pallid face. He seemed to be at rest, content. But he was not now the same Durwin they had known; he had changed. In death he appeared so much less himself that it was impossible for any of the mourners to look upon him now and say, “This is the man we knew in life.” Durwin-the true essence of the man they had loved-was gone. He had left only a worthless husk behind.

Alinea went to the graveside and knelt to place her flowers by him in the ground. Bria joined her, and Esme. Toli stood silently over the open pit and watched, his eyes hard as polished stone.

Others came to the grave, too, and paused briefly to pay final honor to the man. Here and there a tear sparkled in an eye, but there was no sobbing, no wailing, no evidence of unendurable grief common at so many funerals. All who had come knew that this interment was different: this was the burial of one of the Most High’s trusted servants. And no one who looked upon the body in the grave felt that the man had ceased. The presence of his spirit was strong among them. It would be wrong to regard the Holy Hermit of Pelgrin Forest as having fallen into shadowy non-existence in the underworld of the gods. Even those who had never heard of the Most High or his great and wonderful kingdom believed that Durwin had gone to a far different, far better place.

Inwardly, all who saw him in his grave wished that their own deaths could be so: assured, dignified, and peaceful. And many believed from that day forth that Durwin was right about the Most High, for they too wanted to go where he had gone.

When at last all had paid their respects to the body-Princess Brianna and Princess Elena being the last to lay flowers in the grave-Toli and five knights shoveled dirt into the hole and then, one by one, the mourners took up stones and placed them on the tomb.

“Quentin would have wanted him buried in the King of the Kings,” observed Bria as she watched the stones being placed over the grave. “But this is better, more fitting.”

“I agree,” replied Alinea. “Here among the trees he loved, where wild things lived… this is where he belongs.”

They turned then and made their way back to the castle, leaving any lingering sadness behind-all except Toli. He stayed when everyone else had gone and stood unmoving over the grave for a long time. Then at last he mounted Riv and left. But he did not ride back to Askelon Castle with the others.

“Where is Toli?” asked Esme as she swiveled in the saddle taking for him. But he was not among those who followed.

“Strange,” said Bria. She craned her neck around too. “I do not see him anywhere. I thought he had come with the others.”

Esme turned her eyes back toward the grave site, but there was nothing to be seen. Toli had vanished.

“THE PRINCE… here? By the gods’ beards! It is a mistake. A terrible mistake. You have implicated the High Temple in your schemes. I will not have it! Do you hear? I will not have it!”

High Priest Pluell raved and tore at his hair as he paced back and forth in his chamber. Nimrood sat with hooded eyes, watching Pluell vent his anger, but saying nothing.

The High Priest came to stand in front of the white-bearded old man, hands on hips. “The temple is in danger now because of you. This was not in our agreement. You never said anything about kidnapping. I will not have it!”

At last Nimrood had enough. He stood, shot a withering glance at the High Priest, and stalked to the door.

“Wait! What are you going to do? Where are you going?”

“I am leaving. It is plain you have lost your nerve for our little diversion. I have no use for you. Good-bye.”

“No!” shouted Pluell. “You cannot do that! What about the Prince? What am I to do with him?”

“Do anything you like with him. What do I care? He might make a serviceable acolyte, though I think his father might have something to say about that.”

“Stop! Come back. You cannot leave me like this. This was never my affair!”

Nimrood stopped with his hand on the latch. “Never your affair? Ha!” He turned suddenly, his eyes darting flames. Pluell saw the change and dropped back, his mouth gaping. Nimrood advanced on him, seeming to grow in height.

“Was it my idea?”

“Who else? You are not suggesting it was mine!”

“None other’s. I merely indicated to you the danger to the temple if you did not act at once. It was your men who took the boy. It was their mistake. You are High Priest-you are responsible.”

“No! You tricked me! I told you to… to-”

“Exactly! You told me to do what needed to be done. We would not be here now if your stupid men had done their duty. I certainly never wanted it this way.”

“You must help me!” wailed Pluell. The shock and rage at what Nimrood had done to him subsided in the new horror of perhaps facing the outraged King alone. Why, the Dragon King would hew him limb from limb for the attack on his son! “I am sorry. I apologize. I was not thinking clearly. Stay and help me think what to do.”

Nimrood pulled on his beard. He appeared to be contemplating what should be done. Ah! he thought to himself. So easy! This pigeon is so deftly caught. He has no nerve, no backbone. He deserves his fate. But I can use him; therefore I will save him. Oh, this is working much better than I could have hoped.

“Very well, I will stay. But you must stop whimpering and do as I say. I have a plan. A very simple plan. And if all goes well, in a short while you, my pigeon priest, will hold the King in the palm of your plump hand.”

Working outward from the place where the Prince was last seen, Theido and Ronsard and their search party of knights combed the forest, fanning out from that central point, probing deeper into the heart of Pelgrin. The knights rode the shaded pathways and dimly lit trails; Theido and Ronsard rode with them, meeting at prearranged spots to confer and share any news.

There was precious little news to share. No one had turned up any sign of the abductors.

“They appear to have vanished from the face of the earth,” said Ronsard when they met for their final conference of the day.

“We should have seen some sign of them by now.” Theido gazed at the sky overhead. The clouds held an orange tint as the sun spun lower in the trees. “It will be dusk soon, and too dark to search any further.”

Ronsard scanned the sky through the open patches in the leafy canopy overhead. “Blast their bones! By the god, I had hoped to strike their trail today.” He looked at Theido, whose eyes held a faraway look. “What are you thinking?”