book one

THEFOREST



Chapter One



TheForest was the abode of warlocks, folk said, and gob-

lins, and other creatures even worse. Still, Alan bent his

staggering steps toward theForest , as a desperate man

will. Robbers had stripped him of everything—horse,

weapons, even his clothing. The peasants could not spare

him more than a beggar's crust. But within theForest wil-

derness, Alan hoped, he might be able to find something

to eat and a covering for his naked body.



He had not reckoned on his own dizzying weakness.

The world swam before his eyes, and trees encircled him

with a green blur. He sensed movement and angry shout-

ing, but he did not care. Then the sting of a sword-flat

across his back jolted him into full awareness.



Alan found himself facing a big, angry captain at the

head of a mounted patrol. The next blow of the captain's

sword knocked him to the ground. He lay sprawling, with

no strength to flee or defend himself. Closing his eyes,

Alan braced himself against the punishing blade.
But as suddenly as the blows had begun, they ceased.

Alan looked up. What he saw was to remain clear in his

memory for as long as he lived.



The burly captain had turned pale with fear. His chin

quivered above a glinting blade pressed against his fleshy



TheForest                3



throat. But more fearsome than the sword's point, Alan

thought, was the one who held the sword. He was a youth

with the face of a warrior, straight of brow and strong of

Jaw—but there was more than a warrior's power about

him. His eyes were steel gray, and there was some quality

in his hard gaze that caused the captain to tremble and

flinch, that caused Alan himself to struggle to his feet in

hazy alarm. Yet he could not name the fear that he felt-



The gray-eyed youth spoke a few words that Alan

could not understand, while his glance flashed with an

eerie intensity of will that shocked Alan anew. Though

the stranger had not moved, holding his sword to the cap-

tain's throat, the horses plunged away from him. The cap-

tain's men could not control them. Squealing and shying,

they bolted into the Forest with their hapless riders on
their backs. The stranger knocked the captain's sword

from his limp fingers, slashed his reins and sent his horse

careering after the others.



Alan stood watching, swaying with hunger and pain,

vaguely thinking that he should leave as well. He did not

have the strength to move a step. But the gray-eyed youth

seemed to sense his hesitation. Quietly he dismounted

from his big, gray horse and walked to face Alan. "My

name is Hal," he said, "and I will befriend you, if I may.

Will you come with me?"



Alan was absurdly glad that a choice was offered to

him, though he could not have turned away without fall-

ing. He nodded and reached out toward the other, shak-

ing with the effort. He could scarcely see. He feit a gentle

hand take hold of him, and he gulped burning liquid from

a flask. Hal wrapped him in a cloak and helped him into

the saddle of his gray steed, then mounted behind. They

sped away into the Forest



"It will not take those ruffians long to come after us,"

Hal muttered, and Alan decided he liked the sound of

that low voice.
The ride was a haze of pain for Alan. The horse was

strong and swift, and theForest whirled by. Alan barely

noticed when they came to a rocky stretch of waste, but

he did notice when they entered theForest again, for his

rescuer guided the horse slowly and carefully over the

ground. Then they stopped in a dense stand of cover. Be-

fore long Alan heard approaching hoofbeats. The captain

and his demoralized troop swept past. The big man had



4         THE SILVER SUN



found his sword, and his face was as red as his red roan

horse.



Hal chuckled, and Alan grinned in spite of his pain.

They moved on, more slowly now. Alan lost track of time

until at last they stopped and he felt himself lowered to

the ground.



He needed another pull from the flask before he was

able to sit up and look around. He was by a small spring

which flowed into an open forest meadow. The horse was

grazing, and Hal knelt, rummaging in the saddlebags. He

drew forth strips of bandage, a dark little jug and a rather

old hunk of bread. To Alan the bread was a vision of

bliss, and he grasped at it with the impatience of a child.
"Eat slowly," Hal cautioned. His gray eyes were darker

now, but softer, as gentle as they had been hard before.



Alan bit into the precious bread. He scarcely noticed as

the blood-stiffened cloak was peeled away from his

wounded back. Hal carefully washed the sword stripes,

applied ointment from the jug, than laid on pads of cloth.

He bandaged these on with strips of cloth around Alan's

body and shoulders. Alan was surprised that he could not

eat much of the bread, but it did not matter. A blanket

was wrapped around him, and he slept.



It seemed only a few minutes later that he was awak-

ened by a gentle shaking. But it was after nightfall. A

small campfire was crackling nearby, and over it sat a

kettle from which issued a delicious aroma of meat.



"Can you sit up?" asked Hal. "Here, lean against this

tree." The blanket served as a pad for Alan's sore shoul-

ders. The fire warmed his bare legs. Hal filled a battered

metal dish with stew, and handed it to him, along with a

spoon and a cup of water.



Alan spoke with difficulty. "Hal, have you eaten?"
The other shook his head. "After you. There is only

the one bowl and spoon."



Alan ate eagerly. The venison, roots and berries

seemed to him food fit for a king's board. But he could

not eat more than a few mouthfuls.



"I have not yet thanked you for saving my life," he

said as he rested against the tree.



Hal lowered his gray eyes, flushing, genuinely ill at

ease. "Never mind that," he mumbled. There was no

hint about him now of the power that had cowed the cap-

tain and his armed troops. Alan had never believed in



TheForest                 5



warlocks; it was his hunger-fogged brain, he thought,

that had imagined strange words and a stranger glance

half a day before. Still, the horses had run away in spite

of curbs and cuffs. . . . What sort of oddity was his new

companion, that he could sow such fear with a glance?



"How did you come to be in such a pass?" Hal broke

the silence. "Were you robbed?"
"Ay." Alan was still too weak for much speech.



Hal phrased his next question with diplomacy. In those

days, when men could be outlawed for stealing a loaf of

bread, it was not wise to pry. "Were you going anywhere

in particular when you were robbed?"



Alan shook his head. Like Hal, he was a homeless

wanderer. It was odd that two such youthful outcasts

should meet.



"Will you travel with me, then, when you are better?"

Hal poked at the fire, and Alan could not see his lowered

eyes. "My horse is as good as a man in many ways,"

Hal added, "but rather quiet. Sometimes it is lonely. . . ."



"Certainly I will travel with you," replied Alan

promptly. For Alan was brave, and inclined to deal gen-

erously with life. He saw a shy smile touch Hal's face,

and then he went to sleep on his bed of moss without a

doubt or a fear. He never afterward questioned his an-

swer.



Alan felt much stronger when he awoke the next morn-
ing. He put on the patched tunic Hal gave him, and ate

some leftover stew. He put a pinch on the ground, first,

for the god.



Hal glanced at him curiously. "Whom do you serve,

Alan?"



"No one!" Alan smiled sheepishly. "I am not bound

by any god of grove or cave or temple. But a lifelong habit

is hard to break. . . . My fathers worshiped the Star Son."



"Ah." Hal's face was unreadable. "He is not too de-

manding, this Star Son?"



"Nay," Alan answered grimly. "Not like the Sacred

Son of the Easterners, who inflicts suffering worse than

his own." He spoke harshly, for he was remembering

someone he had once known. He could not tell that, be-

hind the cloudy sheen of his gray eyes, Hal remembered

as well.



After breakfast they scrubbed the pot in the stream,

then wandered through the forest glade. It was late spring;



6          THE SILVER SUN
the trees were covered with bright leaf, and the grass spar-

kled like the water. Hal and Alan lay down and basked

in the sun. The warmth baked much of the stiffness from

Alan's wounds, and he stirred contentedly.



Hal spoke lazily. "I dare say we shall be having com-

pany soon."



"Company?" Alan was almost asleep.



The outlaws that control this part of theForest ."



"Outlaws?" Alan was startled awake.



"From what I hear they are decent folk, though rough

in ways. ..." A bird whistled from within theForest .

"There they are now. Let me speak for us."



Alan nodded, his mouth dry. Then he froze in con-

sternation as Hal whistled an answering birdlike call.

For a moment the Forest stood in shocked silence. Then

came a sharp spoken command, and from the brush

stepped eight men, from as many directions, each with

drawn bow. Their leader, a tall man whose deerskin cap

could not entirely hide his flaming red hair, strode for-
ward.



"Get up," he ordered sharply.



Hal arose, keeping his hands in plain sight. "We are

unarmed," he said.



"And ye," the outlaw snapped menacingly at Alan.



"My companion is injuredl" Hal protested. Alan strug-

gled to his feet, wincing as a wound tore open. Bright

blood stained his tunic. Hal turned to help him, and he

hotly reprimanded the outlaw.



"Ket the Red, I expected better from youl Did I not

give you the signal of friendship?"



Ket's jaw dropped, his face a mixture of astonishment

and chagrin. "He speaks truth. Lower yer weapons," he

called to his men. And then to Hal, "How did ye know

my name?"



Alan*s bleeding had already slowed, and Hal spoke

more calmly. "I lived a year with the band of Craig the

Grim, in the southernForest . We heard much good of

you." He pressed a fold of cloth over Alan's wound. "I
beg pardon for my sharp words, but I feared for my friend.

May I care for him?"



"Ay, surely!" said the outlaw hastily. At the camp, two

outlaws stood watch while the others helped fetch water

and bandages- Only when Alan was attended did Ket

speak again.



TheForest                 7



"What are yer names?"



"I am Hal, and this is my friend Alan.**



"Ye're not brothers, then?"



"Nay!" It was Hal's turn to be surprised. "Why do

you ask?"



"Why, by the Lady, ye look alike!"



Alan and Hal regarded each other quizzically. Ket was

right. Their light, sun-streaked hair, their high cheekbones

and angular jaws were the same. Alan's mouth was a bit

wider and more expressive than Hal's, but only at their
eyes did all resemblance cease. Alan's were clear and

open as blue skies, while Hal's were shadowy and full of

mystery. What Hal's feelings were about this strange co-

incidence, Alan could not tell. He only shrugged as he

turned back to Ket.



"I have no brother,*' he continued. "Alan and I first

met yesterday."



"Yesterday? And how did Alan come to be hurt?"



Alan broke his silence, knowing that Hal could not

very well recount his own exploit- "Let me tell you, Ket.

I was not paying proper attention, I suppose, when that

troop of lordsmen came along. I was far too hungry. . . ."



Alan described his predicament and his rescue, gloss-

ing over the fright of the horses; he did not know how to

explain that. The outlaws listened intently, and laughed

heartily when he mentioned the captain's red face.



"So that was how the big bastard came to be pelting

through theForest yesterday, with his britches soiled and

his helmet askew, and his face red as a beet!" cried Ket.

"We saw, but we little knew the reason. Twas sweetly

done, lad." Then he sobered. "They'll be looking for ye,
long and hard. Ye must be wary."



Hal winced at the praise, and he changed the subject

"Ket, if you are no longer angry with me, I would like to

ask your help. I have shot a deer. Half is for you. And I

would like to trade a haunch and the hide for bread and

eggs and such, if you will tell me where."



"Ye shot a deer! But I see no bow, nor did we find

the remains of a kill."



"Here is the bow," said Hal, drawing it out of a bag. It

was less than half the length of the outlaws' bows, very

thick and powerfully curved. Ket the Red whistled. "It

takes a strong arm to draw that." he said, and eyed Hal



8          THE SILVER SUN



narrowly, with mingled suspicion and respect. "But where

is the deer, and how did ye hide the offal?"



Hal laughed. "I cannot give away the secrets of Craig

the Grim, even to you," he said. "Let us say that it was

well hidden. But as for the deer, it is here." He parted the

bushes to reveal the hanging carcass.
There followed some argument. Ket maintained that it

would be too dangerous for Hal to go to the village, be-

cause of the affair of the previous day, "and also," he

added kindly, "because ye're far too young, for all that

ye're of man's height, lad." He offered to go, or send one

of his men. Hal would hear nothing of it



'^Yovt are all well known in these parts, especially you,

with your flaming hair," he retorted. "Every time you

appear, you are in great danger. But who is likely to

recognize me from any description our husky friend may

have given? Since I must be a lad today,"—Hal took a

significant pause—"I'll be just another farm lad. I shall

leave the horse in theForest , and walk. Only tell me

where to knock."



"For the matter of that," asked the outlaw, mildly,

"where is (he horse?"



Alan knew by now that Hal's steed grazed loose. Hal

whistled, a single low note. There were no hoofbeats to

be heard, and the outlaws exchanged amused glances. But

suddenly the horse was there, as if he had materialized

from the gray trunks of the trees. Silently and gracefully

he moved to Hal's side, an alert, questioning look in his
fine eyes,



Hal smiled, and spoke to the horse in a low voice; Alan

could not catch the words. "He thought something was

wrong," Hal explained, turning.



Impulsively, Alan reached out to pat the beautiful crea-

ture, but the steed drew back with a snort.



"You have not yet been introduced," Hal said. "Give

me your hand." He spoke to the stallion in strange words,

and placed Alan's band on the horse's neck. "He is

trained to let no hand touch him except mine," Hal ex-

plained. "Otherwise be would have been stolen from me

many a time."



Alan felt odd and at a loss for words. He was used to

horses that did as he told them, not to great gray beasts

that roamed at will and required introductions. "What is

his name?" he managed to ask.



TheForest                9



"Arundel. Arun for short."
It was not a familiar name. "Does it mean something?"

Alan ventured. Names might have meanings, he thought,

toHaL



"It means 'dweller in the £agleValley.'"



Alan stroked the highly arched neck and looked into

the deep eyes of the proud beast which looked down on

him. He wondered what strange turn his life was taking.

Ket broke in on his thoughts.



"We did not see that horse, or hear him, on our way

here. Did he seek to avoid us?" the outlaw demanded.



"Ay. He is trained to do so."



Ket shook his head helplessly, then spoke with a coun-

tryman's slow, grave courtesy. "By my troth, now, I dare

say that one who has entered myForest without my

knowing it—and who has shot a deer under my very

nose with a bow the size of my forearm—and whose very

horse goes with the stealth of a ghost in the night—might

trade for a few victuals and stay clear of the gallows."



"I thank you," said Hal, grinning, "for your 'dare-

say.' "
Ket gave Hal instructions on how best to approach the

village and where to go with the meat. Such meat was

forbidden, since theForest game was supposed to be

preserved for noble sport. So Hal had to be careful on

more than one account. Ket seemed to be restraining him-

self from reminding him of this fact. He set his outlaws

as a guard around theForest glade, and Hal left on his

errand.



"And you, Alan," Ket admonished, "bide quietly, and

tend to yer wounds." He strode away.



Left alone, Alan lay once again in the warm sun and

dozed. It did not seem long before Hal returned. He was

grinning as he entered the glade, and when he had dis-

mounted he began to laugh heartily.



"Alan, such a jesti" he wheezed at last. "I met an old

woman near the road, and also two cowherds, and they

all told me the same tale. It seems that the lord's captain

met a demon-ridden creature, a gaping idiot (yourself,

Alani) which he was bravely attempting to dispatch,

when out of the forest rode a great black warrior, over

seven feet tall, on a great black horse whose nostrils
breathed fire, and this warrior wielded a flaming, blood-

red sword. He put a magical spell on the brave company,



10 THE SILVER SUN



so that they could not move, and off rode he and the evil

creature, cackling curses. And when the lordsmen took

pursuit, the sorcerer, horse and idiot all three disappeared

in a puff of fiery smoke over the waste!" Hal paused for

breath. "I was hard put to keep my countenancel Small

wonder they did not recognize me at the village!"



Alan was glad that Hal laughed. The talk of sorcery

made him uncomfortable.



"I should have known," a voice said, "that the lord's

pride would outweigh his anger."



Hal Jumped like a startled stag, crouching and reach-

ing for his sword. Then Ket stepped from the bushes. A

touch of red tinged Hal's cheekbones as he relaxed.



"I did not mean to startle ye, Hal," said Ket worriedly.



"I am not used to being taken by surprise," answered

Hal, beginning to smile. 'There's your revenge, Ket, for
this morning. Will you eat with us?"



"Ay, gladly," replied the outlaw. "But first I have some-

thing for Alan."



He led from the thicket a horse loaded with all nec-

essary harness and gear, including clothing. "He's for

ye, and all he bears," Ket told Alan gruffly. "He came to

our camp one day with a wounded man on his back. The

fellow was tall, with a warrior's scars, but he died with-

out telling us his name. The horse is of no use to us;



we're countryfolk, not riders. He has grown fat and lazy,

but nevertheless I think he will serve ye."



"I thank you greatly," gulped Alan, and reached out

to touch a soft nose. He had felt worse than naked with-

out a horse; he had felt bereft. Ket could not know the

extent of his gratitude.



"And here is the fellow's sword," said Ket.



Alan took the weapon reverently. It was a fine blade,

strongly made and carefully balanced. Golden scrollwork

covered the scabbard and hilt, the end of which was in the
shape of a lion's head, with peridots for eyes.



"This man," said Alan slowly. "Was he dark of face,

with straight dark hair, and a hooked nose with a scar

across the bridge, thus?"



"Ye knew him?" marveled Ket.



"Ay," replied Alan. "His name was Leon Aleron, a

brave warrior and a good man. I am proud to wear his

sword."



Hal seemed startled. He glanced at Alan with keen



The Forest              11



interest and something like fear flickering in his gray eyes.

But Alan did not notice, for he was patting his horse.



The beast was anything but fat. He was long-limbed

and rangy, strong but not particularly handsome, dusty

brown in color, with a humorous expression on his long

face. He was equipped with a functional saddle and sad-

dlebags, in which Ket had packed basic equipment: cloth-

ing, boots, a blanket, a few dishes, and a long hunting

knife in a leather scabbard.
Alan tethered the horse to a stake while Hal cut the

bread he had brought back from the village. Ket put eggs

in the kettle to boil, then speared a slice of venison on

the tip of his long hunting dagger and held it near the

fire. Alan tried to do the same, but the heat in his face

made him weak.



"Sit back," Hal told him. "I'll do yours. You are not

yet well."



They ate bread and meat, then bread and cheese, then

some spring onions. Alan could feel the strength welling

back into him.



"Ye're new to the Forest, Alan?" Ket asked.



"Ay," Alan replied. "But I like it," he added.



"Ay? Ye'd make a proper outlaw, lad. There are some

ruffians in the Forest, but most of our enemies fear it.

Kingsmen and lordsmen; ye wont find them skulking

much beyond the fringes. There is a power in the deep

woods that keeps them away. We call it the Lady."
"You worship a woman?" Alan exclaimed.



Ket turned to him with a smile tugging at his weather-

beaten face. "Ay, lad, how not? The Lady is a good

friend to us countryfolk, a far better friend than those

Easterners and their cursed Fatherking and Sacred SonI

To be sure, the Lady has her moods. . . . There are

storms and hunger and freezing cold—"



"And wolves," suggested Hal, wryly.



"And wolves. But, angry or not, the Lady is always

beautiful, and she feeds us well enough."



"Have an egg," Hal offered. "So you will not bow to

the Sacred Kings, Ket?" Irony was heavy in his voice.



"Nay, not I!" But Ket hated to let go of his good

humor, and his frown relaxed into a slow smile. "Now,

if the Very King were to come, and take the Lady to

bride—to him I might bow."



"The Very King?" Alan was puzzled again.



12 THE SILVER SUN
"An heir of Veran, perhaps, or of one of the ancient

royal houses of Isle. May he come soon!" Ket turned to

Hal and asked what Alan had not dared. "Who is yer

god, Hal?"



*The One."



"One? What one? There are many gods."



Hal shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Alaa turned the

talk away from gods. At least, he thought gratefully,

Hal had not mentioned the horned god of warlocks.



"How did you come to be outlawed, Ket?"



It was Ket's turn to look uncomfortable. "In truth, I'd

rather not tell ye, Alan. . . . But I'll tell ye this, I would

like to strike a strong blow against some proud lords some

dayl" Ket had given up his good humor now in earnest;



his lean face looked dangerous- "Curse the Eastern in-

vaders 1 There was peace and plenty in Isle before they

came and drove the folk into servitude! Now, even our

women suffer under their heavy hands. . . ." Ket calmed

somewhat. "Though there is peace in the Broken Lands,
of a sort," he conceded. "The lords are all wary of each

other, and they all need their folk. Men are seldom killed

out of hand, as they sometimes are in the south. But

we countryfolk are often hungry and miserable. The win-

ters are harsh this far north, and many of us sicken and

die."



"Yet it is always winter in the south, near the King,"

Hal muttered.



By the time they were done eating, Alan's horse had

pulled up his tether and was straying in the underbrush.

Laughing, Ket helped to catch him, then took his leave.

The horse swung bis bony head into Alan's stomach and

stepped on his foot.



"Owl" Alan complained. "Hal, how is it that Amndel

is so good and this beast is so very bad?'*



"Arun and I are friends," answered Hal, smiling. "You

must talk with your horse. How can you be friends when

you have not yet named him?"



Half in jest, Alan sat in front of the lanky animal and

meditated aloud on the subject of a suitable name. In

all due respect, he concluded, the name should not be
an openly disparaging one, such as Knobby Knees- But

in all honesty, a romantic name, such as Destrier, was

not in order. Aside from ungainliness, Alan decided, the

prime characteristic of the beast was a well-developed



The Forest



13



sense of humor. He chose the name of an ancestral

hero of his line, a valorous man of extremely bony build.

"Alfie is your name," he told the horse, feeling rather

silly when the creature only napped its ears at him. But



Hal nodded soberly, and Alan saw that to him it was no

jest at all.



Chapter Two



The following weeks were like a dream of deep peace for

Alan. He began to understand Ket's feelings for the Lady.

In spite of the frightening tales he had heard since his

earliest childhood, the vast, leafy greenness of the Forest

seemed to him like an embrace that shielded him from

alt harm. He rested on the bosom of this new-found
lover, and as he grew stronger he began to explore the

labyrinth of her shadowy paths. He learned to find the

food she offered. He fished the brown streams and tended

his snares and helped Hal search out the roots and herbs

that flavored their meals.



He spent hours talking and working with Ket and Hal,

and he liked what he learned of them. Ket treated his

"lads" as equals now, and Alan found that the plain spo-

ken outlaw was more subtle than he chose to appear. Hal

brought out the statesman in Ket, and no wonder. Alan

was often surprised, and sometimes irritated, by Hal's air

of command. His clothing was only rough, common stuff,

and all his gear was of the plainest sort, but there was

controlled power in his every easy move, even in the lift

of his head. Much was strange about Hal. In ways he

seemed aloof, though he was evidently eager for Alan's

company. There was some secret in his changing eyes.



14



The Forest               15



Alan was skeptical of peasant terrors, not one to cry

witch, and he thought no evil of the youth who had saved

his life. But he often wondered what mystery might be
hidden in those misty, sea-gray eyes.



One day, after his bandages were finally off, Alan wan-

dered into camp to find Hal shaping a couple of hefty

sticks into rough wooden swords. He tossed one to his

friend, and Alan grinned as he caught it expertly by the

hilt. This was one skill that Hal would not have to teach

him.



They parried, circling each other. Alan soon sensed that

Hal was at least his match. His reach was long and his

responses were excellent. But Hal seemed to be holding

back. Alan went into the attack, and ended up giving his

partner a hard blow to the head.



"I'm sorryl" he exclaimed.



"Whew!" Hal cried, throwing his makeshift sword onto

the fire. "You're ready to travel, Alan."



Ket came by as they were packing. "So ye're off," he

grumbled. "Where are ye going?"



"North and east," Hal answered succinctly.
"There's nothing there but the Rushing River, and

Whitewater town, which ye'd do well to stay away from,**

Ket complained. "And beyond that the Waste, and the

northern Forest, and outlaws I know nothing of. Couldn't

ye go west?"



"Some other time," Hal smiled. "Bide easy, Ket; we

will keep to the Forest for a while yet." He swung up onto

Arundel, and Alan mounted Alfie. Ket clasped hands with

them both.



"Farewell. And Alan—take care."



The two of them rode eastward for days before they

reached the fringes of the Forest. Then they turned north-

ward and traveled along its rim, earning bread from time

to time at isolated cottages. They learned to till and reap,

and Alan found that Hal carried his herbs for more than

cookery. With his potions and salves he could strengthen

sickly children, heal hurts or relieve the aches of the eld-

erly. Often, grateful cottagers offered Hal and Alan what-

ever hospitality their homes could afford. But they always

returned quickly to the Forest. Outside of that protecting

wilderness they felt endangered, and exposed. As much

as they could, they kept to the Forest and lived on the

takings of their snares.
16 THE SILVER SUN



After riding northward for nearly a month, they had

become very tired of rabbit meat. One morning, when a

deer flashed through the trees, they sent the horses after

it. They ran the deer till past midday. At last they trapped

it against the steep gorge of the Rushing River, and Hal

made the kill with his bow. The carcass fell into the gorge,

and swirled away in the swift, spring-fed water that ran

out toward the sea and Whitewater town.



"Confound it!" Hal shouted, and Alan muttered some-

thing about the deer's lineage. Hot from the long chase,

and out of temper from dodging trees, they cantered along

the high riverbank, watching the dead deer bob through

the foaming white water far below.



"It will never come ashore in that freshet!" Alan pro-

tested despairingly.



Just as he spoke, the deer suddenly stopped its jerky

voyage, aground in midstream. Staring, Hal and Alan

could see a faint, zigzag trail leading down the gorge on

either side.
"A ford!" Hal exclaimed, and sent Arundel as fast as

he dared down the steep path. Alfie clattered along be-

hind. The deer was bumping about near the far side of

the ford. Hal and Alan left the horses on the shore and

went after it. They were soaking wet from falling down

by the time they reached it.



"Why don't we just lift it out on this shore?" Alan sput-

tered.



Hal shook his head. "Back the way we came. This

must be the Ford of Romany. On the far side the Forest

ends, this far east, and there is no cover on the open

Waste."



They hauled the deer to shore, slipping and splashing,

and threw it over Alfie's rump. By the time they had

scrambled back up the riverbank, they were hot and out

of temper once more. Grimly, Ha! gutted the carcass and

began skinning. Alan knelt to lend a hand.



"I'll take a haunch," said a clear, young voice.



Hal grunted in sudden discomfiture. A knife was poised

against his ribs. Alan's startled glance showed him a
sturdy, towheaded youngster. The robber could not have

been more than twelve years old.



Hal held up a hindquarter of venison, moving care-

fully. "Don't you want to steal the whole thing?" he asked

the blond boy through tight Hps-



The Forest              17



'*Nay, indeed, a haunch will be plenty. Thank you,"

the lad replied politely. He took the meat and disap-

peared. Alan and Hal could hear him rustling through

the underbrush. For a moment they sat in frozen silence.

Then Hal sprang to his feet and gestured for Alan to fol-

low.



They stalked after the boy. Hal padded as quietly as

a cat in the undergrowth- Alan tried to copy his move-

ments. He made noise enough, even so, but the blond

youngster was hurrying and heedless. His camp was not

far from where they had first shot the deer. Some pine

branches were pulled into a rude shelter, and under them

a man lay softly moaning. As Hal and Alan looked, the

boy went to him and moistened his fevered face with a

wet rag. Then he cut some green sticks with his knife and
made ready to spit his meat.



Hal walked out of his cover and straight past him to

where the man stirred weakly on his hard bed. The lad

jumped up with a gasp, but Alan caught his arm before

he could raise his knife.



"You could have had the meat for the asking," he told

him. "What is your name?"



"I will not beg!" the boy flared defiantly, with a flash of

blue eyes, "And it's Corin," he added, suddenly subdued.

"What is yours?"



Alan told him, and they both watched as Hal knelt by

the sick man. The muscular fellow struck at the air, then

calmed under Hal's touch, but he scarcely seemed con-

scious of his visitor.



"That is my father," Corin explained, "Col, son of

Cadol. We're smiths by trade, from Whitewater. Lord Gar

is planning another war. Taxes have been high and the

lordsmen busy. Father could not meet the tribute, so they

used his tools on him. Look." For a moment the boy's

confident air left him, and he turned his head away.
Alan saw the welts and burns on the man's bared chest,

red and oozing. Hal looked up in a kind of appeal.



"He will not be able to eat meat; we must make him

some broth. Alan...."



"I'm going," Alan answered, and strode off to get the

horses. He brought them, and the half-butchered deer, to

Corin's camp. Then he had to climb the steep bank to the

river to fill the kettle for broth. Corin climbed it again to



18 THE SILVER SUN



get a basin of water for his father. Hal emptied his sad-

dlebags, looking for herbs. His face darkened,



"Nothing," he muttered. "Well, here's a bit of bread for

him. Conn."



They set the kettle over the flames, and then they ate

half-cooked chunks of venison from the spit, burning their

fingers in the process.



"We are leaving Whitewater," Corin told them in a low

voice. "Not just because of the branding; my father has
been in trouble with Lord Gar before. But the lordsmen

almost took me for the garrison yesterday, because I am

big for my age,"



"They must have been joking, or threateningi" Alan ex-

claimed, But Hal shook his head.



"Lord Gar has nearly deflowered his people, from what

I hear. He plays at war like some men play at dice."



"They would have taken me soon," Corin stated. "They

have taken every youth in the town."



"So where will you go?" Alan asked, still incredulous.



"North, to the Waste or the Barrens. Land is to be had

there, by those who are hardy enough to live on it. My fa-

ther will serve no more lords. But we went south first, to

throw off the pursuit. They will pursue us, you know,"

Corin declared. "Smiths are needed persons."



"That smith is infected," Hal said grimly, "and not

likely to live long, unless I can find him some medicine."



"Father will not die," Corin told him fiercely. "He is a

smith, and he is tough."
"What kind of medicine?" Alan asked.



"Nothing that grows in these parts. I shall have to go

a-bartering."



"You are the healer." Alan rose. "You stay, and I*U

go."



"You wouldn't know what to get." Hal also rose.



"You can tell me what to get," Alan said in a hard

voice, but Hal shook his head impatiently.



"Any of a dozen things. Some cottage wife may have

some, but if not, I shall have to go to Whitewater." He

hid a chunk of meat in a saddlebag, for trade. "Is it far,

Corin?"



"Half a day's walk."



"So, an hour's hard ride. I can be in and out before

the gates close. . . . Keep bathing that fellow, face and



The Forest               19
wounds." He vaulted onto Arundel and trotted away be-

tween the trees.



Corin went for water again. Alan muttered to himself

and rather viciously finished butchering the deer. He was

barely done when Arundel cantered back to their camp,

riderless. Hal's sword, still in its scabbard, was protruding

from his blanketroll.



"He is in trouble alreadyl" Alan exclaimed. "Afoot,

and weaponless. . . . Corin, good luck go with you. And

you are welcome to the meat." He saddled Alfie hastily and

sped away, with Arundel trailing after. In his dismay,

Alan did not notice that Corin reached out a hand as

Arun passed. Corin was left alone with his feverish father.

But the boy smiled triumphantly, for he was armed, at

least. Hal's sword was in his grip.



After Alan left the Forest, Arundel took the lead, can-

tering through the cover of scattered hedges and woodlota

near the riverbank. Presently he slowed to a quieter jog,

then to a walk. Alan caught glimpses of metal helmets off

to bis right, and after a while he sighted Hal. Mounted

lordsmen held him prisoner, and he was afoot, being

jerked along by the rope that bound his arms. Even from
his cautious distance, Alan could see the blood on his

face. His stomach knotted; he felt as if he himself bad

been struck.



He could think of no way to free Hal from that armed

troop of nearly a dozen men. So he followed, aching. By

late afternoon he had neared Whitewater, a walled town

with three castle towers rising within. The place was heav-

ily fortified and perched high above the river gorge. Be-

yond were masts of ships, and the Eastern Way ran be-

low the walls, south to Nemeton.



Alan halted in the last copse of trees, and watched as

Hal disappeared through the dark tunnel that was the

town gate. For a long time he fixed the stone walls with

his gaze, as if by desperate will he could pierce them with

his sight and find the place where Hal had been taken.

Finally, when darkness was falling, he dismounted and

patted Arundel meditatively. He tethered Alfie, and

patted him too, out of a sense of justice. Arundel did not

need a tether, and Alfie was already attempting to eat

his. Alan eyed his unruly beast with mingled affection and

despair.



"For once in your life, Alfie," he pleaded in a low
20         THE SILVER SUN



voice, "try to behave tonight." Then, although feeling

absurd, he added softly, "I need you. And I like you. Be

here when I get back." Firmly, he refused to add, ";/ I

get back," He patted the horse once more, laced his

sword tightly to keep it quiet under bis cloak, and trudged



down the road toward Whitewater.



The tired gatekeeper let him in without question. Alan



strode through the narrow, smelly streets, hoping only

to avoid the lordsmen until full dark had fallen. Then he

must try to find Hal, but how? The castle was like a giant

triangle, three strong towers with walls between. The



barracks would be somewhere in the courtyard.



His thoughts were interrupted by hoofbeats. Alan



dodged between the close-set house, but he had been

seen. A shout rang out. Alan fled through a maze of

twisting entryways where he hoped the horses could not

follow. Then he hid, panting, behind some hogsheads,
He could hear the lordsmen calling to each other not far

away. He startled violently when a door creaked open

nearby. A wrinkled face looked out, and a clawlike hand



beckoned him into a narrow, clay-daubed house.



"Many thanksl" Alan gasped as be bolted through the



doorway.



He had no need to say anything more. His ancient



hostess had a tireless tongue. She sat him down at her

smoking hearth and fed him well, gossiping all the time

about hard times, high taxes and the plight of her



neighbors.



"Time was, when a tower of wood or stone was suffi-

cient for the keeping of a lord," she chattered indignantly,

"but Gar must have a walled stronghold, no less, and the

money to pay for it, and the men to build it, for the spoils

of his wars do not come near meeting the price, and after

five years it is not done yetl The old stone tower, the

White Tower, the one nearest the sea, has only half-
done walls* though to be sure it would not need any,

for what army could climb the sea clifis, I would like to



know?"

,i       Alan glanced up with interest. "Do they use that tower,



''i     then?"

'i       "Ay, to be sure they do'. 'Tis a stronghold in its own



, '\     right, and the castle guard is good. The lord uses it for

i      prisoners that he holds for ransom, and for his enemies,

and malcontents, anyone who causes him trouble. . . .



The Forest                21



Why, that is where the lordsmen put that lad they

brought in this afternoon!" The old crone's face saddened.

"I saw them go by with him. He was a right proper,

spirited lad, fighting them all the way. Poor thing, he will

learn better before long ... or he is likely to die for it."



The good woman gabbled on, telling about the suf-

ferings of other young men she had known. Alan be-

came anxious to get away from her. He managed to say

that he was going to visit a relative who lived near the

castle, and he received very detailed and confusing in-
structions on how to get there without meeting more

lordsmen. At last he succeeded in taking his leave. The

gossip wished him well and charged him, on his next

visit to town, to come see "old Margerie." Alan strongly

hoped there would be no next time, but he promised

nevertheless.



It was dark now, and the streets were quiet. Alan

passed quickly through back lanes, coming at the castle

from the less traveled side. He had no trouble recogniz-

ing the White Tower of Whitewater; it shone in the moon-

light like a shaft of ice. From the shadow of a cottage

Alan studied the walls and the movements of the castle

guards. There were no guards on the rubble of the half-

completed walls, but atop the nearer section there were

many. Alan sighed. The moon had served him well so

far. Now he begged it to go behind a cloud and stay there.



To his grateful surprise, it did. Silently he ran across

the dry ditch which separated him from the castle, and

scrambled up the embankment beyond. He crouched

under the wall and crept along until he came to the edge

of the sea cliff. Twenty feet above his head, he knew,

a guard was standing with his back to the sea.
Through the hazy darkness Alan made out the form

of the cliff. It was rough and uneven, offering purchase

enough. But the stone was loose and treacherous. The

surf pounded loudly below, the first sea surf that Alan

had ever seen, and he did not like its cold, angry look.

Slowly fae lowered himself over the edge of the cliff.



Once over, Alan moved as quickly as he could, but

with great caution. A loosened stone could alert the

guard, or send Alan crashing to the rocks below. He

lowered himself for several feet, then started to work his

way across the cliff face. A large stone slipped from under

his foot and left him hanging momentarily by his hands.



22 THE SILVER SUN



He scrambled for a foothold, too frightened to think of

the guard. But, as he clung to the cliff, the only sounds

he heard were the pounding of the surf and the pound-

ing of his own heart.



After a while Alan went on, moving tensely to within

a few feet of the top. He was past the guard now, and

past the fortified walls, but the unfinished stonework

rose smooth, and sheer from the edge of the cliff. Alan

inched along, with throbbing arms and stiffened fingers,
until at last he found a wooden scaffolding where masons

had been working. He hauled himself up and lay pant-

ing on the timbers, grateful to be alive.



Then he stiffened. Footsteps were approaching just

beyond the stones. A guard was walking inside the

wall; Alan could see the glint of his helmet. His head

passed within feet of Alan's face. But he did not look

around or shoulder any weapon. An evening stroller,

Alan decided.



At first he thought only of slipping by the man,

though he felt sure he would be forced to fight before

the night was over. But then a desperate plan came to

Alan's mind. He remembered the robber's fingers on

his throat, the blackness which had quickly followed,

and he felt certain that he could do as much. He crept

forward on me stony rubble as his quarry wandered

back in his direction. Then, when the man's face was

only inches from his own, Alan struck like an eagle and

gripped with all his strength. The guard gave a small,

questioning sound, struggled a moment and then went

limp. Alan swung himself down from the wall and

sank to the ground beside his prey, thankful for the

shadows and the silence of the night.
He hastily stripped the guard of his helmet, breast-

plate and gloves. He slipped them on, and the man's

cloak, not daring to be more elaborate. Briefly, he won-

dered what to do with the guard. Slit his throat, like a

downed deer? Cursing under his breath, Alan found

that he could not bring himself to kill so coolly. He

gagged the man with a strip of shirting, and bound him

hand and foot with bootlacings-



In a few minutes a quaking guard entered the door

to the White Tower, head down under his helmet and

keeping well away from the torch stuck in a sconce be-

side the entrance. "Ah, Joe, feeling better?" cried the



The Forest              23



doorkeeper cheerfully. Alan gestured in the manner of

one who is not feeling well at all, and fled into the inner

darkness.



Furtively, Alan peeked into the cells on the ground

floor. Groans greeted him; he could discern nothing

but suffering. The stench of the place was terrible, and

he hastily made his way up the spiral stairs to the next

level. Near the top ,a door was ajar. Alan peered cau-
tiously around the doorjamb. In a small, bare room was

a table, and on the table stood a tallow candle. The

candlelight shone on a heavy ring of iron keys which

hung from the wall. But between Alan and the keys a

burly guard sat at ease with his back to the door.



Alan flexed his hands, steeling himself to throttle

another guard. Then he realized that even if he could

find Hal, it would take him half the night to find the

right key. There were perhaps a hundred on the ring.

He felt for his hunting dagger, drew it from the leather

scabbard and felt its razor-sharp edge. Then he moved.



Chapter Three



Hal sat in the filthy straw of his cell, chained to its

clammy stone wall by leg and wrist irons. His face was

swollen and his ribs ached where they had beaten him.

But he scarcely noticed his injuries, for he fully real-

ized that in the near future he was likely to face far

worse. He could see only a choice between death and

a fate worse than death: lifelong dishonor of a type

Alan could not suspect. But Hal clung to hope. While

life remained, there was a chance of escape, as he

knew from his past. Though to escape from such a
stronghold not once, but twice, was far beyond the

bounds of what he thought his luck would bear.



He heard approaching footsteps, and stiffened in

surprise and fear. Surely they would not be coming for

him alreadyl But footsteps stopped at his cell door, and

a cold voice said, "Open it." Despair washed over Hal;



he struggled to conceal it. Two guards were coming

through the door, the first a stocky man with a can-

dle and a strangely pale face, the second—Hal's jaw

dropped; surprise and joy flooded him like morning

sunlight It was Alan, but an Alan be had never seen.

His usually friendly, open face was set in ruthless

lines. He spoke again in that voice Hal had not recog-

nized: "Free him, or you die." His knife nudged the

guard's ribs.



24



The forest             25



Hal felt his arms freed, then his legs. He rolled out of

the way, rubbing his numbed limbs. He could not stand

up. but he was able to hold the fetters while Alan locked

them on his own prisoner, Alan gagged the guard before
he slipped his knife back into its leather sheath.



Instantly he turned to Hal and grasped his hand in

concern, ail traces of the alien hardness gone from his

face. They met each other's eyes in silence for a moment

before Alan helped Hal to his feet. Pain shot through his

legs as be tried to straighten himself. "There," Hal gasped

finally. "I am all right Did Arundel come to you?"



"Ay," said Alan. "Can you walk, Hal?*'



"In a moment I shall be able to."



Alan divested the guard of his helmet, breastplate and

cloak, then helped Hal buckle them on. The things were

rather large. "Could you not find me a better fit?" Hal

grumbled in mock displeasure, and for the first time that

night Alan broke his tension with a smile. They took the

candle and left the cell. The hapless guard glared after

them. Alan locked the door and threw the keys through

the grating into the straw of the cell, well out of reach of

the prisoner.



'That might puzzle them for a while," he said, and

smiled again.
"Keep your hands under the cloak," he instructed Hal

as they moved down the corridor. "Keep your face in the

shadow of the helmet, and do not let the torchlight fall

on your legs." He left the candle in the guardroom, frown-

ing with thought. "The doorkeeper we can silence, if need

be, for he is alone. But the walls—it puzzles me what to

do."



"How did you get in?" asked Hal logically.

"Climbed the cliff."



"Mighty Mothersi" whispered Hal. "We had better try

the gate, since we are disguised."



The moon was darkened as they came to the door-

Hal and Alan saw apprehensively that the doorkeeper

was chatting with a guard. But, engrossed in their con-

versation, the two men gave them only a glance and a

nod as they passed out. In the dark and the flickering

torchlight it was hard for them to see more than a flash

of helmet and breastplate.



"So far, well enough," whispered Alan when they were

halfway across the courtyard. "Pace like a guard, Hal."
26



THE SILVER SUN



It was by now well past midnight, and the watch was

tired. The dozing sentries took no notice as they strode

under the stone archway beneath the castle gatehouse. As

quietly as they could, they unbarred the heavy wooden

doors and spread them wide. The drawbridge was in place

over the ditch, Hal noted gratefully; that unwieldy mech-

anism took many men to turn. Nothing stood in their way

except the spiked, iron-shod portcullis, Alaa ducked into

the gatekeeper's room and started to winch it up. The

noise quickly brought several surprised guards.



"What's afoot?" asked the first.



Hal blocked, without seeming to block, the gatehouse

door. 'Visitors," he said gruffly. "King Iscovar himself.

Should be here any moment."



"You cannot be seriousl" protested the guard. Most of

his fellows headed back toward the battlements, chatter-

ing excitedly. Hal only shrugged as Alan, done hauling

on the portcullis, stepped to his side.
"Come see for yourself," he barked, and moved toward

the opening. Two guards, and Alan, followed.



But as they reached the outer arch, the fickle moon

came out from behind her cloud and shone brightly on

their faces. The guards Jumped back and shouted an

alarm. "Run, Hal!" cried Alan, whipping out his sword.

But Hal had no intention of running, though he bad no

weapon. As a guard lunged at him, Hal slipped under his

thrust and grasped his wrist, forcing the sword from his

hand. Hal wrestled the man to the ground, picked up the

dropped weapon and stunned him with the hilt. Alan had

his man backed up against the wall, battling bravely but

clumsily with his thick-bladed sword. As Hal watched,

Alan's slender weapon worked its way through the guard's



defense and stabbed him in the throat. He gurgled and

fell.



Other guards were running toward them, shouting. Hal

and Alan fled over the drawbridge toward the town. Some

arrows followed them from the walls, and the guards

pounded after them, but the fugitives ran faster. They

gained the shelter of the houses and sped along the twist-

ing streets, finally stopping in the shadows of an alley.
"Let us rid ourselves of this gear," panted Alan. "It

does us no good now, but marks us."



His voice was tight. Hal touched his hand inquiringly.

"By the Moon Mother, I had to kill him!" Alan burst



The Forest               27



out "1 had never killed a man, Hal. . . . Can you under-

stand?"



"I understand," said Hal with new respect. It was a

rare man, in those savage times, who did not take life

lightly.



"Keep that sword," Alan added grimly.



Hal tucked the hacking sword through his belt, and

they moved on. They ran softly in their deerskin boots

through the tangled streets, choosing the darkest ways,

heading toward the town gate even though they knew it

would be closed. Twice they heard hoofbeats and

crouched in the shadows until the riders had passed. At

last they came near the gate. But as they approached the
main street, they suddenly heard lordsmen, quite close, to

their right They started away, but then heard others ap-

proaching from the left and from behind. Too late they

realized that they had been driven, like cattle, to be

trapped against high walls. No shadow would now be left

unsearched.



Alan bit his lip. "Come," he said. "Quickly."



He led Hal through a crooked maze of back entries,

stopping at last at a door near some barrels. To Hal's as-

tonishment, he knocked softly. "Grandmotheri" he called

under his breath. "Margeriel I have need of youl"



Presently the door was opened by the elderly dame,

carrying a rushlight and blinking sleepily. She hurried

them into the house, cackling with consternation, bustling

to get cold towels and salves for Hal's injured face. The

house was tightly shuttered, as Alan had been careful to

note. No light would show. The old lady gabbled away,

brushing off explanations and showing no interest in the

lordsmen who passed close by the house. Hal eyed her

narrowly over a bowl of excellent soup. Something in the

quality of his gaze touched her composure, and her flood

of gossip faltered to a stop.
"You are no fool, though you pretend to be," mused

Hal admiringly. "I thank you greatly for your help."



"Almost anyone in this town would have done the

same," she retorted defiantly. "We bear small love for our

proud lord and his men. Our sons feel their whips, and

our daughters their lust. It will be a great blow to their

insolence, and the jest of the town, if you and your brother

escape."



28 THE SILVER SUN



Alan was grinning in wonder. "I'll warrant you knew

what I was about all the time."



"I had a notion," she acknowledged, smiling.

"But grandmother," Alan added, "I have no brother."

"I would have sworn from the first that you were broth-

ers!'* she insisted.



The two looked at each other, smiled and shook their

heads. Hal changed the subject. "Grandmother, we must

be over the wall before dawn. You have helped us till

now. Help us in this."
She frowned. "They will still be looking for you. But

if you are to beat the dawn, I dare say you must go."



She gave them directions, and they gratefully took their

leave. "It may be that you will meet us again, if we live,"

Hal told the peculiar old woman. "Remember us, I pray

you." And he kissed her withered cheek. Then they went

out again, into the shadows.



The moon was low as they slipped away. A certain

house, Margerie had told them, built against the town

wall, could be climbed, and the occupants would not raise

the alarm. Her instructions helped them avoid their pur-

suers, but nearly doubled the distance. Though they moved

quickly, it was almost dawn when they came to their

destination.



They climbed rapidly but as quietly as they could on

the heavily thatched roof. They knew that not a quarter

of a mile away, at the town gates, the castle guards and

lordsmen were gathered. By the time they reached the

peak of the roof, the black sky had turned to gray. Hal

stood on Alan's shoulders and pulled himself up onto the

wall, then hoisted Alan up beside him. Keeping low, they

hastily slipped over the outer edge and dropped to the

grass twenty feet below.
They could not take time to catch their breath after

the impact. They ran, panting, to the copse where, they

hoped, the horses waited. No alarm followed them; the

gray dusk of dawn had served to hide them from sight.

Arun welcomed his master with a Joyful snort, and Alfie

had not so much as pulled his tether. Both youths thank-

fully took saddle.



"My sword," said Hal.

"It was in the blanketroll."



"I know," Hal replied tensely. "They stuck it there

when they were casting lots for it. But it's not there now."



The Forest               29



Alan gaped. "It could not have fallen," he protested

at last, "or not without my hearing it. ... I never thought

to secure it, in my hurry."



Hal said no more. Silently the pair turned their horses

and drifted away like ghosts in the morning fog. They

picked their way with care, keeping woodland between

themselves and Whitewater. But once they were out of
sight of the town, they touched heels to their horses and

galloped toward the Forest.



"Did you get your herbs?" Alan asked, suddenly re-

membering Corin.



Hal only shook his head, looking grim. But when they

clattered into the camp, before the sun was well up, they

found it deserted. Some hunks of raw meat sat in Hal's

kettle near the ashes of the fire, and the deer bones lay

strewn where Alan had left them. Nothing else was there.



"Where is the smith who was sick enough to die?"

Alan wondered aloud.



"He and his son can't have gone far," Hal said crossly.

**Hide that offal—nay, I'll do it. Have a look around."



"Why?" Alan picked up the kettle. "We can't help

them any more than we have already."



"Because the young rascal has my sword, AlanI Find



theml"



But Corin and his father were nowhere nearby. Several
cycles told Alan that. He rejoined Hal, smarting in-

wardly because of the loss of the sword.



'There were traces near the ford," he reported evenly.



"They've gone north then, as the boy said. All right,

let us be after them." Hal vaulted onto Arundel, but

Alan stood still.



"Better to go westward, into the Forest," he argued.

'The lordsmen will be hot after us, and we'fl be easy

game on the open Waste."



Hal leaned on his saddle, staring at his comrade. "You

are right," he said softly, "but nevertheless I must go

after my sword."



"How do you know that Corin has it?" Alan cried, furi-

ous because he suspected the boy himself. "Anyway, you

have a weapon. You cannot go poking around, hunting

that boy, when half the castle will be out after us! Are

you mad?"



"Perhaps." Hal smiled a crooked smile. "I have some-
30



THE SILVER SUN



times wondered. Even so, I must go north." He turned

away. "Are you coming?"



"Why not?" snapped Alan. With this new challenge,

his mood had swung like a pendulum from frightened to

reckless. Still, he spoke bitterly. "I have already courted

death a dozen times since I last slept, for your sake.

Once more is of small importance."



Hal keenly felt the justice of the reproach, and bit hia

lip to stop the stinging of his eyes. He stiffened his back

and sent Anindel down the twisting path to the Ford of

Romany. Alan and Alfie followed close behind. The

horses edged their way across the treacherous ford, snort-

ing, then plunged wide-eyed up the opposite bank.



Within a few furlongs, the Forest dwindled into patches

of stunted trees, and then into true Waste, where only

sparse grass and occasional bushes grew. There was poor

tracking on this stony turf, and no sign of Corin and his

father. Also, Alan had not overestimated the danger of

pursuit. He and Hal had not been riding an hour before
they were seen. With a shout, six patrollers were after

them. But Arundel and Alfie were swift. They sped off

toward the west, and by midday not a lordsman was in

sight behind them.



Still, Hal and Alan did not dare to stop until they had

reached the sheltering Forest. All day they galloped over

the high, rocky plain and said no word. Alan, though not

easily angered, was stubborn in his wrath. His face had

gone as stony as the Waste, and Hal glanced at him and

kept silence. Even when the blue-green mass of the For-

est welcomed them in the distance, they gave no sign.



They entered the Forest at last in the gray dusk, and

camped near a rocky upland stream. Supper was cooked

and eaten without a word. Evidently Hal was distressed,

for he ate lightly, dropped things and poked at the fire.

But Alan was not yet ready to break his punitive silence.

Finally, Hal threw a stone into the fire and abruptly asked

a peculiar question.



"Alan. Is your birthday on the first of May?"



Alan's jaw dropped, and he was startled into response.

"Ay! But how in the world—"
Hal interrupted him. "So is mine. And I think we are

the same age. Seventeen?"



Alan nodded. Hal spoke rapidly, with lowered eyes:



"There are many things I should have told you when we

first rode together, if you were to follow me. ... I feared

to cause you pain, but now you have followed me blindly,

and it has made you angry. I had better show you some-

thing of myself, Alan,"



As he finished he slipped off his tunic, and Alan cried

out in shock. Hal's entire torso was covered with scars,

mutilated into a texture like a tapestry of suffering. The

marks of whips scored him, and brands from hot irons,

and the white, unheaHng lines of canes. If Alan had ever

been vexed with him, he had forgotten it now. Without



31



32



THE SILVER SUN



realizing he had moved, he was around the fire and kneel-
ing before him, grasping those wounded shoulders. "Who

did this to you?" he choked, in a tone between rage and

despair. "Tell me, and I will kill him, I swear it!"



"Softly," whispered Hal, much moved. "Softly, good

friend. He is far beyond your reach, or mine."



Alan sat down, breathing hard. As his boiling blood

cooled somewhat, he realized how he had assailed the



wall of secrecy that had always surrounded Hal. He at-

tempted to withdraw.



"I spoke hastily," he began. But Hal stopped him with

a smile.



"Of all men that walk the land, I love you best," Hal

stated, with dignity that allowed for no embarrassment.

"I have known so since we met, and I do not wish to have



any secrets from you. . . . But bear with me, for this is

painful to me."



Hal slowly put on his tunic, lacing it tight before he

continued. "I had better get the worst over with first.
Those wounds you saw were given to me by order of my

father."



"Your father!"



Hal nodded. "There is no great love between us," he

said wryly. "The man is a fiend." He forced the words

out, straining. "His name is Iscovar. And he sits on the

throne of the Kingdom of Isle."



For Alan, it was as if the night sky had fallen in.

Everything went black, pierced by flashes like falling

stars. Involuntarily his whole body stiffened, and he drew

back as if he had seen a serpent- His Jaw clenched as he

stared in horror at this gray-eyed youth whom he had

thought to be his friend.



Hal cried out as if he were in physical pain. "Alan, do

not look at me so! By my wounds, I would rather be the

most pitiful beggar m all of Isle than the son of that

man!" He covered his face with his hands and bowed his

head, moaning like a child who has lost the only warmth

he has ever known.



Alaa went to him at once. No force of will or of men's
bidding could have kept him away. Putting his arms

around Hal, he spoke to him brokenly.



"I am all amazement and confusion. You should be my

bitterest enemy. Yet I know you, what you are: the best

man I have ever known, and the best friend. I do not



The Forest               33



know how it can be that such crop sprang from such seed.

But it is so."



Gratefully, shakily, Hal touched his hand. They sat in

silence, collecting their thoughts.



Alan had good cause to hate the name of Iscovar.

King of Isle. In former times, folk said. Isle had been like

a paradise. Every man served his own gods and tilled his

own land, and the deer grazed up to the cottage doors.

There were kings and chieftains, to be sure. but their

warriors were their comrades, and their people were their

kin. When they fought, it was the high, free strife of

which the bards used to sing. But for the most part they

kept the peace of the High King, who rode the land with

his magical sword.
Then the invaders had sailed in from the east, and not

even the mighty sword had been proof against them. It

was undone by sorcery, folk said, or thrown into the sea.

With ruthless force the Easterners raped Isle by way of

the Black River, slaying the chieftains and herding the

folk like so many cattle. So the people became slaves

to the manor lords, seldom free to tend their own poor

plots. And though great tracts were cleared, and the

ground as fertile as it had ever been, hunger and disease

stalked the land.



The Easterners came in the name of their god, the Sa-

cred Son, and many were the warlocks and priests in

their ranks. The leader was named Herne; he called him-

self the Sacred King. He divided the conquered land

among his captains, and with every new lord went a

priest. To people who had suffered, these spoke of the

sanctity of torment, and many believed them, for their

magic was strong. Only in the west and north Heme

could not take hold. In these mountainous parts lived a

proud, fierce people, scions of tribal Kings and the an-

cient Mothers. They could defend their rocky land for-

ever against the invaders. So, since no great wealth

seemed hidden in these barren parts, Herne left them to

their denizens.
The Sacred King built his castle by the Black River,

and in it a tower that came to be the terror of all the

land. There Heme imprisoned those who had displeased

him, so that their agonies might ease the torments of the

Sacred Son. Polk called it the Dark Tower, or the Tower

of Despair; everyone knew the place that was meant.



34 THE SILVER SUN



Seven generations passed. Herne gave way to Hervyn,

to Heinin, Hent, luchar, Idno and Iscovar. The invaders

had abandoned their harsh, guttural language, by and

large, for the gentler speech of Isle. Some wed Islandais

women, and here and there a lord ruled who was Just,

even kind, to his folk. Such lords were likely to be

quickly overthrown by their more ruthless neighbors. Like

their despotic Kings, most lords remained cruel.



But in the southwest of Isle, in meadow-ringed Laueroc,

one such line of kindly lords had grown very powerful

indeed. Perhaps Laueroc's people were akin to the war-

like folk of Welas, the West Land lhat lay Just beyond the

Gleaming River, where the Blessed Kings still ruled in

Welden. The folk of Laucroc looked often that way, and
they loved their lords. Their armies were always victors,

but never aggressors.



King Iscovar, however, had turned his attention to the

west. He had captured the gentle lord of Laueroc, spir-

ited him to the Dark Tower and placed one of his hench-

men in his stead. And years earlier, by treachery, he had

conquered proud Welas. That kingdom also now must

bend the knee before Iscovar and his heirs.



"Your given name is Hervoyel, then," Alan mused, still

grappling with disbelief.



"Don't call me that. My mother always called me Hal."



Alan knew well, as did everyone in Isle, the story of

Hal's mother. She was Gwynllian, daughter of the royal

house of Welas, a tall maiden with hair the color of au-

tumn forests and eyes the stormy gray-green of the au-

tumn sea. Through many lands she was famed for her

beauty. When Iscovar came with his vast armies and laid

siege to Welden, he offered peace on one condition: that

she should be his bride. He knew that her son would be

heir to the throne of Welas, for the West Land reck-

oned lineage in the old way, through the woman.
Torre, the Blessed King, Gwynllian's father, saw no

hope for victory, but left the choice to her. Though bitter

at her fate, she was proud to be the means of peace for

her people. She was wed within the week. No sooner did

Iscovar have her well away than his troops turned to

take Welden and the whole of Welas. Torre, with his

sons, fled to hiding in the mountains. The commanders of

the army became the manor lords of Welas, and a noble



The forest              35



named Uiger became known as the Wolf of Welden. Is-

covar went on with his bride to his castle at Nemeton.



"What did he—what did Iscovar call you, Hal?"



"Nothing. Not once in my life has he ever spoken to me

by any name."



"Was there not a time," asked Alan gently, "when you

were very young, perhaps, that he—favored you in some

way... ."



"Never."
Hal went on to explain, as best he could, how he had

lived in the court of Iscovar, King of Isle. It was a jungle

of intrigue, theft, bribery, extortion and petty cruelty. He

had no friends. The boys with whom he took his schooling,

sons of his father's henchmen, liked to torment him with

their various forms of senseless hostility. He learned early

that he must take care of himself. He was strong, and he

soon became a skillful, quick-witted fighter, with or with-

out weapons. Yet, though he taught the school bullies to

let him alone, he never fought except in defense.



This was his mother's influence; she had taught him to

love peace and singing. Hal and his mother were very

close, and kept much to themselves. They avoided the

King, They had two faithful servants who had come from

Welas with Gwynllian: an old nursemaid, Nana, and her

husband, Rhys. The rest of the hundreds of servants in

the castle they could not trust. Many of them were spies

bribed by the various lords, or by the King himself, to

spy on the lords' spies.



"When we could, we fed the widows and orphans that

the King had created," said Hal bitterly, "and provided

for the care of the poor, maimed wretches that emerged

from his Dark Tower, Certainly he knew what we were

doing, but he said nothing.' It is not his way to speak—
only to torment.



"So, on my sixteenth birthday, my mother died. I was

out practicing in the yard when Rhys shouted for me, and

I ran in to find her in writhing torment. She grasped for

me, and tried desperately to speak, but could not. She

died in my arms. Obviously she had been poisoned, but

no one could say by whom. The next day, with little cere-

mony, she was buried. The King did not come.



"The following day, Rhys was seized in order to be

flogged, then killed by the bowmen for target practice. I

swallowed my pride and went to the King, begging for his



36



THE SILVER SUN



life. He flew into a rage at what he called my insolence,

and I was taken to the Tower. I am sure now that poor

Rhys's death was only for this purpose, to torment me.

The condition of my release was that I should sign a writ

of obedience to the King. Even he knew that I would not

break my word. When I refused to sign, I was hung in

chains by my wrists and flogged. There was no daylight in
that hole, but I think this went on for two days and nights.

From time to time they varied the treatment with canes,

or clubs, or burning irons, but the effect was the same."



Alan looked sick, and Hal reached out to him. "Indeed,

it was not as bad as it could have been. I was the heir to

the throne, and the King had need. of me if his vassals

were to serve him. So he could not have me blinded, or

castrated, or maimed. . . . They simply flogged me. After

a while it became apparent that I was growing indifferent

to the flogging and that they would have to try something

else, so they took me down."



Hal paused to steady himself before he continued.

"What they did next could only have come from the mind

of the fiend himself. They brought before me a goodly

man, handsome, near middle age but powerful and trim

of body. They told me that he was to be tortured, slowly,

to the death, unless I put a stop to it by signing the King's

writ. At this he cried out, "Do not heed them, my Prince!"

They hit him across the face to silence him, and the blood

ran down from the comer of his mouth. I stared, for to

my knowledge I had never seen him before.



"They started the tortures. After a while it seemed that

he was senseless, and they left the room. He spoke to me
at once, urging me never to give in to the King, but to es-

cape him and fight him if I could. For, as he said, I was

the only hope of the people of Isle. In wonder, then, I

asked him his name, and he told me: Leuin, seventh lord

of Laueroc."



Alan gasped sharply, and Hal faced him with pity in

his eyes- "Your father, Alan?"



"Ay," Alan managed to say. "Is he—is he—" He could

not say the word.



"Ay," replied Hal softly. "He is dead."



Alan groaned and lay back in the grass, breathing hard.

After a few minutes he spoke. "In my mind, I knew he

was dead. But in my heart, I always hoped that by some

chance he was yet alive."



The Forest                37



He sat up. "Tell me what they did to him," he de-

manded, fists clenched.



"Oh, by any god, Alan, nay!" Hal pleaded. "Remem-
ber him as he was! This much I will tell you: never once

did his courage fail him. For five days and nights, as

nearly as I can tell, they tortured him with every fiendish

machine in that dark place of horrors, but always he was

steadfast in his endurance." Hal spoke like one who, in

spite of himself, must yet relive a bad dream. "If I cried

out with him in his agony, or turned away my head, I

was flogged. But the worst of it was that they tortured

him even more cruelly then, thinking I would weaken. So

I learned, for his sake more than for mine, to sit, and

watch, and make no sign, though my blood ran cold. They

let him keep his tongue, hoping that he would plead with

me for his life, and they sometimes left us alone together

for this purpose. But instead he always encouraged me.

He told me that he was ready to die, that any life the

King granted him would not be worth the living. He urged

roe, as before, never to yield to the King. And he spoke

often of you, Alan. 'I have a son,' he would say, 'just your

age, born on the day of your birth. His name is Alan, and

you and he are much alike in many ways, I think. I have

sent him to safety with kinsfolk in the north, and I hope

he may strike a blow for my people someday. He is a bold

lad, and great of heart. I do not mind dying, so long as I

know he is alive.' "



"He spoke of me thus?" said Alan shakily.
"He spoke of you thus, more than once." Hal was si-

lent a moment before he went on. "When they saw he

would soon be dead, they put him to death in a way that

they hoped would break my spirit. They tore him limb

from limb on the rack. His last words were to me, and

they were these: *A11 good go with you, Hal. Be brave.

And if ever you see my son, tell him that I love him.'"



Alan choked and turned away, hiding his face with his

hands. Hal put his arms around him, and at last Alan

gave in to his grief, weeping long and hard, as he had not

wept since he was a child. When he could speak, his

words were as bitter as his tears. "We parted in wrath

on my side, sorrow on his," be said. "He would not tell

me why he was sending me north, and I did not want to

go. It was not until I had arrived that I learned he had



38



THE SILVER SUN



been taken 8y the King. I never had a chance to tell

him...." His voice broke, and he could not go on.
"He knew your love," comforted Hal softly. "He



needed no telling. Always he spoke of you with great Joy

and pride."



Alan got up and went to wash his face in the stream.

Hal put more sticks on the fire. When Alan returned, he

looked as pale as if he had himself been through torture.

"How did you get out?" he asked in a low voice.



"When they killed him on the rack, I fainted—not for

the first time. This time, when I awoke, I was alone,

curled up on some filthy straw in a little cell. I suppose

they had not yet decided what to do with me next In

the cell wall was a small, barred window. Looking out,

I saw the full moon rising, shining on the ivy that cov-

ered the tower walls. In that instant I knew what I must

do.



"I was very weak, but my worst weakness was not of

the body. I felt that my spirit was almost gone, that I

could not hold out much longer. And so, although I could

scarcely stand, I somehow managed by strength of des-

peration—perhaps by some good sorcery, from where I

do not know—to force apart the bars enough to let nay

body through. I climbed down the Tower wall by grasp-
ing the ivy. Once down, I stumbled to the stables;



Arundel broke his halter to come to me. I somehow got

on his back, and we were off. I think we traveled for

three days, but most of the time I knew nothing. I had

no idea where we were until we came to the Forest, and

to Trigg, one of the outlaws with Craig the Grim."



Hal smiled, remembering that lucky meeting. "Trigg is

a slow country fellow, but he has a heart as big as the

sky. He was nearly in tears with coaxing Arundel when

I came to myself. After I spoke to Arun, he got me to

camp at last, and the outlaws cared for me well. . . .

But it was a month before I could stand, and late autumn

before I had regained my full strength. So I stayed



through the winter with them, and finally left them early

this past spring."



Hal and Alan were walking up and down the banks of

the stream, talking softly, arms around each other's shoul-

ders. Though they had not rested since Hal's capture, nei-

ther had any thought of sleep.



"I had been traveling about a month when I met you,"
The Forest               39



Hal finished. "But how did you come to be wandering?"



"Some of my father's retainers took me to my mother's

kinsfolk, near Rodsen," replied Alan. "Then they went

their ways, to find service where they might. But my

mother's people feared the King's wrath. They shunted

me from one household to another throughout the winter,

until I was glad enough to relieve them of my presence,

with the coming of spring. I had some notion of going

back to Laueroc for revenge, though I did not feel really

ready to get myself killed. . . . But the robbers interrupted

my journey before I was much farther south than Gaunt.

"Tell me, Hal, when did you suspect who I was?"



"When you told me your name," Hal smiled. "For I

knew before then that you were brave, steadfast in suf-

fering like only one man I had ever met—and you look

like him, Alan. And Leon Aleron, whose sword you wear,

was your cousin, was he not? And Alfie, Alf Longshanks,

was your great-great-grandfather, who won himself a will-

ful bride—"



"Ay, the lady Deona, fair as gold and stubborn as steel.
Lauerocs since then have all looked like her, folk say."



"So I could have asked you your birthday weeks ago,"

Hal went on, "and discharged my duty to your father. I

told myself I would not, for you were not yet well. But

in truth, Alan, I did not speak because—because I was

afraid."

"How so?'*



"Afraid that you would hate me," admitted Hal, with

lowered eyes.



"And why would I hate you?" asked Alan dryly.

"For two reasons. First, because the blood runs in my

veins of the vilest man, the greatest ill-doer, in all of Isle.

Second, because I could have saved your father's life,

and did not."



Alan snorted. "Even supposing that the King kept his

word, what sort of life would he have given my father?

The width of a cell for pacing? He would have pined like

a caged eagle. He felt pent even in Laueroc, roaming

oftener than he was home. . . . And as for your tainted

blood," Alan continued warmly, "I tell you what I have

often wished in the past weeks, and still do: I wish that
Ket and the others were right, and that you were my

brother in truth. For I tell you, I love you well, and I



40        THE SILVER SUN



would be proud if your blood, of which you speak so



poorly, ran in my veins."

Hal ducked his head, unable to speak for emotion.



Finally, softly, he asked, "Is this truly your wish, or but



a manner of speaking?"

"This is my wish."

"Then," Hal said slowly, "there is a way."



"How?" Alan demanded.

*'My mother, as you know, was Welandais. She taught



me the language and customs of the west land. Indeed,

Welas is the home of my heart, though I have never been

there. It is the law there that, if two men wish to become

brothers, they settle this between themselves through a

ceremony they perform. They are then forever afterward



considered to be brothers, in law and in love."
"What is this ceremony?" asked Alan eagerly.

Hal took a deep breath. "Each man takes a sharp

knife, and nicks the vein of his comrade's left wrist, here,

where the heart's blood flows nearest the surface. It must

be skillfully done, or one might die; therefore great trust is

required of those who undertake this ceremony. Then the

wrists are pressed tightly together, so that the two bloods

mingle and are one, and oaths are taken, such as are seen

fit. Thus the two men are made brothers. The word for

it in Welandais is belledas, meaning 'blood brother,*

whereas the word for 'natural brother" is mollendas.

Blood brothers are held not only in equality to natural



brothers, but in an honor of their own."



Alan read the longing in Hal's eyes, and he knew that

the same desire brightened his own. "Let us do it, Hal,"



he said.



In a few minutes they knelt on the bank of the stream,



with bandages and hunting knives at hand. They bared

their left arms to the elbow and laid the wrists side by

side as Hal directed. Each grasped his knife with his right
hand, and faced the other in the moonlight.

"I am loath to hurt you," whispered Alan.

"Of all my wounds, I shall have one that I cherish,"



answered Hal. "Fear not for me. Are you ready?"



Alan nodded. In one moment each tapped the stream

of the other's life, and at once they pressed their two wrists

tightly together, so that their blood ran down and dripped



from their elbows.

Hal spoke huskily, reciting words dimly remembered



The Forest                 41



from his study of Welandais lore. "As our blood mingles

in our veins and becomes as one, so let our thoughts and

our lives mingle and become as one."



"Let us be brothers," responded Alan quietly, "in blood

end in love and in law."



"So let it be written," Hal said as if speaking to him-

self, "in Dot Solden. Even unto the closing of the Age."



"So let it be written," said Alan firmly, "in our hearts.
Is there any more need of words between us, brother?"



Hal looked into those brave blue eyes which gazed

at him in joyous affection, and suddenly he knew that

seventeen years of loneliness were at last over. He wept,

and as Alan held him in a one-armed hug, his tears mois-

tened the drying blood on their clasped arms.



Later, they bandaged each other in matching white

wristlets, smiling, aware of their absurdity but not em-

barrassed between themselves. They talked for hours,

lazily, of Alan's loss and Hal's burden. It no longer hurt

to speak of these things.



Dawn was breaking before they unrolled their blankets

and lay down. Hal fell asleep at once, like an exhausted

and happy child, but Alan lay for a while looking at him.

Much of the mystery of Hal was unfolding to him. So his

comrade was a Prince! Hal's moodiness, his air of com-

mand, his self-possession and sense of purpose were all

understandable in light of that fact. Moreover, he was

of the royal Welandais blood! Even to Alan, pragmatist

that he was, the name of Welas rang with a mystic sum-

mons. The Blessed Kings of Welas spoke with elves, folk

said. Alan smiled, as he always did, at the ignorant super-
stitions of the peasantry. Still, he knew that the rulers of

Welas were credited with a kind of second sight, an almost

eerie wisdom. And their folk were something of a marvel.

The Welandais were peaceloving, tuneful people; yet when

war was forced upon them there were no fiercer fighters.

Only by treachery, and by the use of armies ten times

their force, did Iscovar at last succeed in subduing them.



Alan felt sure that something of the peculiar Welandais

temperament was involved in a portion of his conversa-

tion with Hal—a tiny detail, yet it was often on his mind.

He had asked Hal the meaning of that strange phrase,

Dot Solden, that he had used in his oath of blood brother-

hood.



"The Book of Suns," Hal had explained. "It is a con-



42



THE SILVER SUN



cept, like that of fate. In it are supposed to be written the

events of men's days, their lifetimes, the ages of their

history. One could call it the book of life."



Alan had always been impatient with the esoteric, and
this bordered on the nonsensical. "Well, if it is the book of

life," he had retorted scornfully, "then why is it called

The Book of Suns?" A slightly pained look had washed

across Hal's face, and Alan had said at once, "Never

mind; forget it." But Hal had stared with knit brows, eyes

puzzled and distant, like someone trying to recall a dream

lost with morning's rising. "I don't know," he had mut-

tered at last, more to himself than Alan. "I don't know."

It bad taken minutes to bring him out of his trance. Re-

membering the incident, Alan sighed, thinking of the

strangeness that flickered behind the misty veil of Hal's



eyes.



Indeed, he should have guessed before now that the



blood of Welas ran in Hal's veins. And now in his own,

Alan reflected with sober joy. He, like Hal, was an only

child, and though his youth had been filled with family

and companions there had been something missing. Now

he had a friend and a brother such as come to few men

in a lifetime, and he was glad. He knew that be loved

Hal even more than he had loved his father. Still, even

now he did not entirely know who it was that be loved,

Was it a warlock, whose spells froze enemies and bent
prison bars? If it was, Hal himself did not know his own

power, Alan believed. But he felt that Hal was something

more than sorcerer, something more than Prince, comrade

or brother, and that something made him sigh. Something

in those cloudy gray eyes saddened him. Hal had said that

he would hold no secrets from his brother; but there was

a secret in him, nevertheless.



It was early afternoon when they awoke and eyed each

other with half-humorous smiles. "I have not yet thanked

you for saving my life," Hal remarked.



"Forget that." Alan was surprised to find himself red-

dening. "There is no need of such words between us,

brother."



"There never was, even before yesterday." Hal knelt,

fussing with the fire. "But nevertheless, Alan, I am

ashamed. You freed me from a stronghold at great risk to

yourself, and all I could find to say was, where is my

sword."



Alan had to laugh, hearing his own sentiments so

neatly mirrored. "Well, you have need of a noble

weapon," he conceded. "How were you taken, Hal?"
"Dreaming," Hal admitted with a grimace. "Or think-

ing more of Corin than of the road. . . . Arundel tried to

warn me, but I blundered right into the lordsmen. They

knocked me down before I had a chance to draw a

weapon. Then they tied me up and knelt to cast lots for

my horse and gear. I had told Arundel not to fight; the

odds were too great. But one of them held him slackiy,

like a palfrey, and I shouted at him to go. He broke

away easily. And that," Hal added, grinning, "is when

they started beating me."



43



44 THE SILVER SUN



"I thought as much," Alan said. "I thought you could

not be taken knowingly. Well, I suppose we shall have to

be off after your sword."



"Not today. I am exhausted, and the day is half spent."



Alan felt the same, utterly fatigued, though more from

emotion than from exertion. So they tended their horses

and hung their blankets up to air, and ate the meat that

Corin had left them.
"What is the lineage of the sword?" Alan asked. He

was still trying to understand Hal's recklessness in tak-

ing them onto the Waste.



"I don't know. Trigg gave it to me." Hal smiled sheep-

ishly. "I am loath to lose his gift."



"And also," Alan ventured, "you had some plan in

coming north?"



"At first I rode north to put more distance between

myself and Nemeton. , . . Now I am worried about Corin.

And I need to explore, to find friends and learn to know

my land. . . . But my plans are more like dreams, Alan."



'Tell me."



"I thought to circle Isle from east to west . . . and of

course I must go to Welas," Hal added with a faraway

look in his eyes. "I have kinsfolk there, whom I have

never known."



"And Iscovar?"



Hal sighed. "Well, I shall not have to be a father-
slayer, Alan. The One be praised, that nightmare at least

is kept from me. Within four years, the King should be

dead of the disease that feeds upon lust. When I was not

yet sixteen I knew this from my mother, who knew it

from the royal physician. He told her then, five years,

and one of those has gone by while I lived with Craig the

Grim. So if I am to be King—and make my people some

amends for the horrors of my forebears—I must have my

bid ready in time.



"I have two great advantages over my enemies. One,

that they do not know of this illness of the King. The

secret is well kept, as you can imagine, or already the

great lords would be worrying at Iscovar's throat instead

of fawning at his feet. The second advantage is that they

do not know I am out of the Tower. If they realized how

far I am from the throne and the royal armies, they

would have already moved to the kill and commenced

quarreling over the spoils. So the King keeps that secret



The Forest              45



as well, though you may be sure he searches for me

diligently.
"You saved me from a more horrible fate than you

knew, Alan, when you spirited me out of that smelly

tower of Gar's. Like all the great lords, he came to court

often; Iscovar insists on such attentions. So he knows me,

and if he had once seen me I would have become his

pawn and prisoner, eternally dishonored."



Alan listened intently. "Then it is not the King you

must fight, but the host of quarreling lords who will try

to seize the throne upon his death."



"Ay. They who are now his liegemen will turn against

him in his sickness, like the wolf who rends his wounded

brother. Just as he would do to them. . . . Most of the

ambitious lords are clustered in the ferule south, as you

know. Daronwy of Bridgewater, Mordri of the Havens,

Kai Oakmaster, and of course Iscovar's puppet at

Laueroc. But more are scattered all over Isle. Nabon of

Lee, Guy of Gaunt—and we have had a taste of White-

water's power."



"Far too much power for my taste," Alan complained.

*'How can you ever fight them all, Hal?"



"With help," answered Hal earnestly. "I have said I

am a dreamer, Alan. . . . But all over Isle are people who
ache to be rid of the oppressors, if only they can be

brought together, and given hope." He gazed into the

treetops. "I see a signal in the night. And at that signal,

folk rising up silently, taking their lord's horses, his cattle

and sheep, the grain in his storehouse, the gold in his

treasure room, the weapons in his armory. Any of these

things, if done with stealth, would greatly cripple his

garrison when he awoke to hear the brazen trumpets

roaring the news of the King's death. And the peasants

safely away, and the lords far too busy to retaliate." He

sighed and turned bis eyes back to Alan. "If only I

needed no more force than that."



"Proud lords are not likely to yield without bloodshed,"

Alan stated wryly.



"I know it. Craig the Grim has great store of weapons,

and the influence to muster over a thousand men, all

skilled archers. I spoke with him before I left him, and

surprised him little, for he, too, has his spies, and had

long since guessed. Ket the Red is another one who will

fight for me, I think. And if I am not mistaken, Margerie



46 THE SILVER SUN
can be a powerful friend to us in Whitewater. The time

has not yet come to tell them my need—so far, only you

and Craig know of me—but they will be there when I

have need of them. And others, Alan; I have heard that

there are strange folk in the north. Perhaps the roving

warlords of the Barrens will see fit to aid me, or I may

find even better friends, fearsome friends to bring a swift

peace, if my dreams lead me truly. . . ." His eyes glit-

tered as he spoke, and Alan was reminded once again of

his Welandais blood.



They did not turn at once to the north, however.

First they backtracked to look for Corin and the sword.

After their day of rest they left the Forest toward White-

water and cast about on the Waste, searching the oc-

casional small thickets they had been forced to speed

past before. They found an old campsite, perhaps Corin's,

but they found no other traces. Several times they sighted

lordsmen in the far distance and fled northward, still on

the open Waste. They spent two nervous nights on the

bare, stony ground, sleeping restlessly in spite of the

watchfumess of then- horses. Finally, Hal admitted tem-

porary defeat.



"Those two are farther to the north now, even at a

footpace," he grumbled. "And the only reason the lords-
roen haven't come after us is because they can't believe

we would be such fools."



They returned to the Forest for a sound night's sleep,

then traveled northw&rd for a few days within its shelter.

Oak and beech trees began to give way to pine and fir.

Hal felt more secure from lordsmen now, and ready to

search for Corin once more. It was reaping time at the

isolated cottages of the Waste. Hal and Alan found that

their help was welcomed at the hot, dusty work, and they

were paid as generously as the struggling landholders

could afford. But no one had any word of a blond boy or

his bald, blacksmith father.



For days they traveled northward on the Waste, return-

ing to the Forest only to sleep or hunt. As they went on,

the holdings of cottagers grew fewer and farther between,

and the land grew wilder and more lonely, until at length

there came a day when they saw no living creatures ex-

cept rabbits and sparrows. It was a strange land they trav-

eled now, not much changed by the passing of time, for

everywhere were signs of ancient dwellers—cairns, strange



The Forest              47
mounds and earthworks, and standing stones raised like

monstrous fangs toward the sky. Hal's gray eyes gleamed

as he regarded the great gray stones, but Alan shivered

in their shadows. He was a native of the gentle green

southlands, and he felt naked and exposed in this high,

windy place.



"Ages ago, this was Forest," Hal said. "All of Isle was

Forest, the soul and dwelling of the Lady Mother. Small

dark people roamed from grassy glade to glade and fed

their animals on acorn mast. But iron-armed men came,

who wanted to make themselves a great nation, so they

felled the trees with their iron axes and turned the ground

with their iron tools, and raised great stones to their dead

and their gods, and piled mounds of dirt for their timber

towers, and circles of dirt for their timber battle walls. . ..

Season after season they made war, and played at love

and valor. And season after season the sea winds blew,

and the sea rains fell, until all the rich earth was blown

and washed from the land, and only rocky waste re-

mained. This was long ago, long before the invaders came

from the east, long before any Kings ruled in Laueroc or

Eburacon or the north. Those iron-sworded newcomers

moved on to become Ac Kings we remember in legend,

and the small dark folk came out of the Forest to reclaim

their wasted land."
"How in the world can you know?" Alan exclaimed.



Hal could not answer. "Dreams," he said at last. "And

there come some now." He pointed. "The ancient tribes

of Romany."



The Gypsies flowed darkly toward them over the Waste,

ragged folk and shaggy beasts all in one rippling mass.

Hal and Alan sat quietly on their horses as the band sur-

rounded them. A ring of sober, dark-eyed faces looked

up: solemn black-braided children in stammel frocks;



stocky ponies; old crones with tame ravens on their shoul-

ders; short, frowning men with shepherd's staffs and small

stone-tipped darts in hand. No one made a sound; even

the sheep were silent. Alan fell his flesh crawl at the

thought of a dart in his back.



"Laifrita thae, mirdas arle," Hal greeted them with

curbed excitement in his voice. ["Greetings to you, people

of the earth."]



The staring circle gasped, then stirred into movement

and welcoming smites. A chieltain stepped forward, his
48 THE SILVER SUN



rank marked by the broad metal collar that arced around

his neck, shining like a crescent moon.



"Welcome, Mireldeyn," he said, "Welcome, Elwyndas."



They ate with the Gypsies, and shared the warmth of

their campfire against the chill sea breeze. Hal spoke their

strange language, and talked late into the night with the

oldest men and women. Alan, who could converse with

the others only in their broken dialect, was nevertheless

much attended to. He was surprised to find that the Gyp-

sies, horse experts that they were, had a high opinion of

Alfie. "He is not handsome, nay," they agreed with him,

"but he has much heart." As for Arundel, their dialect

failed them, and they could only say, gesturing, that he

was elwedeyn. When Alan signaled his noncomprehension,

they shook their heads hopelessly, and sank back into the

shelter of their dark faces around the fire.



"What are those names they called us?" Alan asked Hal

in a whisper when everyone had settled for the night.



"Man-spirit, friend of the wind, some such. . . .** Hal
stirred irritably. "I'm not sure."



"Never mind. What did you talk about all night?"



"They have seen a pair that I think are Corin and the

smith." Hal cut short Alan's delighted response. "But we

must be more careful. The talk of the Rough Road is that

Lord Gar has set a fine price in gold on our heads."



After that, they kept to the Forest when they could.

But the going was hard. This rocky northern land was

scarred with shelving jumbles of rock, and sometimes

thick with brambles. Often they were obliged to use the

Rough Road that traversed the Waste from Whitewater

to Rodsen. A few times they met travelers, and inquired

about Corin to no avail. Some nights they shared the fires

of Gypsy bands. But the dark tribesmen had no further

news of the smith and his boy.



The day after a night with the Gypsies, just after noon,

Hal and Alan were startled to hear hoofbeats approaching

them from behind. They took cover in a copse atop a

small rise until the rider came into view. It was one of

their hosts of the night before, galloping hard on his sturdy

pony.
With faces full of foreboding, they rode out to meet

him. He spoke rapidly to Ha! in his own language. Hal

touched his hand in gesture of thanks, and the man sent

his pony quickly back the way he had come. Hal spun



The Forest



49



Arundel and set off at full speed toward the rise, with

Alfie clattering after. Once over the crest, he changed

direction, then pulled up behind a ridge of rock.



"Some time after we left this morning," he explained,

"strangers came to the Gypsy camp, describing us and

offering gold for news of us. Ten rough-looking men,

mounted, with bows. Likely they are close by us, right

now. The Gypsies told them nothing, of course, but if they

are not fools they will have followed our friend. I hope

he comes to no harm."



"Bounty hunters," muttered Alan. He felt suddenly

quite uncomfortable. He was used to thinking of sword-

fighting as an unavoidable part of life in these hard times.

but he did not relish the thought of ducking arrows.
"We must get to more open ground," continued Hal,

"where they cannot stalk us."



They moved gently off, glancing over their shoulders.

"I fled before," Hal added, "to draw the chase on us. But

it's no use running now; we could blunder straight into

them. We must make them show themselves and then

outrun them, if we like."



Threading their way cautiously among the rocks and

thickets, they proceeded in what they hoped was the di-

rection of a clearing. At last they came to a windswept

space, which they carefully surveyed. Then they touched

heels to the horses' sides and sped across the barren ex-

panse, heading for a lonely clump of trees near the center.

To their relief, they reached it without incident.



"Therel" Hal exclaimed. "We might as well spend the

afternoon here as anywhere else. Only to the south can

they come near being within bowshot. They will set an

ambush to the north, but they will see that we do not

intend to move, and they will be forced to rush us from

the south."
"They could split up," grumbled Alan. He was not

nearly as well pleased as Hal with their situation.



"I think they will not. They fear our swords, and prob-

ably they do not trust each other. We might as well sit

down."



Arundel lifted his head and snorted at the distant

thickets to the north.



"Allo," Hal told him. "Very well, Arundel. I know

they are there."



Letting the horses graze, Hal and Alan sat in the shade,



50 THE SILVER SUN



leaning against the tree trunks, facing away from each

other so as to watch the largest portion of ground. The

afternoon crept slowly by, and the sun grew low.



Alan broke the long silence. "What will they do when

dark comes?"



Hal shook his head. "They cannot afford to wait. They

might surprise us, but we might also slip away from them.
They will make their move soon."



Even as he spoke the distant brush stirred. The two

vaulted to their saddles. But instead of rushing away as

Alan expected him to, Hal tarried, dancing Arundel

slowly northward, until the last of the hunters had broken

cover. Then he grunted in satisfaction. "All ten of them,"

he said. "Let's go."



They sprang into a gallop. But the foremost men were

now within bowshot, and stopped to take aim. Alan

whistled and cursed Hal's boldness as an arrow grazed

his ear with its honed metal head; warm blood trickled

down his neck. They were almost out of range when Hal

gave a moan. A lucky shot had hit Arundel in the fore-

leg. The arrow passed neatly between the bones, then

stuck.



Even though wounded, Arundel still ran faster than the

ponylike beasts behind them. But Hal knew that every

step added to his injury. They burst into the wall of

thickets at the edge of the clearing, and plunged through

a labyrinth of rocks, copses and undergrowth, Hal sighed

with relief when they came to another clearing. A gentle

rise faced them. Halfway up was a long outcropping of
rock screened with hushes and stunted trees. At the crown

of the rise was one of the ancient barrows or cairns, a

large one, ringed by upright stones.



"This will do," called Ha! as they pulled up behind the

natural stone barrier. "Keep the horses behind the tallest

cover, Alan, and see what you can do for Arun."



He grabbed his bow and arrows from his blanketroll,

and ran to a position behind the stone ledge just as their

pursuers broke into the open and sent a shower of arrows

into their cover. Hal aimed his first arrow at the apparent

leader, and the man yelped as his arm was pinned to his

side. Hal's next shot tumbled a man from his horse, shot

through the heart, and his next arrow parted one's hair.



The hunters stopped abruptly and looked at each other.

They had not known that their quarry possessed a bow,



The Forest              51



and especially not such a powerful and accurate one.

Though they were nine bows against one, he had shelter

and they had none, and they were being picked off in the

open like birds on a branch. Even as they paused, an-

other of their number fell from his mount with a scream.
They retreated hastily to the thickets from which they

had come.



"Two down," sighed Hal. "How is Arundel, Alan?"



Alan had not enjoyed working while arrows whistled

overhead, landed underfoot and rattled in the branches

of the copse that sheltered him. Nevertheless, he had re-

moved the arrow from Arundel's leg and dressed the

wound. He brought Hal a bunch of arrows he had gath-

ered from the outlaw assault.



'The wound is not bad," he reported. "The shaft

passed between muscle and bone, hurting little but the

skin. Still, he should not run on it, or carry weight."



Hal nodded, frowning. "Have I ever so many arrows,"

he muttered, "I can only shoot them one at a time. It

will soon be dark. They must rush us, and we have noth-

ing to set our backs against. They are four against one.

We need some help."



Alan snorted at the understatement. "There is nothing

to help us on this Waste except the crying birds and the

little rabbits. I fear we must trust in our own luck, which
has been a bit overstrained, lately."



The bounty hunters left their cover and ranged them-

selves in me open, just out of bowshot. Each one carried

a freshly cut staff, long and stout, usable either as a blunt-

headed lance or as a cudgel. The leader's arm was band-

aged, and his face did not look friendly.



Hal looked at them and swallowed, as if he were swal-

lowing his pride. Then he raised his head at an angle

and called out in a clear, carrying voice: "0 lian dos elys

Uedendes, on dalyn Veran de rangr'm priende than

shalder." ["Oh spirits of those who once lived, a son of

Veran from peril prays your aid."]



As if from very far away, as if from the heart of the

earth, a low voice replied: "Al hoime, Mireldeyn." ["We

come, Mireldeyn."] As if from the dome of the sky,

and very far away, a gray voice called, "Al hoime,

Mireldeyn."



"What is it, Hal?" Alan whispered, frozen. His hair

prickled.



52 THE SILVER SUN
"Friends," Hal replied.



"HolmS a ein!" ["Come to us'"] spoke the low voice.

Alan could not tell from what direction it came. It seemed

to fill the world. But Hal started walking up the gentle

slope, toward the barrow and the ring of standing stones.

Alan and the horses followed him. From behind them

came terrified screams. Alan stopped in spite of himself.



"They are not being harmed," Hal said. "Look."



Alan forced himself to turn. In the failing light he could

see the men running, stumbling, falling in blind terror,

getting up to run again. From what they ran he could not

tell, unless it was the same nameless fear which he felt

choking his own miod, so that his eyes saw black and his

legs felt numb. The cries of the bounty hunters faded into

the distance.



Hal turned and continued up the rise. Arundel and

Alfie followed him. As he was calmly passed by his own

horse, Alan's pride was stung, and somehow he willed his

reluctant legs to move. He drew abreast of Hal and felt

the focus of the fear, ahead of them, at the barrow. They

walked closer; Alan moved like a blind man, step by
slow step. Then his legs stopped. They wanted to turn

and run. He kept them still, but he could not force them

to go on. He could not see. His tongue seemed stuck to

the roof of his mouth. With great difficulty, he moved it,



"Hal," he whispered, "help me."



He felt Hal take his hand, and with that touch warmth

moved through the frozen blood in his veins. Come on,

brother," Hal said gently, and Alan walked on. He met

the fear; he walked through it; and it melted away before

him. Then a feeling of comfort and friendliness filled his

heart, and the darkness left his eyes, and he found that

he was within the circle of standing stones. That which

had been a forbidding fear was now a protecting embrace

which welcomed him in. Hal hugged him.



"I doubt if there is another man in all of Isle who could

have done that?" he exclaimed proudly.



"Except present company," Alan retorted wryly. "You

walked in here as if you were going to market. What was

it that frightened me so?"



A low chuckle sounded close by Alan's ear; he jumped.

A gentle voice spoke rapidly in a language he did not un-
derstand. Hal nodded and turned to Alan. "He says he

is sony he startled you. He did not mean to."



The Forest               53



'Tell him no harm," Alan gasped politely. "But who,

or what, is he?"



Hal sat down and leaned against the stone wall of the

barrow. "They," he corrected. 'They are the spirits of the

men buried here."



"Ghosts?" Alan asked weakly, sitting also.



"I dare say you could call them ghosts," Hal answered

doubtfully. "But most of what is said of ghosts is false.

They do not clank chains, or rattle bones, or wander in

the night, or in any way interfere with human affairs. In-

deed, they are powerless to speak or move from their

barrow unless someone calls on them for help, as I did."



Alan felt faint. "Are they all around us?" he asked un-

easily.



"Ay. This ring of standing stones is their fortress. No
mortal can enter it without withstanding the fear. The

amount of fear depends in part on the amount of evil in

his heart. I do not think the bounty hunters will disturb

us again."



"You must be perfect in goodness, then, for you did not

fear."



"Nayl I said *in part,'" Hal protested, "Pear also arises

from that which is unknown. I understood, and you did

not."



"In very truth." Alan muttered, holding his head in be-

wilderment, "I never believed such things existed, and I

always laughed at the tales the countryfolk told of them."



"You may continue to do so," Hal smiled, "for they are

mostly nonsense. Yet they remind us that there are great

mysteries in earth and sky, dwellers far beyond our com-

prehension. But always, in the peasants' tales, the denizens

of Otherness come to work men woe. It is not so. Remem-

ber this, Alan, and you will walk beneath the dark of the

moon like the Gypsies, without fear: no creature, neither

flesh nor spirit, mortal nor immortal, will do you any rea-

sonless harm, except one—and that is your fellow man."
They spent the night within the barrow ring, nestled

against the lee side of the central mound. Alan felt warm

and comfortable in spite of the cold, damp stone. He was

full of wonder and questions. He learned that not all the

dead became shades like those he had met; these spirits

must have died in rage or hatred, Hal thought. Perhaps

they had been warriors. But whether in life they had been

good men or evil was of no concern. Their passing had



54 THE SILVER SUN



purged them; good and evil had gone from them with

their mortality, and they were now only bodiless reflec-

tions of the fears and loves of those who encountered

them.



And they could be summoned, Alan knew. "What is

the language that you speak to the spirits, Hal?" he asked.

**Is it the same that you speak to the Gypsies?"



"Ay."



"And to Arundel?"



"Ay."
**Is it Welaadais?"

"Nay—"



*'What language is it, then? Where did you learn it?"

Hal frowned helplessly- Even in the flickering light of their

caropfire, his discomfort was evident. Alan retracted the

question. "Never mind."



"I would tell you if I could," Hal said plaintively.



It was late before Alan finally settled into sleep, still

marveling. He awoke to a foggy morning, and found Hal

already speaking with their invisible hosts in his mysteri-

ous language.



"You know they see everything, and they travel with

the speed of the wind," he explained to Alan. "Though or-

dinarily they may not move from their resting place. . . .

But last night I sent some of them scouting. Our friends

the bounty hunters have quarreled among themselves, it

seems, and are either dead or fleeing. And Corin and his

father Col are camped a day or two farther to the east,

near the sea."



"But Arundel cannot travel far or fast, with his
wounded leg," Alan grumbled.



"I know it. I shall be walking, for a while."



They ate some breakfast, rabbit and a few stunted

sorb-apples. Then they loaded all the gear on Alfie. But

as they prepared to leave, the low voice spoke. Hal stared

somberly, but made no reply. He motioned Alaa to help

pini remove some stones from the wall of the barrow.



When they had made an entrance, they crawled

through, being very careful where they placed their hands

and feet. The interior of the barrow was high enough to

stand in. By the light which filtered through the open

stonework, they could dimly see faded ruins of cloth,

dusty bones and dull gleams of once bright metal: helms,



The Forest                55



swords and breastplates in odd, antique shapes. These

were indeed warriors who lay here.



The low voice spoke again, beckoning, and they ad-

vanced to the center of the domed barrow, where there

lay a still figure on a raised slab. By its ashy skull lay a
crown, blackened with age. By its right hand lay a naked

sword. Even through the grime of ages, they could see

that it was a glorious weapon, the hilt intricately set with

jewels, the whole of it golden, large and heavy so that it

would deal a mighty blow. The voice of the dead king

spoke again, at length, and Hal went to the sword. He

raised it and reverently kissed the massive hilt. He set it

down, and spoke quietly to the disembodied listener. Then

he and Alan turned and left. As they led their horses

down the hill, the warmth of the barrow followed them,

slowly fading away with the morning fog.



Hal waited until they were well away before he spoke.

•That king wanted me to take his sword," he said in a

low voice.



"The golden sword!" Alan almost shouted. "But Hal, it

is a marvelous weapon! Why did you not take it?"



"I have need of my own sword," Hal muttered.



Alan groaned in disbelief. "Hal, you are incredibly dif-

ficult. The jewel-studded brand of a former monarch—was

it not enough for you?"



"More than enough," Hal retorted wryly. "He said that
it was filled with the power of the Beginnings, that with it

I would be invincible."



Alan stared. "The magical sword of the High Kings!"

he breathed.



"Ay, it throbbed through my arms as I lifted it, and it

throbs in me yet; I can scarcely walk for the ache of it.

Alan, may I tell you a tale?"



They sat on the ground and let the horses graze. Hal

did not seem to look at anything, not even at Alan, as

he spoke.



"The king's name was Claryon, High King at Laueroc,

and the mighty sword Hau Ferddas hung above his throne

to enforce his will, and the writings of Cuia the Ancestor

lay open in the council-chamber, and the weeping stone

stood in the courtyard as a reminder that the Kings of

Laueroc were honored vassals of the Very King who had

gone beyond the sea. The water trickled down from the

cracked stone and dripped from its golden pedestal to



THE SILVER SUN
56



form a pool on the cobbles. The princes were Culean,

Culadon and Cuert. When they were little, they would

make boats from sticks and sail them in the tears of the

Sorrowing Stone.



"Cuert grew to be a scholar, and Culadon to be a states-

man, but the eldest, Culean, had no talent for bookish

learning so he trained to be a warrior. He was not much

honored as a warrior; there had been peace for half an

Age, and it was thought that Hau Ferddas could keep

peace forever.



"When the princes were grown, or nearly grown, Veran

sailed into the Bay of the Blessed out of the west Cuert,

the youngest prince, knew him to be Very King as soon

as he heard report of him, for Veran had brought with

him a rayed silver crown. Culadon knew only that Veran

had taken power in Welas, where the Kings of Isle held

no sway. But Culean saw only a rival. And Claryon,

the old king, found any change a threat.



"The real threat came from the east. Within the year

Heme landed his warships, and old King Claryon took

horse to meet him, proud in the invincibility of his legend-
ary sword. A few hundred men followed him on the long

forced marches across Isle. They met Herne in the mid-

lands near the Black River. Hau Ferddas slew mightily,

but Claryon's aging arms lost strength to hold the weapon.

He staggered back before his foes, and only the coming

of darkness saved him and the sword from capture. His

remaining men carried him back toward Laueroc, and in

a few days he died, though he had suffered no wound.

His people met the invaders in confusion and despair,

and yielded before them like grass.



"Heme's close companion was a sorcerer named Mar-

rok, that is to say, the Werewolf. He had seen the battle,

and had seen the sword Hau Ferddas, and coveted the

blade for his master's sake, or his own, perhaps. With

his secret arts he contrived a spell which would rob it of

its mystic strength, for a time- The price was high', men

lost their lives to the making of that spell. But Heme

was well content.



"Veran had marched with five hundred men to Laueroc,

for the danger which threatened Isle threatened Welas

also. He bowed his elf-crowned head at old Ciaryon's

funeral pyre. But Culean, the new High King, scorned

his help, and set off hotly to rally his own people against
The Forest



57



the invaders, Culadon threw in his lot with Veran, and

Cuert, barely fifteen years of age, stayed behind to stew-

ard Laueroc.



*'Many brave men found their place at Culean's side,

and for a time Heme was halted in his advance. Veran

pressed him from the south and west, and Culean battered

him from the north, and if only those two could have

taken cause together, Herne might have been forced to

yield. But they each fought separately from the other, not

to best advantage. Then Marrok's spell took effect, and

Culean fought with only manly might. And, as evil chance

would have it, Culadon was slain by Veran's side. Then

many followers fell away from the defenders of Isle, and

Heme's armies moved again.



"Veran made his stand between the mountains of

Welas and the Gleaming River, where the border runs

to this day. All of Welas rallied to him, and he was able

to bring Heme to terms for his own land's sake." Hal

turned to Alau, seeming conscious of his listener for the
first time. "Cuert went with him, and through him you

are of that line, Alan; Deona wife of Alf was his grand-

daughter."



"I?" Alan murmured.



"You are of that royal blood. The king. High King

Culean, was hounded through the north of Isle as the

power of his sword waxed and waned with the power of

Marrok's spell, until he could plainly see that Herne held

all of Isle and wished only to hold Hau Ferddas as well.

Then Culean and his few loyal liegemen devised a plan

to keep the sword from Heme's hand, and I dare say to

preserve their own pride—for they could have thrown the

weapon into the sea. Instead they stood on a rise of the

stony Waste, and they cursed fate with their deepest

curses, and they died by their own hands. Their com-

panions who had chosen not to follow them built the bar-

row over them, then departed. And there the sword has

stayed to this day, for their sleepless shades protect it, as

they knew they would."



The two sat silently for a while as the grim tale echoed

down the passages of their minds. "Did—Culean—tell

you this?*' Alan asked finally.
"Nay."



"Who, then, Hal? The Gypsies?"

"No one, Alan." Hal spoke with a kind of despera-



THE SILVER SUN



58



tion. "It is the—vision—I have seen, of how the sword is



a shadowed thing."



So he is a seer, as well as a warlock, Alan thought. He

accepted the fact almost casually; the recent events and

Hal's revelations had shaken him beyond astonishment.



"If I could," Hal said softly, "I would take that bright

blade and hurl it into the sea. But once it was in my hand,

I think I would not have the strength to give it up. It is

a seducer, Alan. But it is yours by right of lineage, more



than it is mine."



"It was not offered to me," Alan shrugged. "Come,
let us find your own sword, that Trigg gave you."



"He was like a father to me, for a little while. . . ."

Hal looked away, remembering the love in the eyes of the

good-hearted fellow as he presented the gift. "Ay, let us



be going."



They rose, and Hal took a few weary, painful steps.

Suddenly he dropped to the earth again, striking the

stones with his fist. "Confound it, Alan! Why was this

offered to me? Was it a trap which I rightly spurned? Or

was it a key which I have thrown away? If a test, then

why? If not, then I have made the wrong choice!"



Alan smiled wryly. "Trust yourself, Hal, even as I

must. Do not things always seem to come to rights for



you?"



"You think I should have taken it," Hal muttered.

"I would have taken it, ay, and probably got myself



killed because of it. But you are not I, praise be. Perhaps
you do not need such a sword."



"Do not mock me, Alan," said Hal tiredly.

"After all I have seen?" Alan faced him squarely. "Do



I mock you, brother?"



Hal met bis eyes with growing wonder. "I wish I

thought as well of myself," he said at last.



They went afoot for several days because of Arundel's

wound. Hal was moody, and fatigued from something

more than walking. When he regained his energy, he grew

irritable because of their slow pace. They were making

their way north and east, toward the sea. The Forest

curved eastward with them, but indeed it was hardly to

be called Forest any longer, mostly bramble thickets and

stunted conifers. For days the two had only birds and

rabbits and pine kernels to eat; Alan grew as touchy as

Hal. They saw almost no one in this desolate land. There

was no news of Corin.



It was fifteen days of walking and gentle riding before

they came to the coast. The sea cliffs dropped straight

from a weedy, windswept plain, and the surf crashed far

below. When Hal heard the sea and felt the salt breeze,
he straightened in the saddle, and his gray eyes gleamed

with a silvery sheen. But to Alan, the roaring of the sea

was a sound of doom, and the sad cries of the gulls were

like weeping. It took the warmth of evening's campfire to

drive the cold weight from his heart.



Autumn was fast approaching. The nights were chill,

the mornings damp. The leaves of the twisted trees hung

limp in the heat of the days. Thundershowers came and



59



60 THE SILVER SUN



went. Hal and Alan zigzagged northward along the coast,

looking for Corin; and one evening, when the ground was

still wet from the afternoon's rain, they found a trail. Two

pairs of feet had made it, one large and one smaller*



"Finallyl" Hal exclaimed.



They followed the smudgy traces until it was too dark

to see; then they pressed on, afoot and feeling their way

through the brush, watching for a campfire. Before long

they spied a flicker in the distance.
"What luck!" Hal whispered. "But softly now; we can't

be certain it is only the smith and me boy."



To Alan it seemed like an eternity that they stalked

through the troublesome thickets. His heart pounded with

the suspense of slow movement, and he winced at every

clumsy noise be made, Hal went like a silent shadow

before him. But as they neared the fire at last, Hal drifted

back beside him and touched his arm.



"Kingsmen!" he breathed. Alan could feel the tremor

of his fingers and hear the catch in his voice. He had

named the name of terror; yet he moved forward again,



toward the firelight.



In a moment, Alan could see why. Corin sat there, tied

to a scrubby tree. Even in the ruddy glow of the flames,

the boy's face looked as pale as death. Col lay stretched

on the ground, near the fire. The kingsmen stooped around

him. King Iscovar bragged that his retainers wore helmets

of gold, but the metal was cheapened with copper until it

glowed orange, the crudest color; their cloaks were dyed

black in imitation of the King's sable, and they were

obliged to wear them even in the summer heat. They
circled around the fire and Col like black priests of the

homed god around a ritual victim- Alan could see that

Col was staked to the stony ground. The man had stained

the earth with his blood. Alan shuddered and struggled



for breath.



"If we fight them," Hal warned in the lowest of whis-

pers, "we must slay them all, for our lives' sake."



There were six kingsmen. The leader raised a sword,



Hal's sword, above Col's straining face.



"There is still time to tell me where you found this,"



he crooned, "before you die by it."



The smith turned away his head. "No matter," another

kingsman remarked. "We will have it out of the pup,



then."



The Forest               61
"I tell you, I stole it!" Corin cried, but the man whipped

around and clouted him with a heavy fist. The boy's head

thudded into the tree, and Col screamed though his son

did not, a roaring cry of despair. While the sound still

echoed Hal and Alan drew their swords, and in voiceless

unison they sprang.



They were not inclined to be sporting, at the odds.

Hal lopped the head off Corin's assailant before the man

could rise; the body lurched onto the boy, splattering him

with blood. Alan sent a kingsman stumbling into the

fire. The fellow shrieked as his heavy cloak burst into

flame, and ran madly through the melee. Alan and Hal

each stood battling desperately against two swords. Alan

was backed up against Col's inert form, sick at the

thought of stepping on the man. Shieldless, he had al-

ready taken half a dozen cuts. Hal found himself pitting

a thick, hacking sword against the grace of his own lighter

blade. He whistled a long, shrilling blast, then blinked;



one of his foes had fallen, crippled. Someone had struck

the man in the leg. The boy Corin, still reeling from the

blow to his head, staggered toward the fire to help Alan,

lilting a captured weapon.



But Arundel got there first, and Alfie. They bowled
over the enemies with the force of their charge. After

that it was soon over. Six kingsmen lay dead; Hal made

sure of each of them. Alan sank down beside the body of

the smith. Corin knelt there, quivering and pressing his

father's hand, but Col was dead. It did not take much

looking to tell that.



Hal came up with the flask, and a kingsman's shirt for

bandaging. He glanced at Col and the boy, then silently

handed the flask to Alan. Like Alan, he was bleeding

from cuts on his arms and shoulders, though not as many.

Alan gulped some liquor and got up, shakily.



"We had better be off quickly," he muttered, "in case

there are more such vermin about."



"Arunde! will tell us if anyone comes near," Hal re-

plied. "We can take time to lay the smith to rest." He

hastily wrapped Alan's worst cuts, and his own, then

knelt by Corin. He bandaged the boy's raw wrists as he

spoke. "Lad, my sword brought you the worst of luck. I

am sorry.**



"May it bring you better, for your goodliness," the
62 THE SILVER SUN



boy whispered. "My father said it was a princely weapon;



and you have won it worthily."



Already Hal had buckled it on again; a strong blade,

but lightweight, a weapon of skill more than of force.

The hilt and scabbard were of silver-gray metal, sparingly

decorated with black enamel scrollwork. The lights which

played on the glossy metal were the same as those which

appeared in Hal's eyes, sometimes, when he thought of

his enemies and his task. Alan had seen the weapon be-

fore, but now he looked at it anew. Without doubt, it was

Hal's connate sword.



"My father was angry at me for taking it," Conn added,

"and now he has paid the price of my folly. . . ." The

boy's voice broke, and he silently wept. Alan put his good

arm around him and led him away; then he went to help

Hal.



They cut Col's body loose, wrapped it in Hal's cloak

and laid it in a shallow depression of the hard ground.

They covered it against harm with loose rocks, piling

them into a cairn. The bodies of the kingsmen they
dragged into the brush. Horses were tethered nearby, as

foul-tempered as their masters; Hal searched the saddle-

bags for food and then let the beasts go loose. He and

Alan wanted no part of the kingsmen's gear. They

stamped out the fire. It was the mid of a cloudy, moonless

night, but they were eager to be gone from this place in

spite of the dark.



"Come on. Conn," Alan murmured, and seated the

boy before him on Alfie.



They rode through the night and the next day, heading

north between the Forest and the sea cliffs. Bit by bit,

through the day, Corin's story came out.



"Smiths have magic, you know, when it comes to

metals," he explained. "When your broth had given him

strength, my father was able to cure himself by the touch

of your sword. Later, we were hungry, and he used it

to conjure food. A gray goshawk came, and dropped a

coney by our feet."



"It seems," Alan remarked to Hal, "that there is more

than one magical sword."
"A sorcerer can work wonders with a stick," Hal

snapped. "And those warlocks who den with Iscovar

can smell such sorcery even from Nemeton."



"The magic in that sword is magic of perfect craftsman-




The Forest                63



ship," Corin told them haltingly. "That fine smithcraft

went into it at its making, and there is no evil in such

power, . . . But Father did not like to use it often, just

the same. There is more honor in catching your own fish

than in drawing on another man's magical net."



"There is no fishing off these cliffs," Alan grumbled.

The salt breeze was cold. Even the last stunted remnants

of the Forest were behind them now, and only a ragged,

treeless expanse faced them. They were riding the

Marches now.



"We kept on walking north, to get well away from

Whitewater," Corin said, much later. "And also Father

was afraid of your anger, though I told him. . - . Well,

and also the land grew harsher and harsher. There was

no tilling it. Father thought we might walk as far as
the Barrens, and wander with the warlords. He had grown

fond of walking, I think. But those black and orange

ghouls came up behind us." Corin stopped.



"So they followed the smell of sorcery from Nemeton,"

Alan said- "But how could they have known it was your

aword, Hal? Or if they did not know, why would they

care?"



"I can't say, either way," muttered Hal. "I know noth-

ing of my own sword."



It was nearly dusk when they found a hollow sheltered

by four standing stones. Here they decided to spend the

night, protected from the never-ending sea breeze and

from prying eyes as well. The mention of sorcery had put

Alan on edge; he was imagining invisible trackers, relent-

less pursuit. What Hal was feeling, he could not tell.



They had Corin help with the camp chores, hoping that

the work might ease his sorrow. Hal served up his best

rabbit stew, with precious bread plundered from the en-

emy saddlebags; but the lad scarcely ate. Afterward Alan

offered him his blanket- The boy politely refused.
"I cannot sleep," he said. "Do not let me hinder your

rest; I shall sit by the fire."



They had to respect his wish to be alone. But Alan

slept fitfully in spite of his fatigue, and it was not long

before be rose to find the lad huddled over the coals of

the fire, sound asleep, with tears still wet on his eyelashes.

Gently Alan wrapped him in his blanket and laid him

down. Then he himself hunched over the dying coals,



64 THE SILVER SUN



warming himself in his cloak. Hal awoke from a doze and

silently joined him.



"I'm glad he's asleep," he murmured, studying their

new companion. "What a plucky young nuisance be is,

Alan! To rip himself out of those bonds—his wrists are

mangled nearly to the bone—and heave himself out from

under that headless body, and come to our aid with a

dead man's sword. . . . And he can't be more than thir-

teen.*'



"Twelve, be told me. But he's likely to have the girls

after him in a year or two. He's a handsome rascal, and

well grown."
"Poor fellow," Hal whispered. "What are we to do with

him, Alan? This is no life for him."



Alan shook his head helplessly. He supposed they

would have to worry about that later.



But they had to worry about Corin sooner than they

expected. At daybreak, when they arose, Corin did not

wake, and his forehead was hot to the touch. Hal frowned.

"He needs his sleep worse than he does his breakfast,

but he shall have both. Let us ride till he awakes."



So Alan gathered him up, blanket and all, and took

him onto Alfie with himself. The lad moved and muttered

restlessly, but did not wake. It was midmoming when he

suddenly started from his doze and looked around him,

bewildered. Arundel moved up alongside Alfie as Hal

reached over to Corin's forehead, asking him how he felt.



'Things keep going around," he answered. "Sometimes

I can see your face, but then it fades into a fog."



Corin did not want to eat, but they persuaded him to

drink some meat broth strengthened with Hal's herbs. As
soon as they took to the saddle again, he lapsed into a

sleep that was half faintness.



They rode all day, turning inland in search of some

nameless succor, and not stopping until after dark. Corin

awoke at intervals, but his eyes were glazed and he said

little. He drank water and broth, but could eat nothing.

They took turns sitting up with him that night. By dawn

he was delirious with fever, moaning and calling for his

father. Hal was dismayed. "My brews have no effect," he

said. "He needs shelter, and the help of a wiser healer

than I."



They rode on, desperately looking for some sign of hu-

man habitation. In late afternoon they found a camp of



The Forest              65



Gypsies. The dark folk gave them as much assistance as

they could. They had blankets, food, shelter from the

wind and a little medicine. They got some bread into

Corin, and some more broth. They all took turns sitting

by him, giving him water and swabbing his burning fore-

head. But he was no better.



"He is not fighting it!" Hal exclaimed.
Corin indeed seemed to be sinking into despair. He

cried out for his father, and from time to time he shouted

in desperate anger, "Murderersi Murderers!" Hal spoke

with the Gypsy chieftain.



"Is there any holding nearby, or manor, or town, where

the folk would be willing to help us, and where a healer

might make his home?"



The Gypsy shook his head. "As you value your lives,

do not go west, for Arrok's raiders scour the Marches

even as far as the Forest, though his holding is in Roosen.

If you continue north, you will come to the trade town

of Firth, on the Great North Cove. The lord there, Roran,

is a good man, just but merciful, and kind to those in

need. Surely he has a healer. But it is a seven-day jour-

ney. I doubt the lad will last."



"We will make it in three," Hal said grimly. 'Tell me

the way."



They left the Gypsy camp before day had quite broken,

with Corin blanket-wrapped and with water, food and

medicine in their saddlebags. They rode at a steady, lop-
ing run through that day, stopping only to give Corin

drink. The miles melted away and the land swept past

them faster than it ever had before, although to them the

pace seemed slow. They went on until they could no

longer see to ride, then stopped to boil some meat for

broth. When the moon rose they went on again, and did

not stop until the next nightfall. They gnawed bread in

the saddle. Arundel and Alfie cantered tirelessly. Alan's

heart bled for the steeds, but Hal spoke to them in his

strange language, and they raised their heads and surged

on like colts fresh out of pasture. Though the land they

rode was still flat or rolling, jagged peaks now rose be-

tween them and the sea. They were moving into the

Northern Barrens.



By the end of the second day Corin had ceased to cry

out for his father. He lay as still as death in their arms,



66 THE SILVER SUN



scarcely breathing, and they could feel the heat coming

off his face as off a fire.



"We must make it by tomorrow," Hal said.



They pushed on through the night. The horses were
stumbling with fatigue, but kept up the best pace they

could without urging. By dawn they were toiling up a

long, steep rise. Corin was on Arundel. Several times

Alfie faltered and almost fell, but he never balked. Alan

patted his neck constantly, and Hal talked to both horses.

Arundel's head hung low, but he ran steadily on.



By midmorning they had topped the rise, and saw

Firth far below. Within the hour they swept through the

town gates. Scarcely pausing for the folk in the streets,

they made their way straight to the lord's keep.



"Open up! It is a matter of life or death!" cried Hal.



The timber doors creaked open. A groom ran to take

their horses. A servant appeared to lead them to the lord.



"Let no one except you touch the gray," Hal cautioned

the groom. He set off after the servant, carrying Corin.

Arundel's knees trembled, and his fine head hung almost

to the cobblestones. But Alfie sank to the ground, where

he lay flat on his side. Alan groaned, torn between Alfie

and Corin; then he ran after Hal.



A doorkeeper gave them entry into a stone chamber.
The inner walls were completely hung with rich tapestries.

In the center of the room, in an intricately carved chair,

sat a dark, fierce-looking man dressed in thick velvets. He

glanced at them as they entered, saw the limp bundle in

Hal's arms and at once strode across the room to them,

leaving the man with whom he was talking. He laid his

hand on Corin's burning forehead, looked at their haggard

faces and clapped his hands loudly. Several servants came

running.



"Call Bleys at once," he ordered. "Prepare rooms and

food for these gentlemen, and whatever they need.

Hurryl" As the servants disappeared, he turned to Hal

and Alan. "Bleys is as fine a physician as can be found

north of Nemeton. If he cannot help the lad, then he is

beyond mortal aid. I am anxious to know your story, but

I shall wait until your needs are seen to. I shall speak

with you later."



"A thousand thanks, my lord," said Hal quietly.



"Here is Bleys now. May all good come to the lad."



I



The Forest               67
Lord Roran went back to his seat as they followed the

healer out of the room.



Bleys was an old man, gray-bearded but still hale of

body and clear of eye. He took them to a large chamber

where servants were busy building a fire and piling linens

on a large bed. A tub was brought and filled with warm

water, and Corin was tenderly bathed, then laid in the

bed and dosed with warm milk and medicine. After that

there was nothing to do but moisten bis burning face with

a cool cloth, give drink from time to time and wait As

soon as he saw Corin cared for, Alan slipped away to the

stables.



He found Alfie lying on a thick bed of straw in a roomy

stall. He had been nibbed dry and warmly covered.

Arundel was in the next stall, also lying down, and he

whinnied at Alan cheerfully enough. But Alfie lay with-

out raising his head, and his whole body was tense with

pain. Alan sank into the straw and took the horse's head

on his lap, and Alfie nuzzled his hand.



Without warning, tears began rolling down Alan's

cheeks, as he clutched the horse's neck and begged him,
"Don't diel I need you. . . ." He knew that if Alfie died

he would never forgive himself, even though it was for

Corin's sake. For a long time he hugged and patted his

horse, stroking the lean neck, telling him what a very

good horse he was, who galloped so bravely night and

day, and who hadn't needed a tether in over a month

now, and who never ran away anymore. "Alfie the Great-

Hearted," be said. "That's what we'll call you."



After a while he left the stables and headed back to-

ward Corin's room. The tears still lay wet on his face,

and many people stared at him, but he was beyond em-

barrassment. As he strode through the keep. Lord Roran

of Firth entered the corridor and stopped in concern when

he saw him.



"Is the news bad?"



"Nay, my lord. The boy was still the same when I left

him. I have been to see my horse. . . ," For a moment

Alan could not go on. "Pardon, my lord," he said finally.

"For three days and nights I have not slept, and I begin

to act foolishly. The horse is nearly dead from galloping,

and it grieves me."



"How far have you ridden?" asked Lord Roran gently.
68 THE SILVER SUN



Alan told him. "Four days ago we were at the place

where the Forest meets the sea."



Lord Roran whistled. "He must be no ordinary horse,**



"Nay, my lord," answered Alan, then had to cover his

face with his hands. Hal looked out of Corin's doorway,

came and put his arms around him.



"Is Alfie dead?"



Alan shook his head. "Nay," he managed to say, "but

likely to be." He stood breathing deeply, trying to calm

himself.



"He will not die," said Hal with conviction. "He is far

too stubborn. If only I could say the same for the lad."



"How is the boy?" asked Lord Roran.



"The same. There is nothing to do now but wait."
"Then come with me," said Lord Roran firmly, '^ou

both need rest and nourishment. Your dinner awaits you."



"With your leave," Hal said, "I shall go to the stables

first."



His Lordship nodded, and he and Alan went on. "I do

not yet know your name," he said.



Alan told him.



"And your brother?"



"His name is Hal." Alan paused. "You called him my

brother, and indeed in a manner of speaking he is, but not

by birth."



"By the tides, I felt sure he was your brother. And

Corin, is he no relationship to either of you?"



"None. We found him Just four days ago.**



"You found him? How is that?"



They came to a warm room with two beds, where a

variety of food was set out on a small table. As they sat,
Alan told briefly of Corin's rescue.



'The filth!" Lord Roran muttered as Alan told of the

kingsmen. "The black-cloaked, dirty-handed, mother-

hating filth!" He pounded the table with his fist, and his

face flushed an angry red- As Alan continued, his expres-

sion turned from rage to astonishment.



"The two of you killed six kingsmen?" he exclaimed.



"Even so." Alan was too tired to think of taking offense.



"But how?"



"We surprised them, and two of them we took off at

once. . . . Then Corin got loose somehow, and got ahold

of a sword, and stabbed a villain in the knee even before



The Forest               69



he was able to get up. Hal whistled for the horses, and

they helped us dispatch the rest."



"Remarkable horses," Lord Roran murmured in be-

wilderment. Obviously Alan was too wrung out to be
bragging or lying. Roran listened in stunned silence to

Alan's account of their four-day ride.



"Then Corin's sickness is as much one of the heart as

of the body," he said at last.



"Ay. He thinks his father died on his account"



Hal joined them, and in answer to Alan's worried

glance he only shrugged: Alfie was still the same. The

lord of Firth dished out the meal. There were excellent

soups, wheat bread, jellies and cold meats. In politeness

Hal and Alan tasted everything, but they ate little.



"Will you sleep now?" asked Lord Roran when they

were finished. "This is your room, but I shall have cots

set up for you near Corin if you would prefer."



That was done, but they could not sleep. Restlessly they

divided their time between Corin's bedside and the stable,

pacing through the long afternoon. Alfie remained on his

side in the straw, scarcely moving, cramped with exhaus-

tion. Corin grew weaker and more wasted, his tongue

parched and his face burning to the touch. He seemed

scracely to breathe, and a dozen times they feared that he

was already dead.
At dusk Lord Reran came in, and with him a lad about

Corin's size, but as dark and hawklike as himself. It was

Roran's son, Robin. They looked at Corin with pity in

their eyes, and BIeys flung wide his hands in a gesture of

despair.



"He need not die," the healer said. "He came to me

soon enough, and took the medicine well. But he is sunk

in his grief, and remembers no joy in his life."



In the reaches of Hal's mind a spark of hope flickered.

He spoke, knowing quite well that what he asked was pre-

posterous. "At the beginning of this Age, there was a small

flowering plant in the south and west of Isle, called by

some folk Elfin Gold, by others Veran's Crown. It is said

that since Heme first sailed up the Black River it is no

longer to be found. Have you ever heard of it?"



Lord Roran's face was blank, but Bleys showed interest.

"I have heard of it. We have a room here full of quaint

things collected by the third lord, Rob Roy. It seems to



70
THE SILVER SUN



me that I have seen a small jar in there, full of dried

plants. 'Bloome of Veraa's Crowyn,' it said."



Hal leaped to his feet. "A single plant will save Corin's

life. I swear it!"



In a moment they were all in the crowded, dusty room,

frantically searching every comer, shelf and case for the

little jar which said "Bloome of Veran's Crowyn." It was

Robin who found it at last, triumphantly emerging from

under a cobwebby table. They hurried with it back to

Conn's room. The servants had followed Hal's directions;



a brazier burned by Corin's bed, and on it a small pot of

water boiled. Hal carefully removed from the jar a single

brittle plant—root. stem, leaf and flower. Whispering what

might have been a prayer, he crushed the little thing and

dropped it into the boiling water.



Slowly a faint, clear aroma filled the room, essence of

springtime, youth, birdsong and May sunshine. Without

knowing it, everyone relaxed, their minds wandering back

to the time when they were happy and young. Roran

straightened in his seat, and spoke in wonder. "What
magic is this? I thought I was a lad again, and my father

still alive."



Alan thought of riding the green hills of his native

Laueroc on his first pony. Hal remembered his mother's

eyes. And Corin stirred in the sickbed and spoke.



"Father," he said dreamily, "hear the larks, how they

sing." He sighed and smiled, turning his face to the imag-

ined sunlight



Bleys tiptoed to his side, and spoke in a hushed whis-

per. "His forehead is cool. He sleeps peacefully."



"The gods be thanked," Alan breathed, and started to

weep again. But he was not ashamed. Except Corin's, not

an eye in the room was dry.



Before they went to bed, Hal and Alan took one more

walk to the stables, Alfie still lay in his straw, but fast

asleep, breathing deeply and contentedly.



"Hal," Alan asked gratefully, "what manner of wiz-

ard are you?" But Hal shook his head-
"There is no magic here," he said, "except that which

you yourself have wrought.'*



Chapter Seven



Though Hal and Alan slept soundly, they awoke early

and ran at once to Corin's room. The sun was just rising,

and all was calm and still. Corin lay sleeping, very pale,

but with a peaceful face. By his side sat Lord Roran. He

smiled at the two as they entered,



"I sent Bleys to bed," he whispered. "He is an old

man, and needs his rest."



The keep faced to the south and east. Hal and Alan

sat in a deep niche in the stone walls and looked out the

window, now and then speaking to each other in whispers.

Below them spread the shops and houses of the town.

They could see the streets they had ridden so hastily the

day before, and the town gates they had entered. To the

east was the waterfront, where stood the masts of tall

ships, for the Firthola were a seafaring folk; they wor-

shiped brother and sister gods, Durm of the islands and

Dana of the tides. They had small interest in crops or

herds, so they had built their stronghold on the Great

North Cove, an arm of the sea which penetrated far into
the barren northland.



The landscape was bleak enough, and the few small

trees in view were dropping their brown leaves. But the

rising sun which was finding its way through the haze



71



72



THE SILVER SUN



turned everything to a golden shine, and gleamed on the

gray sea water. Bven these barren northern lands could

be lovely. Hal and Alan felt a sense of peace and be-

longing which had not been theirs for many days.



As the last of the morning mist vanished and the sun

shone clear and strong. Corin stirred and woke. They



went to him. He looked into their still-tired faces, first

puzzled, then dismayed.



"Ay," said Alan gently, "it is true; your father is

dead." He sat on the bed and took the boy into his arms.
Corin lay very still, but he did not weep. At last he

said, "Is your father alive, Alan?"



"Nay, Cory," said Alan softly. "He died a year ago."

"How?"



"He was killed, even as yours was."

"And your mother?"



"She died of fever when I was ten years old."

Corin thought for a moment, then turned to Hal. His

face was firm. "And you, Hal? Is your father dead, too?"

"Nay, Corin, I have no father."

The boy was perplexed. "Then he is dead."



"Nay, he is alive. But he hates me, and would kill me

if he could."



Corin was astonished, but then pity came into his eyes,

as he realized that the only thing worse than the death



of a loving father was to have no loving father at alL He

searched for comfort for Hal.



"But your mother, does she not love you?**
Hal smiled, and his eyes focused on the past. "Ay, Cory,

she loved me well."



"She is dead, then." The boy was discouraged,

"Ay, she is dead." Hal's eyes darkened, then glim-

mered with a brighter sheen as he looked away into the

deeps of time. "But much that is sad can also be lovely,



Corin. Let me tell you a tale." He settled himself at the

boy's feet.



"Very long ago, when the enchantment of the Begin-

nings was still strong, the silver-crowned star-son Bevan

fought the mantled god Pel BIagden and vanquished him

into the dark reaches of inner earth. But the golden caul-

dron of eternal youth was shattered by that contest of

wills, so that those who had called themselves immortal

faced their long-delayed death. Bevan, who was still

young, would not accept his doom, and look ship to seek



The Forest              73



life across the western sea in Elwestrand. And his

mother, Celonwy of the Argent Moon, died when her time
came at the Blessed Bay, the estuary of the Gleaming

River, where he had left.



"Then her brethren came out of the hollow hills where

they had lived since the Mothers of Men took charge of

Isle. In all their ancient glory they came, and in daylight,

as men had not seen them for ten hundreds of years, and

they took a last long ride to the Bay to join their sister.

They went in cloaks of green samite with golden fringes

that touched the ground; jewels dropped like dew from the

foreheads of the maidens. From every rath there rode a

gold-torqued king and a golden-girdled queen with all

their court, and sleek spotted hounds paced at their sides.

The men wore tunics of pearly white and wine-red, and

some carried silver harps; columbine twined their heads.

They were named Pollen the Stag-son, and Geryon the

Western King, and Fearn of the Seven Stones, and many,

many more. Among the maidens was one who went in

midnight hue, Menwy of the Sable Moon; her black

horse was all trapped in tiny silver bells. And all of those

riders were fair and young at the start of that processional,

and old and yet fair at the end.



"They rode on steeds of white and wheat-color and

barley-red and musteline and gray. The horses' hooves

were tipped in gold, and wherever one stepped there
sprang up a flower in the form of the crown that Bevan

had renounced. For the gods loved Bevan, though he had

cost them their immortality, because he had avenged the

dishonor done when Pel turned his power to evil. So as

they rode they left Bevan this legacy, and it bloomed

and remained long after they had gone to dust around the

Blessed Bay.



"Five hundred turnings later, Veran sailed back to Isle

with the crown of Bevan his ancestor, and found the

lowlands of Welas growing golden with the flower that

folk now call by his name. But not long after, Herne and

his henchmen struck Isle like a blight. Wherever they

came the fair flower sickened and died, for that was the

end of that age of peace. But some were gathered by wise

folk, and kept and dried; and even after all the years its

virtue is what gives you life today, Corin." With an ef-

fort, Hal brought his gaze back to the boy. 'Those mighty

ones of old made shift to leave the veriest spring and surge



74



THE SILVER SUN



of their lives in their legacy, and because they cheated
death of it, their shades still wander the dark fir woods

near the Blessed Bay, unable entirely to rest. Your life

was bought ages past, Cory."



For a moment the room rang with awed silence.

"Never have I heard that tale," Roran exclaimed, "even

from the bards of Romany. Are there no gods left in Isle,

then?" His voice was yearning.



"Those gods were only mortals who were rich in the

power of the Beginnings," Hal said quietly. "It may be

that there are true immortals somewhere. . . . But what

are gods, my lord? The fragments we worship?"



Roran did not have to answer, for a serving maid en-

tered with a steaming dish on a tray. His lordship helped

her place it by the bed, and Corin looked with surprise at

the richly clothed, handsome man who spread a napkin

like a servant. Alan made the introduction. "Cory, this is

Roran, Lord of Firth, in whose home you lie. My lord,

may I present Corin, son of Col the Smith." Corin at-

tempted a recumbent bow, and Lord Roran shook his

hand.



"You are a brave lad," he said, "and I hope you will

soon be better. Now try a cup of soup and some bread.
It is very light, baked especially for you by Hulde in the

kitchen, and if you don't eat it she'll cut off your bead

and use it in the meat pie."



After Corin had eaten, they left him under Bleys's

care, for he was still very weak. Hal and Alan bathed in

hot water, a rare luxury, and breakfasted, and went out

to the stables, where they found Alfie on his feet again

and devouring incredible amounts of hay and oats. The

groom shook his head in disbelief. "Never have I seen



such an appetite," he said. "I fear he will make himself

sick."



"No fear," Alan said, grinning. "He has a stomach of

iron. I only hope that Lord Roran can afford his keep."



For the day they left Alfie and Arundel in the stable

to rest, and they themselves spent their time lazily, nap-

ping almost as much as Corin did. On the following days

they took the horses into the exercise yard, and them-

selves joined the young men of his lordship's garrison in

the practice yard. There they played at mock swordfight-

ing, quarterstaff bouts and many other sports. Though
The Forest              73



they were younger than most, they found that they could

more than hold their own.



The days passed smoothly and quickly. Corin ate well,

and rapidly regained his strength. Hal and Alan spent

most of their spare time with him. When they were not

there, often Robin was, and the boys talked readily of

favorite pastimes. Sometimes Alan tried to teach Cory

chess and Hal talked with Robin. He was interested in

the dark, lively boy, so much like his father—fierce and

hawklike, passionate, yet kind and just. Though they did

not realize it, Hal and Robin were somewhat alike. Both

were sometimes moody and temperamental. Alan, with

his more even disposition, preferred Cory, who was a

courteous boy, intelligent but not quick. Two boys more

unlike than Cory and Robin would be hard to find: one

the lightest of blonds, sturdy, thoughtful and methodical;



the other dark, slender, talkative, emotional and sponta-

neous. Yet they took to each other, for they were both of

good heart.



By the end of the week Corin was up and walking

around a bit, and in a few more days he was almost back
to normal, spending most of his time with Robin. Hal and

Alan began to look anxious, wanting to be on their way

toward Welas, but not knowing how to leave.



One day in the middle of the second week, Hal was

riding Arundel in the exercise yard. He did not use sad-

dle or bridle. Horse and master thought and moved as

one, and as they cantered and circled, spun and leaped

against imaginary enemies, both enjoyed themselves.



Lord Roran came and leaned on the fence. His was a

heart too great for envy, so he looked on in pure wonder

as Hal trotted over to him and dismounted. "If that stal-

lion were trimmed and groomed," he said, "he would out-

shine any horse in my stable."



Hal thanked him for the compliment. "I keep him

rough not only against the weather, but so that folk may

desire him the less." Then, simply because it hung heavy

on his mind, he said what he did not know how to say.

"We must be leaving soon." He spoke miserably.



"Where will you go, Hal?"



Hal shrugged evasively. "Where the road leads me."
Lord Roran frowned. "I do not mean to pry, Hal, but

from what you told Corin, I understand you do not have

a home."



76



THE SILVER SUN



"There is no door open to me."



"And Alan; does he ride with you because he, too, is

homeless, or for friendship?"



"Both."



Reran knew instinctively that his offer would not be

accepted, but he made it nevertheless. "Then why do you

not stay here? I would be proud to shelter two such val-

iant youths as you."



"I could be happy here," Hal said quietly, "but I can-

not stay. I—we—have a. . . ." He searched for a less

formal word, but could not find one to suit "We have a

quest."
"But what of Corin?" asked his lordship, growing ex-

cited. "He is too young to go wandering around Isle. Al-

ready his young heart has had as much peril and sorrow

as it can well bear at this time. He needs rest, and

warmth, companions of his own age and the guidance of

older folk. Let him stay here," said Lord Roran eagerly,

taking Hal by the arm. "We are all fond of him, espe-

cially Robin. And I believe they are good for each other,

and leam from each other. The lad will be treated as my

second son... .'*



Hal regarded the fiery man with great relief and won-

dering affection. "You have read my mind," he replied.

"It has been a great worry to me, the care of the boy. The

choice, of course, must be his, but I will be surprised if he

does not choose to stay."



They talked it over with Alan, and he, too, was re-

lieved and pleased, though he knew he would miss the

boy. That evening, when they were all gathered together,

Lord Roran put the case to Corin, inviting and indeed

beseeching him to become a member of his household.

Corin turned to his first friend.



"Alan?" he questioned him. "Must you go, indeed?"
"Ay, we must go," Alan answered. "I shall miss you,

Cory, but it will gladden me to know you are well cared

for by good and loving folk, not out in cold and danger."

"Pray abide with us, Cory," Robin begged softly.

"It would hurt my heart to leave you, Robin," Cory

said, "yet I long to be with Alan as well. But if I must

choose between you, I will stay, for that is what you all

wish."



"I would like you to stay," Alan agreed firmly.

So it was settled. And since there was no sense in tor-



The Forest



11



turing Corin with preparations, they left early the next

morning. Roran and his lady presented each of them

with new clothing, new fur-lined leather boots, and hand-

some chain-link supporters for their swords. They wore

warm new cloaks, and they found their horses packed

with extra blankets and a plentiful supply of food, almost

more than they could carry.



Hal and Alan mounted quickly. Though it was still

autumn, it was bitterly cold in these northern reaches of
Isle. Their farewells were short. "The love of the gods go

with you," said Corin.



"Farewell, you rascals," said Lord Roran. "Remember,

this is one door that is always open to you, no matter why

or when."



"Be careful'" called Robin.



As they rode away, they looked back. Their friends

stood in a row, waving, and as they turned to go they saw

Lord Roran take Cory's hand.



They headed south and west, back across the rocky

ridge of the Cove, toward the Marches. For two weeks

they angled across a sere, almost uninhabited expanse.

This was Arrok's domain, and his mounted men roamed

it constantly. Hal and Alan rode watchfuliy, ate their

food cold and slept by turns, shivering through the chill

nights, for to light a fire would have been to invite un-

welcome guests. Arrok was a warlord by blood, from the

metal-worshiping tribes of the Northern Barrens, and he

was still more raider than overlord. His own people were

his enemies, for he had betrayed them by extortion and

conquest. So he turned his warriors both against them and
against the gentler folk of Isle.



Twice Hal and Alan sighted his patrollers in the dis-

tance and were able to speed away from them, out of

sight beyond the horizon of the flat land. But presently

the land turned rolling, with thickets and groves of

stunted trees. Alan glanced at Hal with a tired smile, for

soon they would be out of the Marches and into the

heartland of Isle. But, beyond a rise, five of Arrok's men

rode quite close to them before they saw them,



The warriors came at them, whooping, out of a brush-

screened dimple of the stony land. Hal and Alan did

not turn or come to bay, but shot away southward, almost

upsetting the startled riders. The patrollers thundered



78



THE SILVER SUN



after them. Jabbering excitedly at the thought of a chase.

But after a while they were silent, finding they could not

gain.



They galloped for hours, into the afternoon, with Hal

and Alan holding their horses to a steady, rhythmic pace
and the pursuers straining behind them. By midaftemoon,

even at the lope, they had left Arrok's men half a mile

behind them. At dusk, they would speed the pace to lose

them.



But as the sun dripped, Alao called tensely, "Alfie's

taken a stone in his hoof, I think. He's lame."



The horse was hobbling, though still galloping as fast

as he could. Hal frowned and loosened his sword in the

scabbard. Arrok's warriors drew closer behind them.



"Look!" Alan exclaimed. "How can that be Forest?"



A solid-looking mass of varicolored trees rose invitingly

in the distance. Hal whistled softly.



"We must have come farther east than I thought," he

called. "Courage. Alfie!" He spoke to the horse in his

strange language, and Alfie lowered bis lean head to

plunge painfully on.



The pursuit was almost upon them when they reached

the trees at last. Hal spun Arundel and drew his sword,

thankful for the protection at his flanks. Alan guided
Alfie to a sheltering trunk and did me same. But Arrok's

men turned away at the fringes of the Forest and gal-

loped back toward Rodsen. Hal blinked into the setting

sun.



"Huh!" he grunted, puzzled.



Alan was already off of Alfie, checking his hooves and

legs. He removed a sharp stone and led the limping horse

deeper into the Forest, patting him. Hal followed on

Arundel. In a moment they found themselves descending

a steep wooded slope to a hidden valley.



"Is it a haunt, Hal?" Alan murmured.



There was a change in the air, hardly definite enough

to be called a fragrance, but something clear and fresh.

They straightened and smiled at each other in wonder.

When they reached the floor of the valley, they found an

ordinary scene: a clearing with a bubbling brook, some

sheep and a milk cow, a small cottage, a garden plot.

Yet something was very special about this serene dell.

The velvety grass fairly shone in the lee of the forested

slopes, as if lit from within- Tiny golden flowers in the



The Forest               79
grass sparkled like jewels. The water in the brook shim-

mered silkily, and the very wood of the cottage glowed

like finest ivory.



"Hal," whispered Alan, "is this valley enchanted?"



Hal was about to reply when out of the cottage came

a woman, very old, yet straight and strong. She carried

a pan of bread for her flock of chickens, but stopped and

smiled when she saw them. At her smile, Alan's suspi-

cions vanished.



"Mireldeyn, Elwyndas, come inl" she called. "It has

been a long time since I bad company."



"Think of nothing, ask nothing, but only enjoy," Hal

told him as they forded the brook and dismounted near

the cottage.



The woman fed them eggs, and porridge with honey;



the simple meal seemed to them the ambrosia of the gods.

They spoke of birds, perhaps, that come and go in their

seasons, and of trees, the royal apple and the noble rowan,
and of the Lady, the Rowan Lady on her Forest island

of many trees, and of the Very King. All knowledge was

theirs, and yet they could never remember exactly of

what they spoke. That night they slept under a crescent

moon, and their dreams were the color of springtime,

though autumn burned all around them. The next day the

old woman sat at her loom. Her web was green and

golden, silver and black, but Hal and Alan could scarcely

bear to look at it; afterward they knew only that it was

lovely. They worked outdoors, tending the garden and

gathering wood for the fire. Evening fell scarcely looked

for, and the passage from day to darkness seemed a

rhythm smooth as breathing.



They could easily have stayed there forever. In the

valley, all of Hal's plans and cares were forgotten, for

time did not nudge at him; time was like a still pool

into which he looked, sitting apart. He could almost have

forgotten that other world just beyond the trees, where

thin streams of moments forever rushed and circled past.

But the old woman knew of that world, perhaps better

than her guests. The next morning she packed their sad-

dlebags with fresh bread, eggs and cheese. Without cere-

mony they went on their way, and they still did not

understand the meaning of their names. They slowly

climbed the steep slopes, picking their way through the
trees. There was no beaten path.



80



THE SILVER SUN



When they left the valley, the world seemed brown

and dreary beyond bearing. They rode slowly southward

along the western side of the leaf-littered Forest, quite



silent. It was not until afternoon that they began, haltingly,

to talk.



"We never asked her name," sighed Alan. "Or else



I cannot remember. . . . And what were the names she

called us?"



"I dont know. How long were we there, I wonder?

I could almost believe the year to have come and gone,

full circle. But surely the snow would have fallen there as

elsewhere, and I remember nothing but sunshine."



"We were there two nights; I remember the moons,"

Aian said. "How drab everything looks! I could almost
wish we had never found that valley, for it makes our lot

in this world seem the harder. .. . Yet a happiness lingers,

like a dream after waking. Is it enchantment, Hal?"



"Nay, only very great good fortune. That is a place,

Alan, that has not been touched by the blight of the Dark

Kings, but has been overlooked since the beginning of the



Age or before. Do you remember the little yellow flowers

in the grass?"



"Ay."



"They were Veran's Crown—gone from Isle seven

generations now. Perhaps that woman is as ageless and

timeless as the place itself."



The next ten days were the most miserable they had

yet spent together. The east wind had brought the autumn

rain, and it poured steadily almost every day and night.

Their clothing and blankets were soaked through, and

the cold, damp wind chilled them to the bone. The For-

est turned to a stark, sodden nightmare of slippery.

rotting leaves. It was impossible to start a fire from the

dripping wood. Alan and Hal rode all day in the rain,

slept in it at night, and lived on cold, wet food. Their tem-
pers flared or were sullen, and even the horses drooped

as they plodded along.



When the ram finally stopped, the cold wind continued.

Soon their noses were clogged, their ears ringing and their

heads aching with cold and wind. It took several days for

their blankets and clothing to get really dry, and even a

campfire was small comfort in the squelching Forest So

sometimes Hal and Alan went to one of the village ale-



The Forest               81



houses to share the warmth of the evening fire. Their ap-

pearance usually caused a silence at first, but Alan had a

friendly knack for inspiring trust, and folk talked to him

freely, mostly of their crops or their lords.



One lord that was often mentioned was Pelys of

Celydon. He was always named with respect, and his

tenants were envied. The two travelers did not like to in-

quire too closely, but it seemed that Pelys was one of the

more powerful lords of the Broken Lands, this hilly, cen-

tral portion of Isle. Celydon, his manor, was situated on

the Rushing River, and its fields were surrounded by the

Forest—an odd chance, since roost lords drove the Forest
back from their lands.



It did not take Hal and Alan long to give up thoughts

of pushing on to Welas through the winter. They agreed

that Celydon should be their destination. Riders and

horses alike were in need of shelter. And if fortune were

with them. Lord Pelys might prove to be an important

friend both now and in years to come.



It was dusk, several days later, when they finally

looked down on the manor of Celydon from the fringes of

the Forest that ringed its meadows and tilled land. They

both felt a pang of longing, almost of recognition, as if

they had known the place before, as if they were com-

ing home. Celydon was not a walled town with a walled

castle, like Whitewater, or even a walled town with a

keep, like Firth. Instead, the Rushing River was dammed

into a gentle meander through the folds of the bottom-

land, and on an island amid its curves stood Pelys's

stronghold.



"It is sturdily built," Hal declared.



The fortress was of stone, as solid as if sculpted from

the earth itself. Yet there was something peaceful about

the quiet look of the place. The water shimmered, and
Hal thought he glimpsed treetops within the walls. The

manor village was ranged along the riverbank and along

a dirt track which crossed a drawbridge to the island

castle's tower-flanked gates.



"Tall and serene," Alan agreed.



They turned their attention to the village, which was

likely to tell them more than the castle. The cottages

seemed snug, and the yards were neatly kept. Apparently

the lord of Celydon gave his folk the time they needed to

look after their own affairs.



82         THE SILVER SUN



Suddenly Alan whistled. "Am I blind, Hal, or do I miss

seeing a gallows?"



It was so. Never before had they seen a manor village

where the gallows was not prominently placed. There

were no whipping posts, either, no branding pit, stocks or

pillory. Even in Alan's beloved Laueroc a gallows bad

stood, though only once in his memory had it been used,

to hang a murderer. But here was a manor that threat-

ened no harm to any soul.
It was a risk, riding into a strange manor. No one

would know or care if they never came back out of those

iron-sheathed gates. But warmth and food, and perhaps a

sense of fate, drew them. With a wondering glance, Hal

and Alan rode down the hill toward Celydon.



Chapter One



The two travelers were surprised to be greeted by the

empty street and dark cottages of Celydon. And they

were startled anew when a blaze of fire shot up on a hill-

top beyond the castle. One by one, wherever the land

was open, the summits bloomed into flame. The new-

comers had been living in isolation so long that it was a

moment before they understood the fires.



"Hal," Alan exclaimed, "it must be the eve of Novem-

ber!"



It was indeed the time of the ancient festival of the

dead, one of the four quarter-days of the turning year,

when in the perilous transition of time all things of Other

pass freely to the world of men and must be held off by

fire. On the eve of May, the half-day, cattle were driven

between the fires to charm them against harm or disease;
and on the eve of November the slaughtered cattle were

offered to placate the dead into repose during the dark

winter months. There would be a feast while the fires

raged.



Hal and Alan rode across the drawbridge to find the

gates of Celydon fortress open, and folk thronging in the

courtyard, awaiting the circling dance. They noted at once

how healthy the people looked, how they were well



64



Celydon               85



though plainly dressed, and no maimed victims among

them, as were to be found at many manors. All eyes were

turned with curiosity upon the young riders, and a few

smiled a welcome. The old gatekeeper met them and cour-

teously asked them their business.



"We come to request a boon of your lord," answered

Hal, "but it seems he must be engaged."



The man shook his head. "He will turn no stranger
from his door unanswered. Go see him now, and I shall

hold your horses."



"Let no one touch the gray, or come too near," Hal

cautioned, "for he is trained to know no hand but mine."



In the keep a page showed them the way to Lord

Pelys's chamber. He sat in a comfortably furnished room

overlooking the crowded courtyard, reading a book near

the window. He was a small, shrunken man, with wispy

gray hair and beard; yet his face was hardly lined, and

his eyes were sharp and piercing, like those of a bird of

prey.



"My lord," Hal began as they entered, but the lord in-

terrupted faun at once, impatiently.



"Now, now, come over here and let me look at you in

the light, and I warrant I'll answer your question faster

than you can ask it. So," Pelys said as they drew near

the window, "tanned with a year's sun and wind, and

worn with travel and weather. A bit pale under the tan;



have you not been well, hah?"



"Nay, my lord," Hal began, but he was cut off again.
**You're a handsome pair of rogues. Brothers, hah?"

"In a manner of speaking, my lord," Hal answered.

smiling.



"In a manner of speakingi Tell me plainly, are you

brothers or not?"



"Only by pledge, my lord."



"Tush! I would have sworn you were brothers! Ay, but

of course you are nearly the same age—about twenty?"



"Younger, my lord. We are both seventeen."



The little man's bushy eyebrows raised until they nearly

touched his hair. "Never have I been so mistaken! Well,

well, then give me the hands, and we'll see if I can do

better."



They extended their right hands. "Nay, nay, both of

them, it tells more so," he exclaimed, and, examining their

callused palms, he looked up with respect in his eyes. He



86 THE SILVER SUN
spoke more slowly. "These have known the hoe, the

scythe, the ax and other tools. They have also known the

sword and the quarterstaff. Yours," he went on, laying a

finger on Hal's brown thumb, "have known the bow also.

But one thing here puzzles me greatly. What is this?" He

pointed at the small scar on each left wrist.



Hal and Alan glanced at each other and smiled, but

Hal spoke a little sadly. "My lord, I cannot tell you."



"Cannot or will not, hah?" he snorted, then suddenly

pierced Alan with his gaze. "What of you, bah? Cat got

your tongue?"



''Nay, my lord," Alan answered, startled, but had no

need to say more. The little man leaned back, regarding

them with sudden mellowness. "So, so, what you came to

ask. You look a bit washed out, you two, by the rain, and

knocked about by the wind, and pinched by the cold.

You are welcome to stay here as long as you like. Join

us for the feast tonight, but you must sleep where you

can; all the beds are filled. In a few days, when my guests

have gone home, I shall speak with you again. Is that

what you wanted, bah? Food, warmth and rest?"



They told him that indeed it was, and were trying to
express their gratitude when the air was rent by the sound

Hal most dreaded—Arundel's angry scream. He turned

and fled headlong down the stairs, with Alan on bis heels.

As they fought their way across the crowded and tumultu-

ous courtyard, they could see Arundel searching for es-

cape from a young man who followed close after him. He

was soon cornered in the buttress of a wall, and turned

at bay against the stranger who hounded him. He reared

as far back as be could, avoiding the outstretched hand,

and as the youth took yet another step toward doom,

Arundel struck him in the chest with his forefeet, sending

him sprawling. He reared again, but Hal faced him, com-

manding "Nelte, Arun, nay!" Alan dragged the youth to

safety, and the horse stood sweating and trembling as Hal

petted him gently. "Alle," he murmured, "idle, Arundel."

["Softly, softly, Arundel."}



"Is he hurt, Alan?" Hal asked, but even as be spoke

the youth roughly threw off Alan's anxious hands and

sprang to his feet. "That horse attacked me!" he cried. "X

demand—"



"He seems all right, Hal," Alan remarked, straight-

faced.
Celydon               87



"I will have satisfaction!" the young man blustered.



"Silence, Rate," commanded a voice which, though not

loud, at once drew the attention of all. Everyone looked

up at Lord Pelys in his window. The old gatekeeper

spoke.



"My lord, the young gentleman instructed me to let no

one touch the horse, but Rafe would not listen. Nor did

the horse strike him until he gave it no other choice."



"Thank you, Bonar," said Lord Pelys. "I give this or-

der: no one in my household is to touch this horse without

the permission of its master. Rafe, report to your duties,

and in future keep your hands off things that do not con-

cern you."



Hal sighed, and glanced at Alao, then said what he

felt he must. "My lord, we bring trouble to your abode.

We had better leave."



"Nonsense," snapped Pelys. "Take your horses to the

stable, and see them cared for. I think you will have time

to wash before dinner."
Friendly hands picked up the baggage that Arundel

had scattered in his frenzy, and the gatekeeper directed

them to the stable. There they introduced Arundel to the

head groom and some of his staff. Flann was a quick

man, neither old nor young, who could only be described

as having "horse sense." He soon had Arundel rubbed

dry, fed and bedded in the stall next to Alfie, though this

required some rearranging. He chattered cheerfully and

insultingly to both horses while he worked. Hal and Alan

could not keep from helping, so the horses were quickly

cared for.



"Never fear, they will be well kept here," Flann said,

smiling into their anxious eyes. "Nor will your mettle-

some gray be troubled. When my Lord Pelys chooses to

command, he is obeyed. He uses no tortures to enforce

his will, but all his folk love him so well that if Rafe were

to defy him no one would speak to him for weeks. So

be easy about your horse. And as for this slab-sided hay

chomper here," he added, slapping Alfie affectionately,

"he shall be well fed."



Alan laughed. "How did you know he loves to eat?"

"He winked at me," said Flann, winking at Alan.
Hal and Alan put their things in the hayloft of the

stable, where Flann said they could sleep. They changed

into their best clothes for the feast, fastening their swords



88 THE SILVER SUN



around their waists with the chain-link belts Roran had

given them.



"I hope we don't cross Rate again," Hal said rue-

fully. "What did I do wrong, Alan? We saved his life,

yet he was angry."



**I think," Alan mused, "that perhaps be was fright-

ened—and being frightened can make a person very

angry."



"But if he was afraid of Arundel, why did he approach

him?"



"I did not say he was afraid of Arundel," Alan re-

torted gently.



When they arrived in the great hall, most of the

benches were already filled. They found some space with

a group of young men, perhaps a little older than them-
selves. Rafe was with the group; he glared at Hal and

Alan, but said nothing. The others were cordial enough,

though puzzled by the strangers with their sky-blue tunics

and their bright swords and their air of self-possession

usually found only in leaders of men.



The feast could not begin until Lord Pelys arrived. A

signal was finally given, and everyone stood. Hal and

Alan nearly gasped in their astonishment; Lord Pelys

could not walk. He entered the great hall in the arms of

a remarkably large and muscular retainer. Though he

was placed in his seat like a babe in its high chair, such

was the dignity accorded the man, and the love his peo-

ple bore him, that no one so much as smiled. With him

entered a maiden, a slender girl with long, dark auburn

hair flowing down her back, who took the seat to his

right. Food was offered to the dead, and then the living

were served.



The feast took hours. There were a variety of soups,

baked meats and capons, jellies and preserves, pastries,

bread and cakes. There were baked apples and apple

tarts, dried fruit, relishes, sauces and gravies. Villagers

kept going in and out, eating by turns and tending the

hilltop fires- Hal and Alan kept their seats, though they
could not taste more than a quarter of the dishes that

passed them. By the time the puddings and custards ap-

peared, they were almost ready to trade their overfull

stomachs for the growling bellies they had brought with

them from the Forest.



During the meal they talked with the young men at



Celydon                89



their table, who they found were volunteer novices in his

lordship's guards and garrison. They spoke mostly of

their training, but during a lull in the meal Hal asked one

of the questions that had been teasing his mind.



"If it is a thing to be spoken of at this time, could

someone tell me how Lord Pelys lost the use of his legs?

If it is not well to be spoken of, then forget I asked."



"It was done in battle," answered a tall, lanky feDow

by the name of Will. "He took a spear through both legs

above the knee, and though he lay abed, they never

healed."



Others spoke further of Pelys, and piecemeal his his-

tory became known to the two who listened. His father,
the late Lord Pelynger, was remembered by the older

villagers as a typically overbearing, selfish manor lord.

His wife was a good woman, but browbeaten by her hus-

band. The boy, Pelys, was their only child, and from the

first he was a dreamer, drawn to strange talk and old

books but not to the sword and the practice yard. The

father tried hard to mold him in a more manly frame,

but the boy was stubborn in his own way, and insisted

on leading his life as he saw fit. On the day Pelys came

of age, he left his father's manor for a wandering life.

He was not seen again for many years. He returned at

last to Celydon as a middle-aged man, tough and weath-

ered, a few days before the old lord died. The first thing

he did—even before the funeral—was to tear down,

with his own hands, the gallows which had stood for so

long. Then he distributed among the villagers most of the

food and gold his father had been hoarding for years.

Many thought him mad, but everyone loved him for it.



A week later, the peaceable village was invaded by

Lord Nabon of Lee, who anticipated an easy victory over

this daydreaming son of Pelynger. But he and the people

of Celydon soon found out that somewhere Pelys had

finally learned how to fight. His folk rallied behind him

and sent Lord Nabon home to Lee with broken armies.
But Pelys was carried home with shattered, wounded

legs.



Such was the magnetism of the man that all loved and

obeyed him, even though he was crippled. He married a

beautiful young woman half his age, the Lady Rowana.

Their love, folk said, was touching to see. She died in the

birth of their first and only child—a girl.



11



90



THE SILVER SUN



"Then the maiden by his side is his daughter," Hal said.



"Ay, the Lady Rosemary, fifteen years old."



Alan had noticed that often Hal's eyes had been turned

her way, though from the distance it was hard to discern

if her features were fair or not. But their attention was

soon drawn by the ceremonies of soot-maiden and yew-

king, willow-queen and the long, shuffling circle dance.

The dancers went in crowns of elder with tapers set in,

and the dance lasted until the tapers bad burned to the
base, almost until dawn.



At last the dancers filed out to the hilltop fires, and

everyone else trooped up to pay their respects to Lord

Pelys and the Lady Rosemary before leaving for home

and bed. As they drew near the dais, Hal and Alan were

able to get a better look at Lady Rosemary. Alan ac-

knowledged her to be fair. But Hal noted her lovely dear

skin, the color of palest fawn, and her richly dark eyes,

fine, regular features and lips which hinted at fullness

without being sensual, just as her brows suggested charac-

ter without being willful. Everything about her breathed of

the womanhood which slumbered just beneath the surface

of this girl child of fifteen. Something in her had been

whispering to Hal all evening, and his blood was racing

as he came before her.



Alan sensed his excitement, and glanced at him as they

made their bows. He saw Hal fasten a curiously intense

gaze on the maiden—a stare, indeed, but full of such soft

courtesy that Rosemary returned it without alarm. For a

fleeting moment she felt—what she could not tell. But the

moment passed quickly, broken by Pelys's warm greeting.



"So, my hearties," he was saying, "you are looking bet-
ter already. Have you found a place to sleep?"



Alan answered, for Hal seemed not to have heard. "We

are sleeping in the hayloft, my lord, with great thankful-

ness."



"So you are sleeping with the gray beauty, hah? I hope

he is not upset by his adventure of this afternoon."



"Ohi" Rosemary broke in involuntarily. "You are the

ones with that horrible horse that tried to kill Rafe!"



"He is well, my lord," Hal answered, then spoke to the

lady with a slow smile. "My horse would not hurt anyone,

my lady, unless someone tried to take him from me."



"Have no fear of me," she laughed. "I plan to stay well

away from him."



Celydon               91



"Pray forgive my daughter," Pelys smiled. "She has

been frightened of horses since a very early age, and noth-

ing can cure her of it. Sleep well, now."



They walked back to the stables in silence. Alan at
once wrapped himself in his blanket and relaxed gratefully

in the sweet-smelling hay. But Hal paced restlessly, finally

stopping and standing interminably before the tiny window

which aired the loft. The moon was at the full, and a

bright beam shot past his head and lighted a square of

hay, much as it had lighted the filthy straw of his dark

Tower cell a year and a half before.



Alan could stand it no longer. The candles of the danc-

ers were still wheeling before his inward eye like circling

stars or the blurred turnings of fate. And though he

thought he knew the answer, he felt compelled to ask the

question. "Hal, whatever is the matter?"



Hal sighed. "You will say that I am out of my mind,"

he answered, without moving.



"I already know that," Alan rebutted lightly. "Tell me.

It can be no worse than hearing you talk with the spirits

of the night"



Hal smiled slightly at that, and turned toward him,

speaking hesitantly. "That girl . . . Lady Rosemary . . .

she is my ... my mendor."
"Your what?"



"My destiny," Hal tried to explain. "But more than

destiny. For every man there is one woman who is his

mendor. Rosemary is mine. She is the woman with whom

my thread of life is entangled. It was so before time be-

gan. It is written in Dol Solden. Whether it is for good or

ill, I do not know. Whether for happiness or sorrow, I do

not know. But it is so."



"How can you be so sure?" asked Alan, astonished.



Hal did not answer.



"What are you, Hal?" Alan wondered more slowly.

"Warlock, or seer, or something more? How did this vision

come to you?"



"I do not know, Alan, before all the gods, and my own

as well, I do not know!" Hal appealed to his brother with

an intensity of pain that startled even Alan, who was used

to his moods by now. "By mine eyes, I have been no

friend of sorcerers or charlatans. . . . Sometimes Jt seems

to me that I can see clearly into the mysteries of all lives

—except my own."
y<,         THE SILVER SUN



For her part. Rosemary was puzzled as weIL



"Father," she asked, "who are they?"



She was visiting in his chamber, as she always did be-

fore going to her own. He knew at once who she meant.



"By the Lady, I do not know," he answered. "They

told me nothing, but I surmise that they have been travel-

ing. They seem to be fine young men, though much is



strange about them. I think I shall enjoy having them

here."



He did not say that his curiosity was piqued by these

young men as it had seldom been before. Nor did he men-

tion that he, too, had noticed the exchange of glances

between Rosemary and Hal. He had long been an inquisi-

tive man, but age and his afflictions had turned his knowl-

edge to wisdom. He had learned to wait in patience for

his answers.



Chapter Two
The next few days went by quickly. They saw Rosemary

often as she walked or rested amidst the fruit trees and

flowers of the castle garden. To Alan's surprise, Hal did

not make any excuse to speak to the lady. Instead, he

busied himself away from her. There was much work to

be done in the aftermath of the feast, and the newcomers

made themselves useful wherever they could, whether in

the kitchens, the stable or the workshops. The servants

soon learned to know and like these strange youths, who

wore the swords of nobility and worked like peasants.



But Rafe, the elected captain of the novice guards, did

not like them at all. He missed no opportunity to make

life unpleasant for them, especially for Hal. His men held

no grudge against the strangers, but they were loyal to

their captain, and were careful to do Hal and Alan no

favors. When the two entered the practice yard, they were

surrounded by a wall of silence broken only by occasional

taunts from Rafe. Sometimes he challenged them to bouts

at swords or quarterstaffs. Rafe fought hard and impa-

tiently, and always lost, which did not serve to improve

his temper. With his men he was quite different; skillful,

controlled, a fine fighter. Rafe was a good captain, fiercely



93
THE SILVER SUN



94



proud of his men, and Hal and Alan could see why he



commanded loyalty.



On their fourth day at Celydon, as they were exercis-

ing the horses. Lord Pelys was carried toward them in a

chair between two retainers. Lady Rosemary walked by

his side. Hal and Alan rode over to give them greeting;



Rosemary stiffened at the approach of the horses, but held

her ground. As the two reached the fence, Hal gave a soft

command Alan had never heard before, and Arundel

dropped to one foreknee in a graceful bow, arching his

lovely neck and touching his nose to his extended hoof.

Lord Pelys laughed delightedly, and even Rosemary could

not help smiling. Arun straightened, and Hal slid to the



ground.



"What a beautiful creature," Pelys said admiringly.
"But alas, your horse is not nearly so handsome, Alan."



"Speak truth and say he is downright homely," Alan

replied. Alfie shook his bony head menacingly, and rolled

his eyes. "But for all his rough looks, and his mischief,

and his monstrous appetite, I would not trade him for any

horse in Isle." Gratified, Alfie stood still and arched his

skinny neck proudly. Lord Pelys laughed again.



"By my poor old body, I believe he understood every

word you said," he chuckled. "But tell me, Hal, how did

your steed come to be so wary of strangers? Was it born

in him, or was it a part of his training?"



"Both," said Hal, stroking the handsome gray. "When

I first met Arun, he was only a colt, but no one could

come near him. The horse dealer had him tied bead and

feet in order to control him, though he was nearly dead of

starvation, fright and abuse. I bought him and nursed him

back to health. He gave me his love, and by his own con-

sent I trained him. At first he would never willingly let

any hand touch him except mine, but if I commanded it,

he suffered it. Since then he has learned to know other

friends, such as Alan. The hand of a stranger he avoids,

by his own instincts and my training, so that he cannot

be stolen from me. But he is not vicious, and he never
has hurt anyone except Rafe, who cornered him."



"I do not intend to come near him, nevertheless,** Rose-

mary said firmly, betrayed by the fear in her eyes. Hal

frowned in pity and spoke to her gently.



"How did you come to be so frightened of horses, my

lady?"



Cetydw                 95



"I do not remember. But my father tells me that when

I was very young. I was knocked down by one. And to

me they still look about twenty feet tall."



"Ay," said Pelys, "she was only a little thing, playing

in the courtyard, when a skittish horse broke its halter

and tumbled her over. She was not hurt," he went on,

glancing at her affectionately, "but the fright did not go

away. It is a shame, for there are few things you are

likely to find so necessary in this world, my dear, as a

horse."



Alan had kept an eye on Hal, but he saw no hint of

Hal's interest in Rosemary. If anything, he seemed a trifle
too courteously aloof.



"Come to see us later this afternoon," Pelys said as he

prepared to go, "and share supper with us."



So Hal and Alan headed toward the keep near supper-

time, wearing their good clothes- A servant ushered them

into a dun little study where Pelys sat with Rosemary. A

compass lay on the table before them, and they were ex-

amining several yellowed charts.



"So, so, there you are,*' cried the little man. This is my

haven of learning, where the lass and I do our lessons.

You like it, hah?"



Hal's eyes were darting about excitedly. The walls were

lined with books to the ceiling, and all sorts of odd things.

Suddenly his eyes fixed on one object, and he strode

across the room.



"A plinsetl" he cried.



His lordship raised his eyebrows at the strange word,

but, turning in his chair, he saw that Hal was reverently

touching a stringed instrument hanging from the wall, al-

most bidden by the bookshelves.
"Ah, is that what it is called?"



"Ay," answered Hal. "But you are not of Welandais

blood, my lord?"



"Nay, nay. That is an instrument of Welas, then?"



"Ay. How did you ever come by it?"



"A minstrel brought it here last winter, and played it

marvelously well. He took a fever, and died within a few

days, though we nursed him tenderly. That was a hard

winter," Pelys leaned back meditatively.



"I wonder who he was," murmured Hal.



"He was near middle age, fair of skin and hair, very



96 THE SILVER SUN



handsome and gallant, though he did not wear a

sword. ... I wonder, too."



"Did he not tell you his name?"
"Nay, he smiled when I asked him, and said I was to

call him what I liked. So I called him Bard. I believe I

could have called him Lord."^ Pelys eyed Hal whimsically.

"Can you play that instrument, lad?"



"Ay," answered Hal, dazed.



"Then take it. It is yours. And play us a tune!"



Hal took it down and cradled it in his hands, almost

fearfully. "I thank you greatly," he said, "but you can

hardly know the value of the gift. This was fashioned by

Llewys Lay-Maker, in the time of Veran, first of the

Blessed Kings. It is centuries old, and none better has

been made since. A generation ago it would have been

kept in the treasure room of the Old Castle at Welden,

along with the crowns of kings." He gently dusted it as

he spoke, and as he turned it to the light they could see

its graceful carving.



"Then is not now," said Pelys sadly, yet with keen in-

terest in his eyes. "And no one deserves it better than

you, who value it highly. It does no good there on the

wall. So take it, lad, and play us a tune."
Hal swallowed, and tuned its eight strings as carefully

as if they were made of gossamer. Then he sat down and

strummed thoughtfully. The strings sounded in a bitter-

sweet mode as Hal began to sing.



All my days have passed in vision

Of a place beneath western skies

Where peace flows like golden honey

From the comb.



But the east shows forth my burden

With the rays of bright sunrise.

In this land of strife my fate is

Long to roam.



All my nights have passed in dreaming

Of the haunts of the sinking stars,

Where the people of the reaches

Make their home.



But the east blots out night's gleaming

Of fair Elwestrand afar,



Celydon                97
Where the elf-ships cleave the silver

Salt-sea foam.



Elwestrand! Elwestrand!



Be you realm but of my mind,



Yet you've lived ten thousand lines



Of soaring song,



Elwestrand. Is the soul more sooth



Than that for which it pines?



Are there ties that closer bind



Than call so strong?



All my journey's passed in faring

Through a bitter glare of gore.

But the gloaming in the west

Imparts its calm.



When the burden seems past bearing,

Sunset speaks of ancient lore,
Of immortal sadness healed

With mortal balm.



Elwestrand! Elwestrand!



Where untamed the white steed runsi



When my life's last light is gone



Will you be mine?



Or, my weary battle won,



When I reach the setting sun,



Must I farther journey on



Some rest to find,



Elwestrand?



The notes of the song died away, and the four sat in

silence for a moment. Pelys stirred, shaking himself from

a reverie. "Wherever did you learn to play?" he asked

admiringly.
"My mother taught me. She was Welandais."



Although his curiosity was aroused to its highest pitch,

Pelys knew instinctively that further questions would be

unwelcome. With the courtesy of a true gentleman, he

changed the subject. "It has long been my wish that my

daughter might have some musical instruction, but there

is no one here to teach her. Can you?"



"What?"



**Tut, tut, teach her, lad, of course!"



98 THE SILVER SUN



Hal looked across at Lady Rosemary. "I shall do roy

best," he pledged, stupefied.



"Good," snapped Pelys cheerfully. "Come in the after-

noons, whenever you have time. Now let us go in to

dinner."



He clapped for his retainer. The meal was waiting in a

towertop chamber that caught the light of the setting sun.

Hal sat at the table with the plinset in his lap.
"I understand you have been working around the

castle," Lord Pelys remarked as he passed the sweet-

breads. "It is not necessary, you know. You are my

guests."



Hal was still spellbound, whether from the plinset or

the lady Alan could not tell. "We do not like to be idle

while others work," Alan replied. "And we have learned

much that is of good use."



"Well, well, since you have chosen to make yourselves

useful, you must let me give you some pay." Hal was

stirred back from his trance to protest, but Pelys insisted.

"Only a few pence, forsooth! I will not have you desti-

tute. And I will not have you overworking, either," he

added, shaking a menacing finger at the two. "You are

not to neglect your exercise, your horsemanship, or your

education. I have a library of fine books here, and I

would take it kindly if you would use them."



"Thank you, my lord," they murmured, stunned by

this peculiar manner of bestowing favors.



"And I expect you to eat with me now and then,"
growled his lordship. "You can't always be eating in the

kitchen or the barracks. Moreover, I expect you to start

sleeping in beds. I shall have rooms prepared for you."



To Alan's surprise, Hal seemed disconcerted. "With

your permission, my lord, might we stay on in the stables?

I mean, if Alan will. ... It is handy to be near the

horses."



Wondering what the real reason was, Alan quickly

agreed. Lord Pelys looked pained, but graciously ac-

quiesced.



"Won't you freeze?" asked Rosemary, astonished.



"Perhaps," Hal answered wryly-



They walked back to the stable that night in silence.

Hal stopped at a carpenliy shop for a soft rag and a little

flask of oil. In the loft he sst their lantern well away from



Celydon                99



the hay and started carefully rubbing the dust and grime

from his ancient, precious instrument.
"We could move into the keep if you would rather,

Alan," he said without looking up. "It is a lot to ask, that

you should spend your winter in a drafty stable."



"It is not drafty," Alan lied. "We can be very comfort-

able here."



"With no fire?"



Alan shrugged wearily. "So we will be cold. I dare say

you had your reasons."



"I don't know my reasons!" Hal shouted, flinging down

his rag. "I don't know my own mind anymore!"



"Well, if you must shout," Alan soothed crossly, "that is

reason enough."



Hal sighed and went back to his plinset, cleaning and

polishing, bringing the rich lights out of the dark golden

wood. His frowning face softened, and he whistled tune-

lessly, lost in some happy dream, Alan thought, of the lady

perhaps? It was seldom that Alan saw him so content.



Late that night Alan started awake at the sound of a
muffled, inarticulate cry. Hal was sitting up, staring at

nothingness, with teeth clenched and sweat beading his

forehead, trembling and straining against invisible bonds.

Alan reached for him in alarm, and felt all the muscles

tensed like steel bands beneath his skin. "Hal!" he cried.

shaking him. "What is it?"



The spell broke, and Hal went limp as a snapped

string, though quivering worse than ever. "Oh, Alan!" he

gasped, covering his face, torn between relief and an-

guish. Alan held his shoulders, and in a moment his trem-

bling stopped. He lay back, breathing heavily.



"What happened?" Alan asked gently.



"Nothing. A bad dream."



"Hal, you are impossible," Alan sighed. "Did you

know this was coming, then?"



Hal was silent so long that Alan thought he was asleep.

"I know nothing," he said hollowly at last. "Not even the

names of my fears."



The next day, Hal took his plinset and walked to the

keep to see his lady.
The weeks passed quickly. Hal and Alan almost forgot

there was a world beyond the castle island. Late fruit

was still being gathered from the sheltered trees within



100 THE SILVER SUN



the walls: sorb, pear, quince, apricot and apple. While

Alan helped with the work, Hal and Rosemary would set-

tle themselves with the plinset at the sunny roots of a red-

tipped tree. Hal's greatest pleasure was the daily music

lesson. Rosemary, daughter of Rowana, was a beautiful

girl, bright, blooming and sunloving as the plants around

her. She was very fond of both Hal and Alan; they were

like brothers for her, and perhaps Hal was her best friend.



Hal was content to leave it that way, or so he told

himself. It would hardly be worthy of him to make the lady

love him, only to leave her on a harebrained quest after a

distant throne! But his heart and his loins would not listen

to this reasoning, and Hal ached for her every waking

hour, so that sometimes he thought he would go mad if he

did not speak. And at these times the thought whispered

in the back of his mind: why struggle? Why not throw off

his burden, settle in this peaceful forest clearing, marry,
and be happy? He knew well enough that such happi-

ness was only a dream; but the dream gnawed at him.



Sometimes when he was away from her. Hal could

forget the struggle within him. But at night it harrowed

him with worse dreams. Leuin of Laueroc's tortured face

would call to him through the smoke and glare of burning

towers, through screams of men and horses, through drip-

ping veils of blood. Sometimes Hal thought that the lord of

Laueroc was still dying in torment, never to rest. The

nightmares were almost unbearable, and to avoid them

he would pace the courtyard until late at night, like a

feral creature courting the moon. Even there Leuin's gentle

voice reached him: "Hal, be bravel"



Another thing troubled Hal's rest: the continuing prob-

lem with Rafe. To Alan, the situation seemed more ludi-

crous than painful. Throughout his youth he had known

the love of family and friends, and the animosity of one

person did not trouble him. But to Hal, who had known

only the hostility of the King's court. Rate's dislike was a

painful reminder of the past. Often he wondered how he

inspired such hatred.



One fine sunny day in the middle of November, Hal

and Alan paired off in the practice yard. Others worked
out at a distance. Rafe joined the group and greeted Ha]

with a sardonic comment; suddenly the day turned tense

and bleak- When Rafe challenged Ha! to a bout at the



Celydon               101



quarterstaff, Hal glanced at Alan with a wry half-smile

as he accepted. The others, instead of continuing their ex-

ercise, clustered around the combatants. From whispered

conversations, Alan realized that bets had been placed on

the outcome.



The fight, however, went much as usual. Rafe attacked

Hal furiously, and Hal calmly parried his blows, giving not

even an inch of ground, biding his time. As the bout pro-

gressed and Rate's frenzied thrusts continued unavailing,

Alan could see that he was beginning to weep with fury.

The group of spectators, which earlier had been in merry

spirit, now stood silent and abashed.



Hal felt Rate's discomfiture, though he was hardly to

blame for it. To bring the bout to an end, he shifted his

feet and raised his staff for the attack. At that moment

Rafe, with all the force in his body, swung his booted foot

into Hal's midsection. Hal doubled over and fell. But as
Rafe, beside himself with passion, was aiming a second

kick at Hal's head, he was hauled off bodily by those who

had once been his friends and followers. Such foul play

as they had just seen was unforgivable. They said nothing,

but held him against the wall while tall, quiet Will stripped

him of his captain's badge. Then without a word they left

him and turned to Hal.



Alan's had gone white with anger. He wanted to kill

Rafe, but first he bad to care for his friend. Still, as Hal

started to breathe easier, the blood-red fury gradually

cleared from Alan's mind. The volunteers gathered

around anxiously, and Alan realized that no physical

punishment he could inflict on Rafe would be as severe as

the mental anguish he now felt, knowing he had lost the

respect of his men.



"How are you, Hal?" asked Will.



"I'll live," Hal managed to reply.



Will hesitated. The others seemed to be looking to

him to voice their thoughts. "Hal, Alan," he said, "I think

we are much to blame for this."



But Hal silenced him lightly. The young men crowded
around him while, leaning on Alan, he hobbled inside.

Rafe was left alone in the corner of the practice yard.



From that time on, Hal and Alan were welcomed by

the volunteers, and Rafe was shunned. The night of the

incident, the young men elected Will as their new captain.



102        THE SILVER SUN



None of them would speak to Rafe, even if spoken to, for

he had disgraced the unit. Hal and Alan were lionized,

and found their new, false popularity almost as unpleasant

as their former state. After a few days, however, things

settled down. But Rafe no longer came to the practice

yard.



Chapter Three



It was near the end of November when the first snow fell.

Hal and Alan were helping with the evening cleanup

and rubdowa at the stables when the news came. Every-

body turned out into the courtyard to watch the big,

downy flakes dropping through the dusk. The bit of a

child in each of them stirred with excitement, and a fes-

tive mood prevailed.
Then came a new cause for stir, as the gates opened

for a stranger, a trader of horses with his string of nags

in tow. One look, and Flann's happy face twisted into a

scowl. The trader was an unwashed, rough-looking rascal,

and his horses were listless and half starved. But as he

drew his wares toward the stable to see if he could drum

up some trade, there was one pair of bright eyes to be

seen, one lifted head. Third from the end of the line was

a pretty little filly—or at least she could be pretty, once

the dirt was cleaned off her and some flesh put back on

her bones. Something in the intelligent eyes, the flaring nos-

trils and the small, beautifully shaped head reminded

Alan of Arundel. He heard Hal catch his breath sharply

between his teeth, and glanced at him. Hal's face was

fearsome.



"An elwedeyn horse," Hal breathed, "here, and in such



103



104 THE SILVER SUN



a state! I must help her. If I cannot buy her, I will steal

her."
With a hard hand, the horse trader showed off his nags

one by one. but got no offers. As he came to the little

filly, he seized her roughly by the forelock. Her eyes

blazed as she bared her teeth and snapped at him, and

he struck her with his fist on her tender nose. "Stop that!"

Hal cried, starting forward.



The filly plunged and reared, breaking her leather har-

ness. It seemed impossible that such power could be in

her emaciated body, but somehow she fought her way

clear. As the horse trader backed away in fright, she

darted and circled about, searching for a way out of the

crowded courtyard. Folk fled from before her, but Hal

stepped into the clear. He spoke to her softly in his

strange tongue, and she froze in her tracks, trembling,

staring at him with astonished hope beginning to replace

her fright and despair.



Hal spoke to her again: "Mir hoime, Asfala, niton tha

riste." ["Come to me, Asfala, no one will hurt you."]

She ran to him like a beaten child, hiding her head under

his arm as he whispered to her and gently stroked her

heaving flanks.



The stable hands slowly ventured from their retreat
against the courtyard walls, staring in wonder. The horse

trader once again began to bluster. Alan bit his lip and

began to unbuckle his sword; it was the only thing he

had to bargain with. But FIann saw the gesture and

stopped him with a touch and a jaunty wink. Then he

strode toward the horse dealer with a swagger quite unlike

his usual gait.



"Saucy little piece of horseflesh ye have there,** he re-

marked.



The fellow boasted of the trouble he bad had with

her. He had traded for her because of her looks, sure he

could tame her. He had tried force and starvation, but to

no avail.



"I might take her off yer hands," said Flann casually.

"I wouldn't mind having a crack at her." His hand

twitched in midair, seeming to flick an invisible whip.



The horse dealer's eyes gleamed. He and Flann dick-

ered eagerly, but Flann shook his head and turned away

at the trader's asking price. He flung a taunt at Hal, who

fell in with the farce and glared at him in reply. The



Celydon               10S
horse trader liked Flann, who appeared to be just such

a bully as himself, and he was anxious to be rid of the

troublesome filly. He soon offered to sell her for a rea-

sonable price, and Flann counted the coins into his hand.

Then he hit the man, hard, in the face, knocking him to

the ground.



"Now get you hence," Flann grated, showing all his

disgust, "you and your nags. And if you ever visit these

parts again, I'll have you locked up until you rot. Now

go!"



The fellow did not stay to argue the point. He scurried

to his nags and rode out, glad of the coins in his pocket.

Flann let out a grunt of fury, shook himself, and turned

toward Hal. The filly had stopped trembling, and was

watching with interest the departure of her former com-

panions. The stable hands returned inside. Hal, Alan,

Flann and the filly were left alone in the gently falling

snow.



"She is yours, Hal," the groom said, "by her own

choice."
"Flann," Hal answered huskily, "I can never thank you

enough. I would have given anything for her." And before

PIann could protest Hal added, "I will repay you when I

can."



Flann gestured impatiently. "The value of the work you

have done here is already more than the amount I paid

for the horse. Let us have no more nonsense."



The next few days were busy ones for Hal. Early the

next morning the filly got a bath and a grooming. As

caked dirt and dead hair were brushed away, her coat be-

gan to shine a beautiful sorrel color with dapplings of a

darker russet. She was painfully thin, but her bone was

sound and her mouth good. Hal talked to her constantly,

even when he was with Arun in the next stall, and she

became much calmer and more cheerfui. Alan came over

when he was done with Alfie, and at Hal's bidding she let

him pat her.



"We shall just let her rest for the next few days," Hal

said. "Then we shall start taking her out."



"What do you intend to do with her?" Alan asked.



Hal was silent for a moment. "She has fine spirit," he
said, "but she is sensitive, and gentle as a kitten. She can-

not be broken by force; she would die first. But once she

has given her heart, she will do anything." Hal paused



106 THE SILVER SUN



and looked at Alan, seeking and finding reassurance that

he would understand. "When she is feeling better, I shall

tell her about my lady. Perhaps she would like to be her

horse."



So he truly does speak to the animals in a language

they understand. Alan thought- He was not entirely sur-

prised. In the half a year he had known Hal he had come

to believe, and hope, things he would never before have

considered possible.



"You call her Asfala," he said. "What does it mean?"



"It means 'Daughter of the Wind.' '*



For several days it continued to snow hard, and the ex-

ercise yard was covered to a depth of nearly three feet.

The wind blew snow about, and it was bitterly cold. Alan

and Hal burrowed deep into the hay in their loft at night,
warmed also by the body heat of the horses below. They

spent long hours working in the stable, feeling indebted

to FIann for the price of the filly and the cost of her feed.

But he continued to make light of their obligation.



Flann marveled constantly at the progress Asfala was

making. She was gaining flesh rapidly, and was much more

content than before. Flann and Alan were now her trusted

friends, and she had learned to tolerate the stable hands,

for none of them were allowed to be careless or rough.

Now that her fear was gone, she was beginning to exhibit

coy, playful tricks, and was likely to become the pet of the

stable.



"How ever did you do it, Hal?" Flann asked one day

as Asfala nibbled his sleeve. "She came here a shivering,

frightened wretch, and within a week she has become a

happy-go-lucky little lassie."



"How not?" replied Hal evasively. "There is nothing to

frighten her here." But Flann looked at him askance and

grunted his disbelief.



When Hal and Alan took their own horses to exercise,

Asfala went along, looking like a pony beside the larger

horses. She followed close by Arun's side and listened
carefully to everything Hal said. Alan had the uncanny

feeling that the filly was learning how to behave under a

rider without ever having been mounted.



"Do you plan to ride her, Hal?" he asked.



"Nay, I'll let my lady have the training of her. It will

make a bond between them."



Though they made no effort to keep the filly a secret,



Celydaa              107



there was little risk of Rosemary's seeing her before it was

time, for she never came near the stable if she could help

it. And the occasion was not too far off. The Festival of

the Winter Solstice was only seven generations old in Isle,

having come with the Easterners and their stargazing sor-

cerers. But it was embraced by the countryfolk, for it was

a gift-giving time and followed conveniently on the

slaughtering of the pigs. In Nemeton, the court people

called it the Natal Day of the Sacred Son, and they gifted

and feasted and sacrificed victims in his honor. But

through most of Isle folk called it only Winterfest, a wel-

come break at that bleak time of year.
The festival day came at last, and Hal was up before

dawn, brushing and shining Asfala until any ordinary

horse would have kicked in protest. She, however, seemed

to enjoy the proceedings. After her dappled coat was shin-

ing, her mane and tail were brushed until they were

smooth as silk and her hooves were rubbed with oil. Alan

and Plann watched in amusement as she arched her neck

and minced about, tapping her shiny hooves. For a finish-

ing touch, Hal brought out yards of green ribbon and

plaited it into her mane and tail, ending with a love knot

Just over her left ear. Asfala looked as if she would burst

with vanity, and cocked her head under her pretty bow»

drawing applause from a circle of grinning stable hands.

Then at last they were ready to go to the keep.



Pelys and Rosemary were sitting in the study when

Alan came to them with an air of suppressed excitement,

requesting that they follow him to the audience hall on the

ground floor. Pelys clapped for his retainer, and they went

downstairs. When they were seated, Alan rapped on a

window. In a moment there were odd shuffling noises out-

side the door.



"What in the world!' Rosemary began, but her breath

was taken away as Hal led Asfala in. The gentle beast
wore neither bridle nor halter, but followed Hal freely.

He led her to the foot of the dais where Rosemary sat,

dumbfounded.



"Here is my gift to you, my lady," he said. "Her name

is Asfala, which means 'Daughter of the Wind.' There is

not a better-mannered horse in all of Isle. I know there

are other things you would rather have, but pray accept

her with my heart's regard, for she is all I have to give

you."



108 THE SILVER SUN



"She is lovely," said Rosemary in a tight voice. She

would sooner have Jumped in the river than touch that

beast. Yet she knew that if she did not pet her, Hal's

feelings would be gravely hurt. So she clenched her teeth

and walked toward Asfala, a nervous smile on her face.

But as she approached, a marvelous thing happened.

Asfala backed away from her and whisked behind Hal,

looking out over his shoulder with big brown eyes, like a

child peeping from the shelter of its mother's skirts.



"Why, she's afraid of me!" exclaimed Rosemary, as-

tonished.
Behind her back, Alan and Pelys were grinning

broadly, but Hal's face was perfectly sober-



"She's a bit shy at first," Hal admitted, "and she is very

sensitive. You must be very gentle with her." Then he

coaxed the filly, "Come out, Asfala. The lady will not hurt

you."



As the filly daintly, hesitantly emerged from behind

Hal's back. Rosemary saw her as if seeing a horse for the

first time. She noticed the shining hooves dancing on the

floor, and the beautifully colored, soft and glossy coat.

She noticed the mane and tail, smooth and clean as her

own hair, plaited with green ribbons. She saw the delicate,

finely shaped face, the pretty, pricked ears, the soft nose,

the intelligent eyes. The filly's head stood little higher

than her own. Amazed at herself. Rosemary realized that

she longed to comfort this beautiful creature, so gentle

and timid. She held out her hand to Asfala, wheedling.

"Come here, Asfala. Poor little thing, I wouldn't hurt

you."



"Here," said Hal, handing her a lump of bread. "Give

her this."
The horse's touch on her hand thrilled her. Asfala took

the bread courteously. Delighted, Rosemary patted the

smooth cheekbones and the arched neck. Pelys looked on

in astonished joy. Hal allowed himself to smile now, and

he took the lady's hands and placed them on either side

of the filly's head.



"Now, Asfala," he said seriously, "this is your mistress,

and you are to follow her and obey her. Be a good horse."

Then he stepped back. "Walk away from me, my lady,

and see if she does not follow you."



Rosemary walked toward her father, and Asfala trotted



Celydon                109



after her like a big dog. "Father!" she cried happily.

"Look! She likes me!"



Pelys nodded, his sharp eyes glowing like hers. "Well,

well, lass, let us take her to the saddlery."



This was across the courtyard, near the stables. Pelys

rode in his chair, and opened the door with a large key.

In the dim light, generations of saddles and trappings
shone with mellow splendor. There were war saddles and

hunting saddles, ornate pleasure saddles, large and small,

each richly tooled and ornamented with metal and jewels.

With bis quick eye, Pelys picked out a few that might do.



"She will need one neither too large nor too heavy,"

he mused. "That was your mother's, with the rowan de-

sign, but she rode a larger horse. I believe that one yon-

der might be the very thing." He pointed to a smaller

saddle made of soft, plain russet leather. Hal fetched it

down. The matching bridle had a light snaffle bit and

reins trapped in green cloth, in the old fashion.



"If I mistake not, it belonged to the second daughter of

the fifth lord," said Pelys pensively. "It was meant for a

pony, but it seems broad enough, for ponies are often as

broad as horses. But we shall see."



Alan had found a green saddle blanket. Hal put (he

things on, and Asfala looked lovely in her green and rus-

set finery. She flirted her head as if to exclaim, "See me!"

and Rosemary laughed out loud.



'Tally the filly!" she quipped. "I should call you Folly

rather, for you are as foolish as any woman in a new

dress!"
"Would you like to get on her?" Hal asked. "She has

never been ridden, so she will not know exactly what to

do, but then, neither will you."



"Never been ridden!" cried Rosemary. "Won't she



fighir



'*WeII, she had never been saddled, either," smiled Hal.

"If you like, I will try her first, but I may be a bit heavy

for her."



"Nay," protested Rosemary, "I will try."



Hal took her by the waist and set her in the saddle

sideways, for her skirt was not divided. Then he laid his

hand on Asfala's neck and slowly walked her off. Asfala

paced sedately, and after a few strides Rosemary's frown

of concentration changed to a pleased smile. She waved



110 THE SILVER SUN



to her father, who was sitting at the saddlery door with

Alan. The auburn sheen of her hair was almost identical
to her filly's russet dapplings.



"Alan," asked Lord Pelys, "why did Asfala shy away

from Rosemary?"



"Because Hal told her to."



"By the mighty moon, he has the wisdom of the Gyp-

sies," murmured Pelys. "But what marvel is this, Alan?

Never have I seen a horse so spirited, yet so gentle and

trusting."



Alan did not know how to reply. What, indeed, was an

elwedeyn horse? And what was Hal, that he could cap-

ture one's heart with a few words?



By afternoon Asfala was back in the stable, resting con-

tentedly, and everyone else was on tenterhooks, waiting

for the feast. In the kitchen and great hall grand prepara-

tions were in progress, but no one was allowed to look.

Hal and Alan were shooed away like the village children.

Pelys and Rosemary had given them gifts, shirts of fine

white linen with gold embroidery at collar and cuffs, and

they had nothing to do but put them on and wait. In the

early winter dusk, they joined the rest of the folk gathered

outside the keep.
At last the big wooden doors swung open, and they all

poured in, each person individually stopping to gape at

the sight The big oil lamps which hung from the rafters

were not lit, and no smoky torches burned. Instead, the

hall was lighted by hundreds of fragrant wax candles

ranged along the tables and in sconces on the walls; more

of the rare, expensive tapers than anyone had ever seen.

In each of the several huge fireplaces a roast pig lazily

turned. Instead of the usual rushes, the floor was strewn

with sweet-smelling evergreen boughs.



As they had at that other feast two months before, Hal

and Alan sat with the volunteers. But this time Rate was

not there. Since the incident at the practice yard, he had

become almost a recluse. If he was at the feast, he was

sitting elsewhere.



The food was sumptuous, but not quite as overwhelm-

ing as before, since no one planned to appease either the

gods or the dead; this gathering was purely for pleasure.

After the soups and breads, the roast pork and roast ap-

ples, the fruits and tarts and nuts were all consumed, the



Celydon               112
tables were cleared and everyone sat back to wait for en-

tertainment. There were some jugglers and gymnasts, and

a mime. And of course there had to be speeches by the

steward, captain and other castle officials. Pelys spoke last,

and drew roars of approval by stating his intention to say

nothing, since it had all been amply said before. From

behind a curtain he called a troupe of musicians, and with

great enthusiasm the tables and benches were pushed to

one side for dancing. Couples lined up for the "carroie."



Rosemary's eyes sparkled, and her foot tapped impa-

tiently. She dearly loved to dance, but there were no

guests of noble rank present, or at least no one who

claimed noble rank. ... It was not always easy, being

the lord's daughter. So she caught her breath as Hal ap-

proached her, faced him with shining eyes as they took

their places on the floor. What a marvelous day it had

been; first Asfala, and then music and Hal.



Without need of much thought. Rosemary had long

known that Hal was special. He was unfailingly gentle

and considerate, yet beyond his courtesy she had sensed

great courage- He was purposeful, yet at times she thought

she discerned loneliness and doubt. He was mysterious,

and masterful if need be. He was the only one who had
dared to ask her to dance. And even in his dancing he

could not be faulted. He was looking at her, and a

strange, soft fire burned in his gray eyes. The smile faded

from her face to be replaced by a gaze of rapt attention.

For a moment, time stood still.



Three people noticed that long, intense meeting of eyes

as the slow dance drew to an end. One was Alan. One

was Pelys. And one was Rafe. who stood by himself near

the door. Something snapped inside him as he watched

this upstart who danced with the lord's daughter. Pushing

his way through the happy crowd, he strode up behind

Hal and seized him roughly by the shoulder.



'Take off your fancy shirt, whoreson churl, and fightl"

he grated. "Steel against steel, and to the death, you—"



"Hold your tongue!" Hal commanded. "Have you no

thought of the lady?" Alan had reached his side now, and

be turned to him. "Alan, would you escort the Lady Rose-

mary back to her seat?"



"Take off your shirt and fight, bastard lordling!" Rafe

hissed. It was the custom to strip for hand-to-hand knife
112 THE SILVER SUN



fighting, so that the blade might more easily slip between

the ribs. Rafe already was naked to the waist, muscles

sliding under smooth, glistening skin. Knowing from many

defeats in mock battle that he was no match for Hal with

a sword, he carried instead a steel dagger with a ten-

inch blade.



Except for a few women's cries of protest, the crowd

was deathly silent as Alan led Rosemary back to her seat

on the dais. Though Hal spoke softly, his voice sounded

throughout the hall.



"Are you mad, Rafe? It is a festival dayl Do not mar

this happy gathering with bloodshed."



"Coward," crooned Rafe.



Will came forward, followed by other volunteers.

"Rafe," he said gently, "you are not yourself. Pursue your

quarrel if you must, but to do so at this time does you

dishonor."



"Even you are on his side!" howled Rafe. "Look at

himt Can't you see that he is a changeling; some heart-
less, evil spirit in human form!"



So that is what preys on him, Alan thought. The

strangeness. The eyes.



No one else understood what Rafe meant, but many

thought him mad. Will scowled with pity. "Come away,

Rafe, or we must take you by force."



'^You cannot deny me my blood-rightl" Rafe cried.

"He must answer the challenge!"



Will looked at Pelys, who nodded sadly. According to

the custom of the times, Rate's demand had to be met.

Will and his men reluctantly joined the ring of spectators.



"Very well," said Hat. "Then let us go outside, where

the women and children need not watch."



"We will fight here where all can see, lady's man. Are

you afraid of dying a coward's death?"



Hal sighed, then turned and spoke to Rosemary, his

words traversing the hall. "My lady," he requested, "pray

leave."
Her face was pale, but her eyes flashed. "I am stay-

ing," she answered, lifting her head proudly.



"Fight, coward!" taunted Rafe.



There was nothing else to do. Hal laid aside his sword

and began to unlace his shirt. Will brought him a dag-

ger.



Celydon              113



Alan remained near Rosemary. He was not overly

concerned about the outcome of the fight, for he knew

Hal's ability. He also knew why Hal was so reluctant to

fight, especially in front of Rosemary, and as the shirt

came off he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.



Her cry of shock was lost in the gasp that went up from

all around. Pelys bit his lip, and even Rate's jaw

dropped. Back, front and sides, neck and upper arms,

Hal's skin was etched and crisscrossed with the scars of

a thousand wounds. But even in contrast with Rate's

smooth form, his tortured body had a grace all its own.

Broad shoulders, well-developed muscles and self-

possessed movement gave the onlookers an impression of
power and beauty, like the well-weathered granite of a

seaside cliff. Rafe felt a vague unease, a stirring of sec-

ond thought. Then Hal dropped to a crouching, catlike

posture, and the fight was on.



It hardly lasted long enough for Rafe to know what

had happened. This was not one of those practice bouts

in which he attacked and Hal waited while he wore

himself out. Instead, Hal came at him in a blur of mo-

tion. Rafe struck at him hastily, but Hal eluded the knife

with fluid grace, moving under Rate's arm and grasping

his wrist. The room spun around, and Rafe found him-

self on his back. A grip of great power crushed his hand;



he cried out in pain, his fingers loosened and the dagger

dropped. Then the blade touched his throat. He closed his

eyes and waited for certain death.



But, unbelievably, no blow was struck. Rafe opened

his eyes and saw two daggers, nearly point to point,

stuck like a V in the rafter far above. The crowd was in

an uproar. As he scrambled to his feet, he came face to

face with his gray-eyed adversary. "Why did you not

slay me?" he demanded. "From the day you first came

here I have offered you nothing but enmity."
The crowd fell silent again as Hal spoke slowly, with

lowered eyes. "You are a brave man, Rafe of Celydon.

Even with the knife at your throat, you did not flinch or

beg for mercy. It seems to me that my Lord Pelys may

one day have need of you."



"So I shall," growled Pelys tartly, "if he ever regains

the sense he was bom with."



"If you really want me dead, or worse than dead,"



114 THE SILVER SUN



added Hal bitterly, "there is no need to fight me. Just

carry news of me to the Dark Tower. You might soon

see me in such torments as should satisfy even your ha-

tred."



As he spoke, their eyes met and locked. Rafe probed

those gray eyes with his own, and all his confused feelings

came to one focus: he had been wrong. Hal was not a

cold-blooded, calculating bemg in human form. He bore

a gentle heart; he was no stranger to human emotions. In

those eyes Rafe saw loneliness, longing and hurt. Sud-

denly Rafe realized that Hal rather liked him. Shaking,
he passed a hand across his forehead, as if waking from a

bad dream.



"I have been acting like a fool,1' he said brokenly.

"These past three months I must have taken leave of my

senses. Can you forgive me, Hal?"



Hal took his proffered hand with joyful relief. "If you

will forgive my childish words. You are indeed a brave

man, Rafe, and honest to your core. I want no better gift

than your friendship."



They gripped hands before all present Rafe turned

next to Alan and took his hand in friendship also. Then

he apologized to Pelys and Rosemary. "My lord, my

lady, I beg pardon for my unseemly conduct."



"Put your shirt on, boy," snapped Pelys happily, "and

let us have some merriment. Musicians, ho!"



As the fiddlers struck up a lively tune, and as the vol-

unteers surrounded Rafe to welcome him back to their

fellowship, Hal walked slowly toward Rosemary. He was

grieved to see the pallor of her face. She had been

pierced by the sight of his scars and the thought of the
torment he must have withstood. She bad been faint with

terror when he flicked his knife into the rafters and

moved empty-handed against Rafe. When the dagger was

at Rafe's throat, many had turned their faces away, but

she had watched stonily; a moment later she chided her-

self for her fear. Now that the fight was over. Rosemary

felt weak. And still ringing in the back of her mind,

pushed there by the pressure of recent events, was the

echo of that timeless moment with Hal.



He did not know what to say to her. He came to her

with saddened heart, met her eyes, and suddenly the

memory of that moment came back to both of them- Its



Celydon              115



warmth glowed in their faces and lifted their heads.

Nothing needed to be said; they clasped hands to dance

once more.



Thus it was that Hal did what he had vowed he would

not do. The seed of love was planted in the young heart

of the lady of Celydon.



Chapter Four
The next day Rafe came back to the barracks and the

practice yard, for Pelys had let him know quite certainly

that he was to do so. But he was hanging his head, though

not sullenly, and all the volunteers tried so hard to wel-

come him that he grew more abashed by the moment.

Will even offered to return his captain's badge, but he

shook his head in red-faced shame. He could not face

Alan or Hal.



After a few days of this, Alan grew anxious to talk to

him. Many other people had the same thought, and Alan

was finally forced to follow Rafe through the courtyard

in order to speak to him alone. He cornered him against

a buttress.



"First you were tireless in rage," he scolded, "and now

you are as persistent in sorrow. When will I know your

smile, Rafe?"



But Rafe looked more likely to cry. Alan gesticulated

helplessly.



"Rafe, whatever is the matter? Can you not see that

everyone likes you, even when you are being bull-

headed?"
"Bullhead ed!" Rafe burst out. "I must have been in-

sane, Alant I was like a rabid dog. And what if it hap-



116



Celydon              117



pens again? I—I could have killed him, and I am not

worthy to clean his boots."



"He cleans his own boots, and you are as worthy of

that task as he." Alan settled back against the wall, see-

ing he had a long talk ahead of him. "Rate, everything

that happened is quite understandable,"



"Understandable I" Rafe shouted.



Alan waved him into silence and plunged on. "Rafe,

do you believe in goblins and nixies and that sort of

thing?"



"Believe?" Rafe stared, not comprehending that there

was an alternative. "I have lived with the unseen folk

since I was born. What of it?"
"Well, think, Rafel What was the day that Hal and I

came?"



"The eve of November, when the denizens of the

dark. . . . Ay, I thought that of him then, Alan, but no

morel I—"



"Believe your senses, Rafel" Alan interrupted- "What

happened, that day?"



"You saved my life," Rafe said miserably.



"And you were angry, frightened perhaps. Why? What

happened as I dragged you away from Anmdel?"



Rafe covered bis face with his hands.



"Rafel" Alan urged him.



"Hal's eyes," he whispered. "They flashed like cold

fire, like spook lights. I thought I was mad then, but

perhaps I am mad now."



Alan nodded in satisfaction. "He spoke to the steed in

the language of power, and you saw. No one else saw, or
perhaps no one else had eyes to see, Rafe. Now let me

tell you a tale."



They sat down on the cobblestones; Rafe was limp with

unbelieving relief. Alan told him about his first meeting

with HaL "The horses ran away," he explained, "and

perhaps I would have run too, if I had the strength—I

can't say; it is hard to know what we might do when we

are put to the test. But I held no credence in any things

of Other then, whether gods, demons, warlocks or what-

ever. So I told myself that I had seen nothing, I was

faint and confused. Hal took me into the Forest, to safety,

and nursed me."



'To the Forest?" Rafe asked weakly. The Forest was

a dark haunt of terror to him.



118 THE SILVER SUN



"Ay, the Forest. The touch of the Lady lies on it,

Rafe." Alan told him more, something of the Gypsies,

and the spirits, and Veran's flower. Rafe listened in awe.

Hal himself came and sat down quietly with them as

Atan finished.



"So, having seen what you saw, and believing what
you believed—do you still think you were mad, Rafe?"



"But I was wrong," Rafe protested. "He is—he is

good,"



"I dare say I am not entirely evil," Hal acknowledged

softly, "but I do not know all of myself, Rafe. Often I

am afraid." He was thinking, Alan knew, of his sire. King

Iscovar.



"And you had been taught, Rafe, that things of Other

are evil," Alan pointed out.



'Things of Other!" Hal exclaimed wryly. "Is that what

I have become now? Truly, I want only to be a man."



"You are all of that, and more!" Rafe defended him

hotly.



"And I am your friend?" Hal inquired.



"And my friend." Rafe smiled sheepishly.



"Then do me a favor, Rafe, as a friend," Hal re-

quested equably, "and forget pain awhile. No more
gloom."



Rafe squared his shoulders and met Hal's eyes. "No

more gloom," he promised, and they touched hands on it.



They talked again in days that followed, and became

better friends than they would have previously believed

possible. One day Rafe showed Hal something he had

kept secret from almost everyone else, hidden among the

tall thickets of his grandfather's overgrown pasturage.



"What a splendid horse!" Hal exclaimed. "And big!

He will make you a charger, Rafe. What do you call

him?"



"Night Storm. I have had him since be was a tiny foal.

The mare dropped him and died, out in the dark and the

thunder and pouring rain, up yonder, near the Forest. I

carried him here and nursed him on goats' milk, day and

night, all but diapered him. His mother was not one of

Pelys's mares, of course; he cares for his animals better

than that, I'm not sure where she came from, and I didn't

try too hard to find out." Rafe smiled guiltily. "I hid the

carcass."



The colt raised his sleek head and regarded them with
Celydon              119



a kingly, appraising glance. He was more stallion than

colt by now, coal black in color, long-legged, with a thick,

highcrested neck and a strong spring to his haunches.

-He's a runner," Hal murmured. "What are you going to

do with him, Rafe? You can't keep him here forever."



"I know it. He's over three years old now, and never

been ridden, because I don't know how to start. I love

horses, Hal, always have; it was the child in me that

longed to touch Arundel, that first day. And how I envy

you your ease with him! But there's been little riding for

me since my father died. One by one, his steeds were sold

to keep us in food." Rafe looked away from Hal; his

cheeks were flushed. "Now I am afraid someone will try

to take this one from me, say I stole him. All because—

because be is beautiful."



"No one will say that who knows you well." Hal

glanced at him fondly. "And your rearing of him has

given you the labor-right, Rafe. Take your horse to the

castle, and let Flann help you with him. He is bored here,

restless; can you not see it in him? He is thinking of kick-
ing his way out of that tumbledown shed."



"Really?" Rafe stared at Hal with half-superstitious

alarm. Though Alan had not told him so, he sensed that

Hal could communicate with animals in some way he

could not understand. He chewed his lip a moment, then

made his decision. "Well, my name is black enough al-

ready, I suppose it can stand a little more scandal. . . .

Come on then. Stormy." He reached for a rope, and the

horse came gently to his hand.



"Will you help me with him, too?" Rafe asked politely

as they led the jet-black steed back to Celydon.



"If you like." Hal eyed him humorously. "But you will

do well enough without me, and then you will know you

have trained him yourself, with only ordinary help. No

wizardry."



"I never said that," Rafe murmured, ashamed to ad-

mit his relief.



"Small blame if you did. And anyway," Hal added

lightly, "I have enough to keep me busy." An undertone

of warmth crept into his voice, for he spent most of his

time with Rosemary and Asfala, these days.
Rosemary was thrilled by the new turn in her life, and

spent hours in the stables. She had everything to learn

about horses, and Hal was very glad to teach her. He was



120 THE SILVER SUN



touched to watch the communion that grew between

the lady and the filly. Rosemary found her horse to be

willful but loving, spirited and free but dependent on her

for sustenance and comfort, a creature of moods and emo-

tions like herself. In time, she grew fond of Alfie and

Arundel also, and better understood the loving bonds be-

tween the beasts and their masters.



As Rosemary became a proficient rider, all three of

them took long jaunts across the snow-covered meadows

around Celydon, as far as the Forest rim. That encircling

barrier embraced the manor as if the Lady of the Forest

had given it her love; Hal and Alan felt safe from any

harm in Celydon. They taught Rosemary how to jump

her filly over low bushes. The icy winter air brightened

her eyes and put blooms of color in her cheeks;



Hal looked at her as if he could not look away. Sometimes
Alan made excuses to stay behind, thinking to take him-

self out of the way of wooing, but Hal always insisted

that he come along.



"Don't tempt me, Alan!" he would say earnestly.

"You'll have Pelys after me with a mace."



Pelys looked on his daughter with pleasure. He had

never seen her so glowing and happy. He reflected that

this was not entirely due to the bracing outdoor exercise,

for her eyes rested most often on Hal. But he also knew

that Rosemary was hardly aware of her own happiness,

and he trusted Hal with her innocence.



Hal also was as happy as he could find it in his moody

nature to be, and he had regained his ability to sleep. See-

ing so much of Rosemary, he had found contentment in

learning to know her better every day. He liked her

matter-of-fact approach to life, her warmth and fun-loving

spirit, her patience and cheerfulness, her impulsive ten-

derness and even her occasional outbursts of temper. He

loved the grace of her hair and face, her dress and move-

ments. And he loved the poetry of her mind and soul.

Yet, as sensitive and intelligent as she was, Rosemary

was only dimly aware of what was happening to her, like

a sleeper just drifting out of dreaminesa.
The vernal Feast of Fires, the quarter-day, went by,

and February drew to a close. Hal and Alan became

aware that their stay at Celydon must soon end. Once

more Hal woke shaking in the night, and once more he



Celydon               121



prowled the dark courtyard, torn between bis desire to

stay and the knowledge that he must go. His days passed

in a trance of waiting. It no longer snowed, and the earth

lay frozen, breathless for the spring thaw. Everyone

caught cold, and longed for warmer weather. Hal paced

restlessly through the shortening nights, sniffing the air

Hke a creature of the wilds.



"The wind is warm, and out of the west," he told Alan

one morning. "It will not be long now."



The next day the spring rains came and washed the

snow away. For the next week the earth was a gurgling

morass, and anyone who ventured beyond the courtyard

was wet to the skin and muddy to the knees. But the rain

was warm, and the softened earth smelled like spring.

Slender green blades of grass started to appear.
One night the rain stopped, and the morning dawned

clear and fine. It was traveling weather, and still Hal

could not bring himself to leave. He vaulted onto Arundel

and cantered out of the gates, fleeing toward the solitude

of the upper meadows. Alan looked after him with anx-

ious eyes, unable to help him.



As it chanced, however, Hal was not alone for long.

As he neared the Forest, he heard a birdlike whistle,

and a wondering smile spread across his face. It was not

yet the season for birdsong. He answered the whistle and

rode into the woods. There, standing in his path and

smiling, was Ket, red hair blazing under his leather cap.



"Ye look sad, Hal," he greeted him cheerfully.



**No more," answered Hal as he sprang down from

Arun. "Well met, Ket, you fox!" They gripped hands,

laughing.



"Aren't you a bit far from home?" asked Hal.



"No home for the outcast," mourned Ket. He explained

that he and his men had left their old haunts; they found

game more plentiful on this side of the Forest, and life
more peaceful. Pelys's folk were kind. But Ket had a

warning for Hal.



"Ye would do well not to ride alone, lad," he said

soberly. "There are kingsmen about."



Hal was stunned. It was as if a bloody corpse had been

thrown into the peaceful pool that was Celydon. "What?"

fae stammered. "I—I have heard nothing about them."



"Oh, they leave off their pumpkin hats before they

ride." Ket growled. "They have been spying about at the



THE SILVER SUN



122



alehouses. looking for a fellow with a sword much like

yers Hal." Ket eyed the black and silver blade medita-

tively. "But they say he is a fair-haired man of middle

years, perhaps carrying a kind of lute. . . . Still, they may

have heard talk, as my men have, of a young blood with

more scars than anyone deserves. Ye roust be wary,



Hal."
"Ay, well," Hal sighed, "I will be gone by the morrow,



Ket."



"I have seen ye often, riding with Alan and the lady

Rosemary," Ket remarked obliquely. "Ye wished to

stay?"



*'I must go." Hal sat a moment in silence. "I am not

loath to tell you what you have already guessed, that I

love the lady well, and my Lord Pelys also. If you had

not by good fortune come to me, I would have come to

you, for I have been troubled, and I have a great favor

to ask."



"I will do whatever I can," Ket vowed.



Hal scratched at the dirt with a stick, trying to name

his fears. "There is Nabon of Lee, for one," he said

slowly. "From what I hear, he is making ready his armies

to have his revenge on Pelys. To the north. Guy of Gaunt

waits to pounce on whatever remains of both of them,

which may stay Nabon's hand yet awhile. . . . But danger

is more common than such warmongering lords. All I can

say is, pray look after my lady and my lord while I am
gone."



" Tis a small enough request from one friend to an-

other," Ket smiled. "I will do my best. Where will ye go?"



"Where the road takes me. I shall see you from time to

time, I dare say."



They chatted for a while longer. Then Hal returned to

Celydon Castle and greeted Alan with a wry smile. "Let

us pack our things."



"It's already done," Alan retorted.



They loaded their horses. Flann was shocked and sorry

to find that they were going. But he could tell that they

wanted no fuss, and bid them a quiet farewell. They

went next to the barracks, and spoke to Rafe and Wilt

Rafe faltered, trying to tell them what knowing them had

meant to him,



"1 believe you understand me more completely than



Celydon                123
anyone except Alan," Hal told him quietly. "I hope we

shall meet again."



Rafe set bis jumbled thoughts aside and voiced his feel-

ings as best he could. "All the gods defend you, Hal. And

if ever I can aid you in any way, pray call on me . . . my

friend."



They asked Will to give their regards to their other

friends in the barracks, the kitchen and the workshops.

Then they reluctantly went to take their leave of Pelys

and Rosemary. Hal cradled his plinset in his arms.



The lord and lady were at breakfast in Pelys's cham-

ber. "The sun shines, and the wind blows warm, my

lord," Hal said. "It is time for us to go."



Rosemary gave a cry of sorrow. "But where, Hal? And

when shall we see you again?"



"Where the road leads me, my lady," Hal replied

softly. "When we shall meet again, I do not know, but

surely I will come to you if I am alive." He held out to

her the precious instrument in his arms. "This is too old

and valuable to suffer the weather and the chances of

travel. Will you keep it for me, till I return?"
"But what will you have then, to comfort and cheer

you?" Rosemary knew how Hal depended on his plinset

when he fell into one of his desperate moods. "Wait but

a moment," she said, and ran from the room.



Pelys regarded them quietly with his eyes that always

searched for truth. "So you are leaving us," he said

thoughtfully. "I am sorry to see you go, you two. You

have brightened my winter greatly. I thank you from my

heart, both of you, for a great many reasons." Hal and

Alan were embarrassed, and glanced at each other side-

long. Pelys changed his tone abruptly. "Now, now, don't

just stand there, you two! Give me the hands, quickly!"



Grinning, they extended their hands to him as they had

when first they met him. "Ay, so you have taken up wood-

carving, Alan, and smithying. What were the results?"



Alan brought from his pocket a hunting knife he had

made for Corin, complete with its tooled leather scabbard.

The polished handle in the shape of a horse's head shone

darkly. Pelys admired it, and looked appraisingly at Alan-



"I believe you can do anything to which you turn your
hand," he remarked. "Hal's works are of a different

sort. . . . But am I never to know the meaning of this?"

He pointed to the small scar on each left wrist.



124 THE SILVER SUN



Rosemary entered quietly and stopped near the door.

Hal and Alan looked at each other. Then Hal spoke.



"It happened, my lord, that this summer past there was

a terrible and wonderful night when I was greatly in need

of Alan's comfort and love. Yet I felt that he had good

reason to hate me. But he told me a marvelous thing, that

he wished I were his brother and my blood ran in his

veins.



"In the country of Welas, the West Land, where my

ancestry lies, it is the custom that two men who wish to be

brothers may make themselves so by a ritual that requires

their trust and confidence in each other. Each must put a

knife to the other's left wrist, where the heart's blood

flows, and cut. And the wounds shall then be pressed to-

gether, thus."



He and Alan joined left hands somewhat as wrestlers

do, so that their fists pointed skyward and their wrists
pressed together. Each attempted, playfully, to pull the

other over. This gesture, at once a contest of strength and

a demonstration of affection, had become their habit of

greeting each other.



"And so we did," said Hal.



"And so," finished Alan, '*we are indeed brothers, as

you say, my lord. though some may not see it so."



For once in his life Pelys was at a loss for words. Rose-

mary moved from her place at the door and came to his

rescue. She held an intricately seamed leather sack with a

long carrying strap. It was provided with tight fastenings,

and it was so sturdily sewn and so well waxed as to be

practically waterproof. Into this the plinset would fit as

snugly as a turtle in its shell.



'Take this case, Hal," she said, holding it out to him.

"It will keep your instrument from harm. But you must

bring it back to me when you can, for it is not yet fin-

ished."



Wonderstruck, Hal accepted the finely wrought case.

On the front, over the place where the strings would lie,
shone a sunburst, delicately picked out in metallic thread,

but only half done. He had never dreamed that she was

making a gift for him. His eyes, full of emotion, met hers

for a long moment No words were exchanged between

them.



"Tush, tush," Pelys broke the silence. "The day is grow-



Celydon              125



ing older by the moment. Go on if you are going, you

two!"



They needed no further urging to move toward the

door. "All blessing be with you, my lord, my lady," said

Hal.



"Thank you both for everything," added Alan.



Then they were gone. As their footsteps faded down the

stairs. Rosemary bolted for the door, weeping. "Come

herel" Pelys snapped at her, as sternly as he had ever

spoken to her. Surprised, but still weeping, she came

slowly to stand before him. He reached up and took her

by the shoulders, shaking her.
"Are you a woman or a child?" he scolded her.

"Would you have him face his journey with a heavy

heart? Dry your eyes, quickly! We go to the battlements,

to wave them on their way." He clapped for his retainer.



Hal and Alan rode out of Celydon as soon as they

could, bidding only a quick farewell to the old gatekeeper.

They turned north, toward Rodsen, back the same way

they had come the fall before. As they topped the rise

near the Forest. Hal drew Arundel to a stop. He could not

bear to look back, but neither could he bear not to.

Slowly he wheeled Arundel, and on the topmost platform

of the keep he saw two tiny figures, one standing, the

other seated. Even at that distance Hal could not mistake

them, and as he smiled his relief, they waved. Hal and

Alan waved back, then sent their horses cantering over

the rise.



"Now, daughter," said Pelys, in a voice that was once

again gentle, "you may weep as much as you like." And

with his arms around her she did just that.



That night, miles to the north, Hal and Alan lay down

under the light of a young moon and a spring sky crisply

studded with stars. Hal slept well; better than he had in
months. He was on his way again, and he was relieved

that Rosemary had not taken the parting as hard as he

feared. The winter of inaction and inner struggle was be-

hind him; the future was all that concerned him now.



But in Celydon, sleep came hard to Rosemary after a

day spent first in weeping and then in trancelike misery.

Though she was outwardly calm, her thoughts were whirl-

ing. The young moon which peeped in her window

mocked her with its serenity. Finally, like a pot suddenly



126 THE SILVER SUN



boiling over, she threw off her covers, stamped her bare

feet and padded off to her father's chamber.



He was sitting up reading, and he smiled as she entered

almost as if he had been expecting her. He patted the

bed, and she sat, sighing, "I can't get to sleep," she mum-

bled.



'Tut, tut, Rosie," he said, touching her hair. "Out with

it. What ails you?"



"Oh, Father," she burst out, "why did he not speak?

Why did he go? Was I mistaken, and does he not love me
at all?" She buried her face in her hands.



"Whoa, lass," said the old man, gently placing his hand

on her trembling shoulder. "One thing at a time. First of

ail, do you love him or not?"



She glared at him in astonished annoyance. "Of course

I love him!" she shouted.



"Good!" smiled Pelys. "Fine spirit!" He grew more se-

rious. "Never be ashamed to say it, Rosemary, and never

regret it, no matter what may chance. But does he love

you? What do you think?"



She was almost ready to burst with irritation, but sens-

ing that he was testing her, she replied quietly, "I have

thought so."



"Then think so still," Pelys said. "Trust your feelings,

daughter. And, for what my opinion is worth," he added,

"I think so too."



A wave of relief swept over her. "Father, do you re-

ally?"
"By my beard, girl, would I say it if I did not? I thought

so before Winterfest. Indeed, I will even declare that if

he is not very much in love with you, then I am a suckling

babe, for I am as sure of it as I was of your mother's

love for me,"



Some color came back into Rosemary's pale cheeks at

her father's tender words. She no longer spoke in despera-

tion, but only in weary puzzlement. "Then why did he

go? Or, if go he must, why did he not speak?"



"Well, well, is it not obvious, Rosie, that there is some-

thing he must do? And that being so, would he speak to

you before he had done it? He is above all a man of

honor. And what has he to offer you? Only a wandering

life full of danger and heartbreak. Nay, nay, do not mis-

take me," he continued as she started to protest. "There



Celydon              127



is not a better man in Isle, and I warrant you he will

make his mark before long."



"But why did he not trust us?" Rosemary insisted.

**Why did he not tell us where he must go, and why?"
"I dare say he has his reasons." Pelys fixed his daugh-

ter with a faintly humorous gaze. "Do you not have faith

in him, Rosie?"



"Oh, Father!" she exclaimed in exasperation.



"So, I take it that you do- Then do you not think he

will keep his promise, and return?"



She smiled slowly. "I dare say he will." Then she

sighed. "But it is likely to be a long time."



"Well, then I shall say one more thing. Even if he had

home and fortune waiting for you, and no barrier between

you two except his own honor and wisdom, I think still

he would not yet have spoken, for one reason: you are

not yet ready. You are only newly awakened to love,

daughter. Savor it, and let it season. Your life is yet very

young, and though you are but two years younger than

him in fact, you are many years younger in wisdom. He

has known many a sorrow, if I mistake not, and this is

your first. Do not pout at me, miss, for I speak simple

truth, and it is hardly your fault. Indeed, you have made

me proud of you, these months past."
"Proud of me!"



"Ay." He put his arm around her once again. "You

have become a woman and a lady. He will think of you

with pleasure while he is absent."



"Indeed, Father, it is a marvel that he thinks of me at

all." She was dreamy-eyed. "My heart knows that he loves

me; yet it is hard for my mind to believe. He is such a

man as I have never known. ... A warrior, yet gentle,

wise and passionate, full of mystery and poetry and

strange knowledge. Whatever does he see in me?"



Pelys smiled. "Always lovers wonder this. I remember

how I marveled at the love of your mother, for she was a

young beauty who had her choice of many, and I was a

crippled thing more than twice her age." Rosemary patted

him in affectionate protest.



"For the most part," Pelys mused, "we wonder thus be-

cause lovers are blind to the loved one's faults. But in

your case, I believe you hit not far from the mark. I have

seen many fine young men in my time, Rosie, but never



128         THE SILVER SUN
one as rare as he. There is a mystery in his eyes. . . .

I confess, I do not understand him, yet I know very well,

lassie, that you could not have chosen a better man. If

the gods let him live, perhaps someday we shall know

him better. Till then, we can only wait for him to fulfill

his quest."



book three

THE WEST LAND



Chapter One



a.



The next day Hal and Alan turned westward, hoping that

the kingsmen had been thrown off their track. They would

cross the Broken Lands at the narrowest point to the

Westwood, the other great Forest of Isle. Once within that

shelter, they would turn southward toward Welas.



Their road to the Westwood lay across the lands of

Guy of Gaunt. They were not in great danger, however,

for the cover was good. The Broken Lands were criss-

crossed by many streams which wound through wooded

ravines, and the hills between bore crowns of trees. A
hint of coming leaves cloaked their branches like a green

mist, and a whisper of bloom clung to the hedgerows.

This was the heartland of Isle at the dawning of the

year; the spell of its beauty was strong. Hal and Alan

traveled in quiet happiness. They were well provisioned,

and reached the Westwood before they felt much need of

fresh supplies.



By then the beeches had put out achingly bright green

buds, and deer were everywhere. Hal and Alan rode

steadily southward, trading meat for bread when they felt

the need- Spring had become summer before they turned

the corner of Isle. Gradually the iand grew steep and

precipitous, until one day the Westwood ended. They



130



The West Land             131



found themselves on the bare, rocky shoulder of the first

mountain, looking down into Welas.



Hal's eyes sparkled as he pointed out the places that

had been the food and drink of his mind since he was a

little boy, but which he had never seen. Below them

spread the lowlands of Welas, and in the distance shone
the curves of the Gleaming River. To the westward was

the dark mass of Welden, ancient home of the Blessed

Kings of Welas, now defiled by the presence of UIger,

Iscovar's henchman. Mountains surrounded the lowlands

on three sides, and in the distance one of them rose above

the rest. Hal pointed to it reverently. "That is where we

are going," he stated.



"Why?" Alan asked. "Do you expect to find your

grandfather there?"



Hal hesitated. "It is hard to say what I expect to find

there. That is Veran's Mountain." He stopped, as if that

alone said all.



"Veran's Mountain?"



"Veran did what no one else has done: he ventured

upon that mountain and returned unharmed."



"Indeed, is that so?" Alan gave him a wry glance, won-

dering what sort of strange peril Prince Gray Eyes was

planning to lead them into now. He phrased his nest

question delicately. "What is so special about that moun-

tain?"
"Folk of that time said it was the home of the gods,

and worshiped it. Those who ventured upon its slopes

came back witless. Some never returned at all. But Veran

returned, and brought with him a bride so beautiful that

folk called her the daughter of the gods, though she died

a mortal death."



A year earlier, Alan might have laughed at this talk of

gods. But now he looked at Hal sharply. "And you, Hal?

Do you believe that yonder mountain is the home of the

gods, who gave Veran their daughter and their blessing?"



"I believe in the One. But I have seen. . . .*' Hal fum-

bled for words to explain his dreams. "I have seen other

folk, fairer than sun or moon or circling stars. That moun-

tain calls me, Alan."



To get there or indeed to get anywhere in Welas, they

had to travel the lowlands, which were held by the cap-

tains of Iscovar's conquest of twenty years before- These

were harshly oppressive lords, struggling to rule a rebel-



THE SILVER SUN



132
lious people. Their men patrolled the county constantly,

alert and heavily armed. Hal and Alan decided to ride by

night. But even so, it was not long before Alan found

himself caught up in an anguished search.



One evening at dusk, as they were making ready to

travel, Hal vaulted onto Arundel and trotted half a mile

to a spring for water. Only a tiny village stood near the

trickle of water, and Alan did not think any harm of the

venture. But Hal failed to return. Uneasily, Alan rode

after him, and found the torn earth where Hal had spun

away from an ambush, and the straight trail where he had

led his pursuers across the countryside, away from his

friend. There might have been tracks of half a dozen

horses, Alan thought. He felt sick. But darkness was fall-

ing, and he could not follow the track.



He spent a restless night at their campsite, hoping

against reason that Hal would return. The next day,

scorning fear, he followed Hal's tracks until be lost them

in the rocky uplands of some lord's sheep pasturage. He

circled in ever wider spirals through that day without find-

ing a sign of his brother. Perhaps Hal had managed to

shake the lordsmen from his track, but he had most as-
suredly lost Alan as well.



Alan scoured the countryside through days of rising

panic, scarcely troubling himself to avoid the lordsmen.

The few words of Welandais Hal had taught him were

painfully useless to gain him any information. Finally,

quite desperate, he turned Alfie toward Veran's Moun-

tain. If Hal was alive and at liberty, perhaps he had re-

sumed his interrupted quest,



For the weeks of the journey Alan rode mercilessly

hard, ate little and slept only from exhaustion. A'fie

grew thin, and his eyes rolled constantly, showing the

frightened whites. But Alan fixed his bloodshot eyes on

Veraa*s Mountain, cursing feverishly as it scarcely seemed

to grow larger at all. He set his course straight toward it,

impatiently outriding the lordsmen who pursued him.



At long last the peak grew, and changed, and filled

the sky. Alan left the lowland habitations behind him

and traversed the wild, steep shoulders of his goal. Then

utter despair stabbed his heart, for he could not find a sign

of Hal. He rode at random in the shadows of the crags

for three days, until a certain afternoon. Then he heard

harsh voices raised in shouts of cruel triumph. Fearfully
133



The West Land



he drew his sword, wrapped his left arm in his cloak by

way of a shield and cantered toward the ominous sound.

But it was not Hal that he found.



In a hollow of the mountainside grew a graceful

ash tree. Around the tree circled five mounted warriors,

chanting an ugly taunt. Tied to the trunk of the tree, with

dry branches and kindling piled about her, was a slender

maiden. She stood motionless and silent, her head bowed

so that her long golden hair flowed down to hide her face.

One of the warriors struck flint to steel. But before he

could set the kindling aflame, Alan sent Alfie leaping into

the dingle.



His sword and me force of his charge left two men

dead, but three strong fighters remained. They rallied

swiftly, attacking Alan from all sides. Alfie whirled and

darted like an iron-shod bird of prey. He rose on his hind

legs and struck out with his deadly forehooves, lending

his force to Alan's sword. The enemy fell back momen-

tarily, and Alfie managed to set his hindquarters against
a giant stone. But the warriors advanced once again in

renewed strength. Alan took several- cuts on the head and

shield arm, and then a thrust through his left shoulder.

He went white with shock, nearly losing his seat.



Silent and unmoving as a stone, the maiden watched

with smoky gray-green eyes while Alan fought for his life

and hers. But as she gazed, the cloudy sheen of her eyes

grew darker and more intense, until all at once tears

flooded down her cheeks. She strained against her bonds,

crying out words which Alan could not understand: "0

Aene so loften, ir shalden, el prien, trist a mirdas free

engristel" ["Oh One so high, help me, I pray, lest the

brave man diet"] Even through the roaring in his ears

Alan heard the maiden's cry. But little did he guess that

tears had never moistened her face before, and that her

strange words were a plea not for herself but for him.



Somehow she broke loose, whether by sorcery or mer-

est luck Alan did not care. "Run!" he shouted to her.

"Run quickly and hide! I cannot last much longeri" But

she had no thought of running, even if she had under-

stood. She picked up a dead man's sword, and with

strange words she called a horse. With frightful, blazing

eyes she mounted and spurred toward the fray. She

aimed a clumsy blow at the back of the nearest warrior.
But as he turned to face her, he froze in unreasoning ter-



134



THE SILVER SUN



ror, and she struck him full in the throat The other two

foes swung around quickiy, and Alan, fearing for the

maiden, summoned all his strength to strike one in the

sword arm. But the two were unnerved, and fled head-

long out of the hollow and down the mountainside, leav-

ing Alan in amazed relief.



He leaned heavily on his saddle and gazed at the

strang maiden who had just saved his life as he fought to

save hers. She was lovely beyond belief, with a perfect

beauty that defied his reason- // the bride Veran brought

back from this mountain was anything like her, Alan

thought hazily, it is no wonder folk look her for a god-

dess. She was looking at the sword in her hand with a

peculiar expression, and then she dropped it abruptly to

the ground, traces of tears were still wet on her cheeks

as she turned toward him.



He vaguely knew that he should be afraid. He knew
that armed men had fled before this maiden. But he was

tired beyond fear. He met her eyes without hesitation,

knowing that all of his despair, weariness, longing and

love were in his gaze. For what might have been an hour

or an instant her eyes engulfed him. He saw a white-

haired patriarch with a face as young as the new day

and as old as time. He saw a great horse running in a

green valley where golden birds flew, and bis heart

leaped with hope that it was Arundel. He saw argent

ships on tourmaline seas. Then weakness overtook him.

The vision turned to blackness. He felt arms around him,

and with what strength he could muster be lowered him-

self from Alfie's back and sank to the ground.



When he opened his eyes, he found himself propped

against the ash tree. The maiden had unlaced his tunic

and was stanching the flow of blood from his shoulder

wound, weeping silently as she tended him. Alan reached

out with his good hand and wiped away her tears.

"Hush," he said gently, "it is not so bad." Then he

caught his breath, dumbfounded. The words he had

spoken were not in Ih-.; language of Isle. Different sounds

had left his mouth, musical emanations of the concern

and comfort he meant to convey. The maiden still wept,

but joy shone in her eyes.
"Tell me what to do," she said in that harmonious

language that Alan had not understood before. "I have

never healed a man."



The West Land              I3S



Alan reached across his body and took the fold of

cloth she pressed against his wound. His fingers tingled

as they touched hers. "Get the flask out of the saddle-

bags," he told her. "It will give me strength."



A gulp of the burning liquid sent his memory back to

the'first time he had tasted it, when Hal had befriended

him. The maiden's steady gaze reminded him of the gray

eyes he had seen for the first time that day. Perhaps she

was a relative of Hal's; it was not impossible. He watched

her as she fetched water from a mountain tarn. She wore

a simple garment of soft fiber, spring green in color. Her

only ornament was a dark green stone which hung from a

golden chain around her neck. She was lovelier than any

bejeweled noblewoman Alan had ever seen. She was

slender but stately, like the ash tree in the hollow. She

moved as gracefully as its branches in the summer

breeze, and her dress floated about her body like soft

new leaves.
"What is your name?" Alan asked when she came to

him. "If you wish to tell me," he added quickly. In this

strange tongue, he instinctively knew, a name revealed the

essence of the bearer.



She smiled, not with her mouth so much as with her

shining eyes. "Certainly I will tell you," she replied. She

bathed the cuts on his head with cold, pure water. "It is

Lysse."



Alan knew at once that her name meant "the graceful

one." Even as she applied thick black ointment to the cuts

on his head, her every movement flowed with the grace of

perfection, quick and precise. When she had bandaged his

head, she bared his left forearm and bathed off the caked

blood. He lay still, his eyes intent on her. The touch of

her hands thrilled him.



"What is your name?" she inquired.



He told her, then asked, "Does it mean something to

you, as yours does to me?"



Again she smiled with that strange glow in the eyes.

"Ay, surely. It means 'handsome.' It also means that you
are a gentle man, one who would live in harmony, not in

strife." He reddened at her praise, but she went on, not

seeming to notice. "What are you doing here, Alan? Do

you have some quest here? I know that your heart is

sorely troubled."



"I am searching for my belledas, my blood brother. We



THE SILVER SUN



136



were separated in the lands of the evil lords, and I—I

fear he might be dead. He had planned to come to

Veran's Mountain, and so I came hoping to find him

here."



"But why did he wish to come here?"

"By my troth,'* replied Alan slowly, "I believe he

himself hardly knew. He seeks his grandfather, but I do

not think he expects to find him here."

"And who is his grandfather?'*

"I am sorry,*' answered Alan. "It is not my secret."

She seemed surprised and puzzled, but not angry. She

bandaged his arm in silence. When she had finished, she
looked into his eyes, studying his strength.



"If you can ride," she said, "we shall go to my people.

Perhaps my father can help you find your belledas."

"But who are your people?"



"That,*' she said, with her hint of a smile, "is not my

secret."



They padded Alan's shoulder wound and put the arm

in a sling so that it would not be moved. Then Alan band-

aged Lysse's wrists where they were cut and burned from

the thongs which had bound her. She did not consider it

necessary, but he insisted- He offered her some dried meat,

but she refused, saying she ate no flesh. Weak as he was,

his own stomach turned at the sight of the stuff, but he

nibbled at some anyway, for strength. Lysse did not eat;



she had shown no sign of such faintness as he felt.



Her home, she told him. was no more than three days

away, less if they traveled quickly. As soon as he was

ready, they started. Lysse rode her captured horse. "He is

a good steed at heart," she explained, "and did not will-

ingly serve such a master."
They conversed very little, for Alan needed all his

strength for riding. Every jolt and jounce sent pain through

his hurt limbs, and his head was throbbing from the blows

he had taken. Their course was steep and rough, over

boulders and around crags. There was no beaten path to

soften the way. After a while Alan's shoulder began to

throb like his head, and he could scarcely keep from cry-

ing out in his misery.



They stopped just before dark, when Lysse found a

grassy place for them to stay. Alan was beyond pride. He

staggered off Alfie, sank to the ground and fell at once in-

to a stupor. Lysse carefully covered him with his blanket,



The West Land             137



then unsaddled the horses and sat watching over him late

into the night.



The next morning, Alan was awakened by the touch of

cold water as Lysse bathed his face- His shoulder was red

and swollen, and his whole body was pulsing with pain.

Lysse put cold cloths on the wound while Alan ate some

dried venison. Before the sun was well up, they were on

their way once again.
For Alan, the day soon faded into a haze of wretched-

ness. If anyone had asked him to retrace his path, he

could not have done so, for he saw nothing except the

rump of Lysse's horse moving in front of him. He fol-

lowed it blindly, trusting Alfie to avoid the pitfalls of the

trail. Lysse was pushing the pace. She knew she could not

have mercy on Alan and let him rest, for infection was

setting in. If she did not soon get him to shelter and

proper doctoring, he might die. She had seen the utter

weariness and despair in his eyes, his empty saddlebags,

his haggard face. And she knew what Alan himself hardly

realized, that he had worn himself to the thin edge of ex-

haustion, that his wound was more dangerous to him than

it seemed.



Only three times that whole long day they rested- On

those occasions Lysse brought Alan cold water to drink,

and bathed his face and wound. Then, while he lay on the

grass, she foraged for berries and wild fruits to sustain

herself. But by the end of the day they had seen the last

of the plants and shrubs tucked away in the crevices of

the slopes. Far above them the mountain rose in barren

cliffs. The air was thin, wrenching Alan's breath. He

panted at even the slightest exertion, and the pain in his

chest made him feel so weak that he leaned over and
clung to his saddle as his tears moistened Alfie's mane.



Alan never remembered stopping and dismounting to

sleep that night. The next morning he thought he could

not move. "Elwyndast" Lysse called to him sternly, and

with a groan he sat up; the name was a summons of

power to him. He could not eat, but Lysse made him

drink what remained in his flask. "We should be there by

early afternoon," she said, "but the hardest part is yet to

come. You must have your strength about you." She spoke

bravely, and turned her face away so he would not see

the pity in her eyes.



That day they scaled the cliff. The horses walked along



138 THE SILVER SUN



a ledge cut into the face of Veran's Mountain, spiraling

around it like the staircase of a tower. Alan was hardly

aware of the steep ascent, but when he finally noticed

hawks circling far below, he pulled Alfie to a halt, waiting

for his faintness to pass. Lysse paused anxiously, but they

soon pressed on- Alan did not look down again, but fol-

lowed her closely, and did not find it strange that he

trusted her with his life and his love.
At the top of the mountain curved a valley, a giant cir-

cle protected on all sides by ramparts of rock, filled with

dells and streams, green trees and sunny meadows. Alan

did not notice when they arrived. Only gradually he real-

ized that Alfie's hooves fell on grass instead of rock, and

that they were moving down, not up, a slope. With great

effort he raised his head and focused his eyes. Lysse was

leading him toward some brightly colored cloth shelters

scattered amidst a grove of trees. People were coming out

of them, calling to each other. Perhaps the fever was af-

fecting his mind, Alan thought, or perhaps he had died

and reached some realm of the blessed. He had thought

no living creature could be as lovely as Lysse, but these

folk were beautiful beyond description. There was a light

all about them, an unworldly glow like the shimmer of

Lysse's eyes. In spite of his pain and sorrow Alan felt bis

heart smiling, though he could barely see their faces.



Then one of them rushed through the group, running

to meet him. One of them and yet not one of them! Alan

reeled in his saddle as relief and happiness struck him

with all the force of unbearable sorrow. "Hal!" he tried

to shout; his voice came out a husky whisper. Then strong

arms helped him down from the saddle, and he wept un-

ashamedly in Hal's tearful embrace.
Chapter Two



Alan awoke to the feel of soft blankets on his bare skin,

and found himself lying on a thick bed of down comfort-

ers. He found it hard to believe that he had ever been

exhausted and burning with feverish pain. Overhead

shimmered a canopy of finely woven gold cloth; the glow

of the sunlight that filtered through was like the glow of

health he now felt. Luxuriously he stretched himself be-

neath his covers, but stopped as a stabbing pain in his

shoulder reminded him that his troubles were not a dream.

More cautiously, he raised himself on his good elbow and

looked around. Hal lay sleeping a few feet away, one

muscular arm thrown across his blanketed chest with

childlike abandon. Alan thought that Hal looked rather

pale and worn. He did not realize that he himself looked

considerably worse than he felt.



He vaguely recalled his illness, the many people that

ran to meet him and Lysse, and Hal's arms supporting

him. He remembered Hal's broken words of comfort, the

horrible pain as his wound was lanced and drained, the

cool water and fresh bandages, and a springtime fragrance

which made him forget he had ever known sorrow. But it
all seemed so long ago.



There was a slight sound outside, and Lysse peeked



139



140 THE SILVER SUN



in at the tent flap. When she saw he was awake, she en-

tered, carrying a tray with a pitcher and two goblets. Her

eyes were shining.



"Lysse," Alan whispered, and reached out to her with

his good hand. She put down her tray and settled herself

on the grass beside him, taking his hand in both of hers.

Her touch was warm, like the glow in her eyes.



"You are feeling better," she said softly.



"Much better. How long have I slept?"



"Only a night. It is the rooming of the day after we

arrived. Veran's flower works quickly. They gave it to me

also, for I was overwrought, and now I feel as rested as

if I had never left the valley."
"And they cared for your wrists," Alan said, touching

the fresh white bandages. "It is well."



"Not so much talk," she smiled, "till you are stronger.

Drink this." She poured him a goblet full of sparkling

amber liquid and helped him raise it to his lips. It was

delicious, cool and tangy. Alan lowered his drained glass

in wonder.



"What a marvelous draught," he said. "It makes me

think of nectar and honey and the juices of bright-colored

fruits I have never known- What is it?"



"All of those things and more," she replied, but her

eyes glanced past him.



Alan turned and saw Hal staring at him with a startled

look. "What is wrong, Hal?" he asked.



"Nothing," answered Hal, bis expression changing to

one of joy and wonder. "I am taken aback, that is aU.

How did you learn to speak the Old Language?"



Alan had not even realized that he and Lysse were

conversing in this tongue which had once been strange to
him, so natural had it now become. And Hal was speak-

ing to him in the same tongue. This, then, was Hal's

mysterious language that had puzzled him for so long!

He was staggered, and hard put to reply to Hal's query.



"I hardly know," he murmured. "From her eyes, I

think."



"In very truth, your brother is a marvel among men,

Mireldeyn," Lysse replied gravely to Hal. "His soul

touched mine fearlessly. His name shall be Elwyndas

among my people, for he is a brave man, and great of

heart. It is no wonder you love him so."



She poured Hal a drink of her nectar, and as he took



The West Land            141



it Alan saw that he made no effort to conceal his scars

from her. "You call him Mireldeyn?" he blurted.



"Ay. What do you call him?"



"Hal. Does it mean something to you?"



"Ay, indeed; it suits him well." She took a deep breath.
"It means 'he who rules.' "



Lysse took her goblets and rose. "My father will come

to you soon," she said. "Pray make your needs known to

us," She gracefully took her leave.



Alan's eyes followed her, and his confused thoughts

formed themselves into one compelling question. "Who

are these folk, Hal?" he demanded, this time speaking in

the language of Isle. "Are they of mankind, as we are, or

not?"



Hal came and sat close beside him. His scarred body

glowed golden in the diffused morning light. "Ah, Alan,"

he replied in a voice low with wonder, "by my troth, my

dreams come alive and walk in the light of day. They

are elves."



"Elves!" exclaimed Alan. A hundred childhood tales

flickered through his mind, stories of cold-blooded, heart-

less creatures who stole babies from cradles and ensnared

the soul with their eyes. Hal saw the alarm in his face,

and glanced at him keenly.



"Ay," he stated, "elves. Remember your friends of the
barrow, and take care how you heed the tales of ignorant

folk. These elves are not much like the pixies which old

women use to frighten children."



Alan smiled, shamefaced. "Tell me about them."



"They are the true immortals," Hal said with a sort

of awe. "They will never sicken or grow old, though they

can be killed. They face death bravely if need be. But

the death of one of their number is a terrible tragedy, a

cause of deeper mourning than we can well imagine, for

it is not the necessary end of their lives. All of them are

deeply grateful to you for saving Lysse from such a fate."



"She could have saved herself," Alan protested, re-

calling how the men bad fled before her. "She could have

killed them all with a thought!"



"If she has that power, she could not, or would not use

it; not for her own sake." Hal sighed. "There is much I

do not understand about the People of Peace, Alan; until

yesterday I did not dare to hope that they existed except

in my dreams. But this much I know: like the spirits of



142
THE SILVER SUN



the dead, they may not, or will not, intervene in the affairs



of men or the coming of fate."



"But she did intervene. She saved my life!"



"You must be a very special person, Ehvyndas."



Alan understood now that his elwedeyn name meant



"elf-friend, elf-spirit," like Veran before him. But if he



was an elf-friend, was not Hal the same?



"What is the language that you and the elves speak,

Hal?"



"It is the Old Language, the language of the Begin-

nings. It is the language of power, which the One used to

sing the creation, when the mountains rose out of the

deeps. Those who use it know all creatures and are like-

wise known; it is the language of the inner self. But

pride fears it, for it hides nothing. So mortal men have
long since fallen away from it, to quarrel across the bar-

riers of their many tongues. Only the Gypsies, who know

no boundaries, no nations and no wars, use it still."



"How did you come to know it? Did you learn it from

the Gypsies?"



Hal looked hesitant, almost fearful. "Nay," he an-

swered, "it cannot be learned or taught; only those who

conquer pride and fear can speak it. The Gypsies raise

their children to be selfless and brave, but many fall

away, and some of the Mysteries are lost. As for me, I

suppose it was somehow born in me. I do not remember

a time when I did not know the Old Language, though it

was known to no one around me."



Alan studied his brother. The mystery in Hal's gray

eyes, he sensed, might find its answer in this mountaintop

valley. "Hal," he questioned abruptly, "are you one of

the People of Peace?"



"Do you think so?" asked Hal slowly, and Alaa real-

ized that he was frightened, with no answer to offer. He

seemed to shrink into himself for a moment, bent with

thought. Then, with an effort of will, he squared his

shoulders and faced Alan, speaking the Ancient Tongue.
'Today you know me, I believe, as well as I know my-

self," he said. "Help me find myself, Ehvyndas. You who

love me, discover my soul."



Alan felt the same peculiar abeyance of fear as he had

with Lysse. Knowing that he should be terrified, he

looked deeply into Hal's eyes; clouds of misty gray melted

from before him. For a moment he was surrounded by



The West Land              143



profound darkness, deep and warm as a womb. Then a

speck of light formed, growing larger and more brilliant,

so that Alan's vision was filled with wheeling circles of

shining light, warm and marvelous. He stared without

blinking, until he realized that in the center of the swirl-

ing light was a crowned figure in mail of burnished silver.

He thought be had never seen a more noble form, though

the head was bowed and the face turned away. Then the

figure looked up and strode toward him, till the face filled

his sight, and Alan felt fearless and consummate Joy such

as he had never known. He went down on his knees and

reached out, still gazing into those marvelous gray eyes.

"Mireldeyn!" Alan whispered, as the meaning of the
name was manifest to him.



The vision disappeared suddenly; Alan was engulfed

in a darkness of panicky pain. A voice cried to him from

a great distance, "Alan! Don'tl I beg you—" Then he

found himself once again in the light of day, on his knees

before Hal, who tugged at him with both hands while

tears streamed down his white face. Alan rose quickly

and put his arm around him.



"Hush," Aian said gently in the Old Language. "Do

you not know that I love you? In Lysse's eyes I saw the

past of the Blessed People, but in your eyes I see the

future. Some day I shall kneel to you and you will under-

stand. You are Mireldeyn. There has been no one like

you, nor ever is likely to be again."



"I don't want to be different!" choked Hal, weeping

like a child. "I don't want people kneeling to me! All I

have ever wanted is peace and friendship and a little

love!"



"Don't you see," Alan explained softly, "how special

that makes you? All men, to some degree, lust for power

and fame—except one- All men are greedy for wealth

and comfort—except one. Only you, of all men, can heal
this land which is scarred even as you are, for only you

cannot be corrupted by these things you do not desire."



"What of you? cried Hal desperately. "I saw no such

lust in your soul!"                  ,



"It is there, nevertheless," Alan replied wistfully.

"Even now I feel the stirrings of envy over that marvelous

crown I saw you wear. I am not Mireldeyn. The blood of

the elves does not run in my veins, except that bit I re-

ceived from you."



144 THE SttVER SUN



"Your brother speaks words of great wisdom," said a

quiet voice. Adaoun stood before them; Adaoun, the elf-

father, the patriarch- Alan stood fixed in wonder at the

age in his youthful eyes, but Hal stumbled toward him

with outstretched hands.



"Adaoun," he appealed, 'Svhat is this Alan tells me?

Am I not a man, like other men?"



"You know you are not, Mireldeyn," Adaoun replied,

placing a hand on Hal's head in calming benediction.
"You have felt it from your earliest days. Now that the

truth is finally within your grasp, do not seek to flee from

iti"



Hal hurled himself onto his bed. He pummeled his

pillow in anguished fury, then sank back, clenching his

shaking hands. Finally he took a deep breath, set his jaw

and sat up.



"Very well," he stated, "I am not just a man; I am

something different, something called—Mireldeyn. What

does it mean?"



"We must eat before we talk," Adaoun told him.

"Elwyndas has bad little -for days, now, and is weak from

fever. Put on your shirts, and we shall eat outside."



Alan was indeed white and trembling from just the

slight exertion of standing. "I'm sorry," Hal murmured to

him. "I have been thinking only of myself."



"Never mind that," Alan grumbled. "Just help me

with this sling."



They put on the garments that were laid out for them.

Alan was surprised to find that they were of a very soft,
fine, lightweight wool, not at all like the coarse woolen

garb he had known, brilliantly dyed in shades of sun-

shine, leaves, sky and water. Though innocent of any

ornament, the clothing was so delicately stitched and

brightly colored that they felt they were arrayed like

kings; and indeed Adaoun himself wore no better. They

pulled on their boots, but left their swords behind, wear-

ing only their chain-link belts for girding.



They found Adaoun on a grassy hill which sloped

down to a lake set like a jewel in the center of the valley.

Lysse was there with one of her brothers, a golden-haired

elf who seemed like a young man in his twenties except

for the centuries of wisdom in his eyes. His name was

Anwyl—"beloved one." They sat on the ground to eat

On wooden plates were eggs and cheeses, honey, fine



The West Land              145



breads and a variety of fruits, some of them unknown to

Hal in spite of all his lore. They drank milk from wooden

noggins. It took Alaa a while to realize that there was no

meat. Remembering that Lysse would taste none of his,

he suddenly understood why the elves' feet were bare.

and why their belts were of cord, not leather. "Of course,"
he thought. 'They do not kill animals, creatures who

speak to them heart to heart."



From the talk, Alan gathered that Hal had arrived at

this place not long before himself. "I scarcely know how

I found the spiral path," Hal explained. "I was drawn to

it somehow, and though 1 could hardly hope to find you

on it, Alan, yet I knew I must ascend. As I neared the

top, I felt the presence of Anwyl, and I spoke to him,

though I could not see him: 'lr holme. wilndas elwedeyn,

ir selte, to nessa ilder daelen frith.' ['Come to me, friend

of the old blood, talk to me, for the sake of the former

days of peace.'] He leaped down from above. I was ter-

rified that he would fall, but he landed squarely on the

path. He seemed much moved."



"Indeed, I was as much disturbed in my mind as an

elf is ever likely to be," remarked Anwyl, "I asked him

who he was, that spoke to me in the Old Language, and

he answered me: 'Hal, son of Gwynllian, heir of Torre,

Taran, and the line of the Blessed Kings of Welas.' Then

I longed to kneel and swear fealty to him, for I knew he

was Mireldeyn. But great weariness and distress weighted

him, so I refrained, and led him hither."



"Greatly was my heart torn, Alan," Hal said quietly,
"between my joy and wonder at this place and my fear

for you. I poured out my anguish to Adaoun, but scarcely

had I finished when you arrived."



"I believe I was sent to bring him," said Lysee. "There

was no reason for me to go to the lower slopes, where

those cowardly men fell upon me, except that I felt I

must."



"What does it mean, Adaoun?" asked Hal. "I feel the

threads of destiny all around me."



"Before I can tell you," Adaoun replied. "I must know

how much you understand."



"Where must I start?"



"At the Beginning."



They cleared away the breakfast and settled back

against trees. Lysse brought pillows for Alan, and he lay



146 THE SILVER SUN



at her side. The air was not hot, though it was almost
midsummer, but mild as springtime.



"Before there was time," Hal began, "there was the

One."



"And what is the One?" Adaoun asked.



Alan understood, as he seemed to understand every-

thing now, that the One was an essence and emanation

neither good nor evil, neither female nor male nor yet a

sexless spirit, but all of each of these. There was a word

for such essence in the Old "Language; it was called Aene.

But he could not have explained it in the language of Isle.



"The One is sun and moon, dawn and dusk, hawk and

hunted," Hal averred.



"Ay," Adaoun agreed softly, "Star Son and Moon

Mother, Fatherking and Sacred Son, Black Virgin and

snowy Babe and russet rowan Lady of All Trees; they are

all in Aene. Even the crescent-homed god is m Aene.

But man has made his worship a divided thing, to his

sorrow."



"At the Beginning of Time," Hal went on, "the One

sang out earth and sky, days and seasons, and all the
plants and beasts. And Aene loved that song. You were

in it, Adaoun, and your mate Elveyn. You loved peace

and beauty, and lived alongside the beasts. Progeny came

to you."



"Anwyl here was among the first."



"What was it like, Adaoun, in those Beginning days?"



"Ah, Mireldeyn, it was beautiful, so beautiful," Adaoun

sighed. "Great birds flew in the air, and little ones made

music in every tree. Life was abundant; nowhere was

there desolation, for even the deserts bloomed. Many

wonderful creatures have since vanished from the earth;



shining dragons and playful sea-beasts. . . . But of all

creatures that walked upon earth, the noblest were the

horses, and their kin, the unicorns. And of all creatures

that soared the sky, the noblest were the eagles."



Adaoun rose to his feet and, putting fingers to his

teeth, blew a piercing whistle. From the distance came a

musical cry like that of a great bird. Then around the

curve of a hill swept a herd of great horses, clean-limbed

stallions and long-legged mares, such lovely horses as
Alan had seen only two of before. . . . One of these,

Arundel, ran at the fore, his silver-gray flanks flashing in

the sun. But ahead of him, and the leader of all, sped a



The West Land



147



blazing white steed who stood shoulders above the rest,

and from his sides rose a shimmering pair of golden

wings. His fetlocks also shone golden, and as he and his

herd reached the shore of the lake, a white and golden

image sparkled betow him in the midnight blue of the

water. The steed raised his head; Alan was stunned by

the flash of his deep eyes. The winged stallion shrilled an

eerie whistling scream, and from the skies overhead came

reply. Great golden birds appeared, led by one whose

aureate wings were almost as broad as those of the stallion

below. For a moment they formed a brilliant tableau, the

white and the gold mirrored in the blue of the unfath-

omable lake. Then, like the last flashing beams from a

westward sun, they were gone, and the thunder of hooves

faded in the distance.



"Dweller in the Eagle Valley," breathed Alan. "Did

Arundel come from here?"
Hal seemed unable to answer, but Adaoun was quick

to reply. "While he was still a colt, Arundel was called

away from here, as Asfala was a few years later. But,

Mireideyn, how did you know?"



"Many times I have seen this place, Adaoun, in dreams

and waking visions. But I hardly dared hope I could ever

find it."



"Have you also seen the past, Mireldeyn?"



"I have seen one who may be Elveyn. She has rippling

hair of dark gold and wears a garment of deep, stormy

purple. I see her on rocky sea cliffs, facing the gray

water."



"Ay," said Adaoun, "she always loved the sea. When

men overran the earth and forgot the Ancient Tongue, it

was she who showed us how to sail away from them in

ships."



"Why was man put on earth?" Hal asked bitterly. "He

has turned it into a desolation of strife and bloodshed.

Was it not better, the way it was?"
"Too good! Nothing ever chanced; and Time, which

had just begun, was likely to pool itself into eternity.

Moreover, the One was lonely still. We elves could not

satisfy Aene's craving: we know only mindfelt love. We

choose our mates with judgment; we are quiet, patient

and reasoned. We do not shout or laugh for joy, nor do

we weep."



Alan glanced up at Lysse, startled. Her smoky green



148 THE SILVER SUN



eyes were as deep as the mountain lake, as intense as the

brilliant gem that hung about her neck. She smiled down

at him, and Alan wondered at that smile.



"So the One made man," Adaoun went on, "a being

could feel the strength and passion of Aene*s love. . . .

But the wisdom which counters passion could not be

man's. Only in Aene are wisdom and love complete, to-

gether, and this is one of the great Mysteries."



"I can imagine what happened, though I was not

there," Hal muttered. "First we began to kill the ani-

mals—"
"That is your nature," Adaoun interrupted. "The fox

kills the pheasant and the marten slays the mouse and

men hunt the fleet red deer; they are all in Aene. But

alas, I believe that is why man fell away from the Old

Language; it would be a hard thing to kill a creature

which speaks with you soul to soul."



"I know," said Hal wryly, "for I have done so, many a

time. And then, I suppose, we began to kill each other. Is

that also in Aene?"



Adaoun sighed. "As the wolf is in the Forest, Mirel-

deyn, or as the old sow slays her farrows—but not often.

It seems to me that the great wheel is wobbling off of bal-

ance. There is need of more love in your world." Adaoun

paused significantly. "Say also, Mireldeyn, that man be-

gan to kill the elves."



"I had hoped not to say so," Hal faltered, stricken.



"A few of us. My son Freca was the first. . . . Be-

cause we do not know the love that burns in the heart,

men called us cold and evil, and ran from us, or stoned

us and laughed, or hunted us ruthlessly, according to their
whim; for men are above all creatures of passion. The

One had made them mortal so that they might know to

the fullest every passion of living, joy and sorrow and the

begetting of progeny. This was forbidden to my children,

lest they in their immortality overrun the earth. But in

spite of death, men grew more and more numerous, so

that even in the wilderness we could not avoid them. At

last, at Elveyn's advice, we built ships and started across

the sea in search of a new place.



"Six times since then have we sailed, and we call this

our Seventh Age. Sometimes we have found peace, but

always it has collapsed in war as a blight of man's greed

has spread across the earth. Five hundred turnings ago



The West Land              149



we came to this Welas and withdrew to this mountaintop,

as we had learned to do, for we knew war would not be

long in following us. As indeed it was not. But first Veran

came.



"He sailed up the Gleaming River, out of the west, a

dark man, but with a glow about him like ancient gold.

The tribal chieftains bickered and brawled across the

marches between their wooden towers, as they had always
done, but Veran cowed them with a glance and the power

of his grip. Within a season all of Welas hailed him as

King. Then he came straightway to this mountain, and no

fear of us was in his heart. That was marvel enough, but

something chanced which we had never known before.

One of my daughters, she whom we named Claefe, the

dove, clave to Veran and chose to go with him as his

wife, committing herself to a mortal death. We rejoiced

in their love, though we mourned her going from us. Lysse

was begot to replace her in our number. But Veran had

to lead Welas against the invaders from the East. While

he was gone, Claefe died in childbirth, as a mortal

woman will. Then overweening grief seized my Elveyn,

so that she went to the sea cliffs and hurled herself into

the gray salt waters she loved so well.



"It was then, Mireldeyn, that I first heard of you. For

with the death of my mate and the coming of war's

blight yet once again, I cried out to the One in great pain

and despair of mind. And Aene came to me here, in

this valley, walking on earth in a cloak of flesh, as often

is Aene's wont, whether seer, sage, youth or prophet,

mother, maiden or ancient hag. But I knew the Song-

maker at once, for we have met before.
"Elwestrand awaited us, Aene said, the western land

from which Veran had come, where there were folk with

whom we could live in harmony and whom my children

could take to mate—they who have been celibate these

thousands of years. And in the fulfillment of this prophecy,

the One said, elves and men would join and a new crea-

ture arise, the best of each. But first the Age must be

fulfilled in this Isle, the farthest outpost of the Middle

World. For if the blight of war which has followed us so

long is not stopped here it will follow us yet, to the uni-

corn fields of the west. The Wheel teeters in its rounds,

Mireldeyn. Not even the One can foresee how it will go.



"But Aene foretold that at this time, when the blight of



li



150



THE SILVER SUN



———— MUll



the Easterners had reached even to Welas, a youth from

the world of men would come to us, a descendant of the

line of Veran, heir to the throne of Isle by a right far
greater than that of birth. The blood of the elves would

run strong in his veins- He would find us and speak to us

in the Language of Eld, which no one learns unblessed.

He would arm himself only with friendship and unen-

sorcelled steel, for the Easterners have made magic an

accursed thing. He would know all mortal joy and sorrow,

but not mortal greed and pride; an elf's vision, an elf's

thirst for knowledge, and an elf's keenness of mind would

all be his. And we would call him Mireldeyn, the elf-man,

for he would be neither fully elf nor fully man, but the

best of each. You are he, Hal, son of Gwynllian, heir of

Torre and of Taran and of the Blessed Kings of Welas,

for you have fulfilled all that was said, and more."



Hal saw his destiny as a doom. "Brand, the son of



Veran and Claefe," he protested. "Was he not an elf-

man, more so than am I?"



Adaoun gently shook his head. "When Claefe went

with Veran, she became woman, though perhaps the most

golden and gifted of women. She bequeathed her heirs

insight, a quickness of perception rare in the world of



men, and also the love of lore and wisdom. Nothing
more."



Adaoun had been speaking steadily, but now he hesi-

tated before he slowly continued.



"You are the one person, Mireldeyn, who can stop the

plague of war which has followed us for seven ages- You

are the one person who can end the age of bloodshed and

terror in Isle. You are also he who must help us, the Peo-

ple of Peace, to EIwestrand across the Western Sea. Only

if you vanquish the evil lords of the lowlands can we ever

reach the Bay of the Blessed to set sail.



"I do not know whether you will succeed. Not even

the One knows that, 1 believe. It depends not only on

you, but on every person in Isle, on every man, woman

and child. Only if the balance can prevail—the stakes are

so high—the future of the race of men as well as the en-

tire race of elves—" Adaoun struggled to voice what he

had to say. "The People of Peace can no longer withdraw

from the bloodshed of life. At whatever sacrifice, we will



do what we must do, Mireldeyn, to survive. We will fight

for you. He Who Rules."



The West Land
151



The magnitude of the gift fell on Hal like a burden of

fire. To be fated the deliverer not only of Isle but of the

elves as well—it was an obligation that smote him nearly

to the ground. Hot rebellion swept him up, and blindly

he strode away from the anxious elves. But Alan walked

beside him, weak with fever though he was; and in his

steadfast mortal friendship Hal found the strength he

needed to win his struggle with himself.



Chapter Three



Ay, it was a hard knowledge to accept, thought Hal. And

yet, I am amply blessed.



He lay at ease on a comfortable rock, the late summer

sun pleasantly warm on his bare shoulders. Near him sat

Alan and Lysse. She was trimming Alan's hair and smil-

ing, almost giggling, at the woebegone faces he made as

his long, sun-streaked locks fell to the ground.



It was nearly a month since the two had first entered

the mountaintop valley of the elves. Alan's wound had
fully healed and his health was restored. Yet neither he

nor Hal thought of leaving. They were hardly aware of

the passing of time, for eternity hung like a fragrance

in the air, as it had in that hidden valley they had chanced

upon nearly a year before. The elves also lived in a place

untouched by the blight of the invaders. Adaoun had dis-

covered it while riding Wynnda, the great gold-winged

horse for whom he had begged immortality from the One.

With great labor the elves had cut the spiral path to the

top of Veran's Mountain, but the years passed like mo-

ments in their immortal lives. When at last they reached

the valley, they had found a paradise like the one they

remembered from seven ages past. Here the elves had

released their special joy, the horses of Wynnda's blood,



152



The West Land              153



and these flourished in the mountain air. Indeed, this was

a place that worked its weal on all creatures. Alfie ran

with the elwedeyn horses now, and his eyes sparkled

with the wonder of it. But Alan's eyes glowed as warm,

and, looking at him, Hal knew that it was not only the

valley that filled him with love.
Dear Alan, Hal thought. The One grant him his heart's

desire. I owe him so much, but I cannot help him in this.



Since their first full day in the Eagle Valley, Hal had

known that Alan was in love with Lysse. And he could

see that Lysse knew herself to be Alan's mendor. Yet

Alan labored to conceal his love, though it crept into his

every word and glance when Lysse was nearby. He held

back from openly wooing her, for to win her would be to

bereave her of her immortality. Hal knew she would sacri-

fice it willingly, in her wisdom as a woman and as an elf.

But even with this knowledge, he was not sure he could

act differently in Alan's place. For Alan, his dilemma

was a honeyed torment. Every time he saw Lysse, his

heart bounded with the sweetest of pain. They were to-

gether nearly all their waking hours, riding through the

meadows, singing in the moonlight, working together and

exploring the peaceful valley. Already she had given

Alan more of her immortal wisdom than he realized, and

his head rose high with the strength that welled in him.

But whether he would find strength to accept her as his

destiny, Hal did not know.



Only in one way can I help them, he mused, and that

is to give them time together.
He left them where they laughed in the sunshine, and

wandered away up the mountainside.



Adaoun had been greatly relieved when Hal had given

over brooding about the burden Aene had placed on him.

The destiny of the elves was not secure, Adaoun knew,

but a fate which trembled on the Wheel. Mireldeyn's

choice must be made firm; indecision at the wrong time

could cause eternal disaster. So when the Elf-father found

Hal sitting alone and troubled, he moved quickly to his

side.



"What ails you, son of the mortals?" he asked lightly.

"You look as if the sky has fallen on your head."



Hal's solemn face broke into a smile at the elf's cheer-

fulness, but he was not fooled. "Never fear, Adaoun," he



154 THE SILVER SUN



answered dryly. "I am not thinking of myself. We have

never spoken of Elwyndas and Lysse. Are you pleased

with their love, Adaoun?"



The elf sat beside him to answer.
"Neither happy nor saddened, Mireldeyn; not yet

Elves seldom feel such things. Indeed, what is there to

say? They are coupled in Dol Solden, like you and the

Lady of Celydon."



Hal looked at him in surprise; he had never mentioned

Rosemary to Adaoun. 'Then do all things written in Dot

Solden come to pass?"



"Nay, indeed," Adaoun replied slowly. ''Written there-

in are things that should be; but Aene cannot, or will not,

make them come to pass. Elves and men must carry on

the affairs of the world to the End, whatever that may

be. Each of us has a destiny to help direct the force and

flow of life. If we heed it, then all is well. If we choose

to ignore it, then our lives run counter to the current of

the world's weal—"



Adaoun's voice faded away as Hal envisioned thou-

sands upon thousands of slowly spinning years, cycle upon

cycle, millions upon millions of lives like shimmering

droplets converging into a circling stream of gold. The

years resolved themselves into ages, and the ages into the

Whole, the golden flood of countless lives swirling slowly

but remorselessly toward the vortex of some unseen End.
Time spun before him like a great golden wheel, hum-

ming in a minor key.



The vision faded, and Hal became aware once more of

Adaoun sitting beside him.



"Do they know?" he murmured.



"Lysse knows," Adaoun answered at once. *'Now tell

me, Mireldeyn, for the mind of your brother is hidden

from me: Does he love her, and will he fulfill her in the

course her heart has chosen?"



"He loves her well," Hal declared. "But his course is

not yet clear to him, and he is troubled. It is hard to con-

ceive of a better man, Adaoun, but his pride and reason

battle against the direction his heart would take." Hal's

lips tightened in frustration. "My heart aches to help him,

but I dare not speak to him, lest the choice be mine and

not his."



"What strange creatures you mortals are," Adaoun

sighed. "Well, I see that I can only hope and wait."



The West Land             155
"So must we both," Hal replied.



Three days later Hal and Anwyl, his first friend among

the elves, were climbing among the rocks of the outer

ramparts, searching out deadwood for the cooking fires.

They moved silently, for the elves never disturbed the for-

est creatures without cause. Many marvelous things bad

they seen, but they scarcely expected to see what next

met their eyes. As they rounded a corner of rock, in a

wooded hollow below them stood Alan and Lysse. He

was giving her a little bunch of violets; purple, blue, gold,

lavender and white. He looked not at her, but at the

flowers, as he spoke.



"Each is different from the others, Lysse," he said. "Yet

all are lovely. None is more perfect than another."



"Ay," Lysse answered softly, puzzled.



"So also with the bright elf maidens of this valley. All

are different, yet all are perfect in loveliness. No sane man

could choose one over another."



With an effort he faced her, meeting her eyes. "Yet I

have made that choice, Lysse!" he told her earnestly. "To
me no maiden, mortal or immortal, can begin to match

you in loveliness. Your eyes and your hair outshine those

of your sisters as the sun outshines the stars. I desire no

woman in my life except you, and without you I will have

none." He took her by the shoulders, for her face revealed

her consternation. "Do you understand me, Lysse? I love

you, so help me, with the love of a mortal for a mortal. I

must make you understand or I shall go mad!" He kissed

her, tenderly but strongly, full on the lips. Her eyes closed

and her face went deathly white. Then with what seemed

to be the last of her strength she wrenched herself away

from him and wordlessly fled down the mountainside.

"Lyssel" Alan called once after her, but the mountain

returned only the echo of his cry. He struck a young ash

tree furiously with his fist. As he stared down the way she

had disappeared, his face grew hard as rock, and the

blood dripped unnoticed from his bruised hand.



Anwyl and Hal looked at each other with pain in their

eyes. To move away would have been to risk interrupting

Alan's wooing. So they had remained, involuntary wit-

nesses of his anguish. Hal clenched his fists, his face white

and taut with misery. But when Anwyl signaled, "Go to

him," Hal's eyes flashed hqck, "Nnv'" Alan must never

know that his courtship had been observed.
156 THE SILVER SUN



Alan stood lifce a statue until shadows began to deepen

in the hollow and darkness gathered in the dome of the

sky. Then. with a gesture of decision, he set off rapidly

toward the pavilions in the valley. The instant he disap-

peared, Hal and Anwyl ran in another direction. They

must arrive at the camp before he did.



"Why?" Hal panted. "Why did she flee from him?"



"I believe I would have done the same," gasped Anwyl

haltingly. "Mireldeyn, try to understand. She is standing

on the brink of the unknown- What is to you mortals the

very stuff of life is to us elves the greatest of mysteries."



They paused to catch their breath outside of camp.

Then, pledging each other to secrecy, they parted. The

cooking fires gave off delicious aromas, and all around

rose the hum of contented talk. Hal walked through it like

a stranger and went to the tent to wait. Alan was not long

in coming. Hal looked up in carefully arranged surprise

as he entered.



"Alan! Your hand! It's all blood!"
Alan did not even glance at the hand. "Hal," he said

hoarsely, "we must leave this place at once."



Hal was too busy fetching water and bandaging to re-

ply. Anxiously he tended the injured hand. When he was

done, Alan spoke again, calmly but with a dogged persist-

ence that Hal knew from long experience would take no

denial. "Hal, we must go. I am well now, and strong, and

our business is finished here. There is much yet to do, and

time outside this valley does not stand still. We should

have left before now."



"Very well," Hal said quietly. "I shall speak to Adaoun

tonight, and we shall leave tomorrow morning. Come to

supper."



"I am not hungry," replied Alan, throwing himself down

on his bed. Hal knew better than to argue, and went with-

out him.



Neither of them slept much that night, though Alan

might have thought Hal did. Toward morning Alan fell

into a doze and Hal slipped out in search of Anwyl. When

he found him, the news was brief. "Not a sign of her,"

Anwyl said. "She has not been back to camp at all."
Morning dawned bright and sunny, but the elves

seemed oddly quiet. Farewells were brief, for in spite of

Alan's courtesy his restlessness was apparent. For the first

time in a month, he and Hal wore swords. Their saddle-



The West Land             1ST



bags were packed tightly with provisions and new clothing

of soft wool.



"I have no gift for you," Adaoun said, "except memo-

ries and hope. Cherish them well, for my sake."



"Farewell," said Anwyl. "May we meet again in more

peaceful times. The One be with you both."



Within a few moments they were trotting up the trail

that led to the mountain's rim. When they reached the

edge of the woodland, they looked back for a moment.

Lysse was nowhere to be seen. Whether Alan was relieved

or disappointed, not even Hal could telL



They entered the leafy shade and moved rapidly and

silently up the slope. But as they came to the upper
reaches of the elves' domain, a slim form in green

emerged from the shadow of an ash tree like a sprite ma-

terializing from the living trunk. Lysse stood before them-



Hal flashed her a delighted grin. "1*11 wait for you at the

top, Alan," he called as casually as he could, and sent

Arundel onward at a gallop. Alan tried to shout after him,

but his voice would not respond. He who had traveled

over half a kingdom, slept with the spirits of the dead,

braved the perils of the White Tower and fought un-

shielded against mailed foes was now very close to panic

at the sight of a slender, golden-haired maiden.



The realization made his face burn. He set his jaw,

took a deep breath, and looked at her. He gazed into her

smoky green eyes, and before he knew what he was do-

ing, he had dismounted and taken her hand. Only then

did he realize that she was trembling- All the speeches he

had prepared vanished from his mind.



"Lysse!" he exclaimed. "Are you afraid?**



"Afraid?" She tested the word, savoring it in her mind,

and a tiny smile started at the comers of her mouth, "So

that is the name of what I feel! Ay, then, I dare say I am

afraid."
"But how—why—oh, Lysse, frightened of me!"



"I have heard my father say that men fear that for

which they do not know the name." Her smile broadened.

"I have now found that it is not only men who fear the

unknown. When you did this thing yesterday—*'



"It is called a kiss, Lysse. Something a mortal man does

with the woman he loves."



"A kiss." Her eyes widened in the pleasure of discov-

ery. "So that is a kiss! It is not fearsome at all, now that it



158 THE SILVER SUN



bears a name. When you made this kiss, Elwyndas, my

head spun; my body grew hot, then cold, my heart

pounded and my breath came fast and shallow, so that I

did not understand what was happening. I thought per-

haps I was dying, and I was afraid, as an elf ought not to

be afraid. I walked all night on the mountainside, think-

ing, and now I am sorry and ashamed, Elwyndas, for I

see that I was concerned only for myself, and I caused

you great pain." Alan was startled to see tears growing in
her eyes, so that they became unfathomably deep, dark

pools, like the lake at the heart of the mountain. He

sensed the meaning of those tears, and he ached for her;



all his wrath was lost in his love and his desire to comfort

her. He put his arms around her shoulders, stroking her

hair and gently kissing her face. Suddenly her trembling

stopped. She looked up to him with eyes that were still

bright with tears, but bright with j'oy as well.



"Alan," she said, using his mortal name for the first

time since he had entered the valley, "that which you

told me yesterday...."



"Ay." He kissed her eyes. "I love you well, Lysse."



"That is the name of what I also feel." The tears at

last overflowed her eyes and began to wet her cheek. "I

love you, Alan of Laueroc."



Agonized, as if obeying something greater than him-

self, Alan leaned to kiss her. But before their lips could

meet, he paused and asked her a yearning question with

his glance.



"I will never flee from you again," she answered him
aloud.



On the rim of the mountain Hal waited patiently, the

rising sun warm on the back of his neck. Finally, from

around the bend of the trail came the sound of hoofbeats-

Hal stiffened, then relaxed and sighed with relief. Alan

carried Lysse in the saddle before him, cradled close to

his chest.



But when they reached the top of the rampart, Alan

wordlessly set her down. "Wait," she said, and from

around her neck she lifted the pendant she always wore,

Alan lowered his head, and she slipped it onto him, cen-

tering the darkly glowing green stone on his chest. "The

past and future of your people and mine glimmer in that

stone," she said. "Wear it in hope of a better dawn."



Alan shook his head with a gesture of pain. "Oh, my



The West Land             159



love, my future is dark to me. My hopes are dreams,

without substance.'*



"Dream them still," she answered, "and let your deeds
shape the substance. Remember me in your dreams,

Alan! Farewell!"



Alan bent in his saddle to kiss her for what he felt sure

was to be the last time.



He and Hal lifted arms in final salute to the People of

Peace assembled below. Then they rode over the rim, and

a wall of rock hid from their sight the secret valley which

they knew they might never see again. Alan blinked hard

as he faced the rising sun, but he did not look back.




Summer's green was just tipped with the pale gold of

early autumn when they left the mountaintop valley of the

elves. The sun shone brightly, and the air was fresh and

crisp. But the trees were all to be bare, the skies dark

and windy, the earth sodden and cold with autumn's

rains before they again found welcome.



They traveled south and east, along the curve of the

mountains which rose between Welas and the sea. Their

progress was slow, for they followed no beaten track.

They wound their way as best they could along ridges
and into ravines, picking their path between great rocky

crags and ancient ruins. Somewhere in these deserted

reaches of Welas Hal hoped to find his grandfather. His

bright eyes probed the landscape eagerly at every new

vista, though for days on end they would not see a living

thing.



They traveled openly, by daylight. The henchmen of

the lowland lords seldom ventured into these parts, for

many outlaws lurked among these peaks. Hal, confident

that he and Alan would not be attacked, rode fearlessly.

Alan followed sullenly, caring little for the danger. He had

fallen into a black moodiness. seldom saying a word.

Lysse was a constant torment at the back of his mind. He



The West Land             161



did not plan ever to see her again, for he was sure he

could not deny her the immortality of an elf. His declara-

tion of love had been a cry wrung from his tortured heart.

He bitterly berated himself for his weakness, and he cursed

this stark and soaring land from which Lysse's voice

seemed continually to echo, "Remember me."



As the weeks wore on, the journey began to Jangle
Hal's nerves as well. They were frequently soaked by

rain or chilled by bitter winds. Even the fires which

warmed them at night seemed cold without the cheer of

conversation. But finally, after two months of travel, a

shout pierced the mountain wall. Suddenly, as if dropped

from the dismal sky, a group of swarthy, fur-clad men

blocked their path. Overhead, more rough-looking men

lined the Jagged cliffs. Resistance was impossible, but Hal

had no such intention. He looked on them undaunted,

waiting for the question he knew would come.



"Who are you to roam the mountain ways without

fear?" asked the leader harshly. "What is your business

here?"



"My business is with your liege, the Blessed King,"

Hal boldly declared, "To him I will tell my name, and no

other."



The man muttered and moved toward him threaten-

ingly, but an outlaw called down from the rocks above,

"Hold! Do you not see the sign upon his back? Tis

Veran's token, the Setting SunI" A chorus of voices called

affirmation.



"Is this true?" the leader asked him.
Bewildered, Hal brought the plinset case around so that

the man could see. Rosemary's half-completed sunburst

shone brightly even under the cloudy sky. The man stared

at it for a long moment, then faced Hal with a searching

gaze from which all hostility was gone.



"Are you indeed of Veran's blood?"



"Good outlaw,'* answered Hal quietly, "I can tell you

nothing until the King has given leave."



"Any spy could wear Veran's emblem," growled one

rough man.



"By the Mothers, it is a risk we must take," replied the

leader. "My Lord Galin is at the outer defenses; he cannot

advise us. We must take them to the fortress."



He turned back to Hal and Alan. "We shall take you



162



THE SILVER SUN
to him whom you seek. But you must surrender your

weapons, my lords."



Hal unbuckled his sword and handed it over. Alan fol-

lowed more slowly with his. The man gazed at the finely

wrought blades.



"If those be lost, or come to harm," Hal warned him in

a low voice, "no mountain in Welas will be big enough to

hide you."



"I am a King's liegeman, not a robber," the fellow re-

plied with dignity. "And I have seen this sword before."

He held up Hal's gray-glinting brand.



"Where?" Hal asked swiftly.



"I can tell you nothing until the King has given leave,"

the man parried grimly. "Now come with us, my lords."



They spent the night in a deep cave hidden in the flanks

of the mountain. There were many such hollows and tun-

nels within the crags, protected by cleverly concealed for-

tifications. Central to the earthworks, nestled into the

bosom of the forbidding mountain, was an ancient strong-

hold known as Cair Indel, the Deepest Haven. There the
old King had taken refuge. And on the morrow, Hal and

Alan were led to his shelter.



Tone was an old man, and life had not been kind to

him. Kingdom, daughter, sons—all were gone. And with

them went the light of day, or so it seemed to Toire, for

he spent the long hours brooding in his dark cavern at the

navel of the mountain. He often dreamed of the bright

days of his past along the Gleaming River, when his beau-

tiful wife Megolyn was still alive, when his sons Galin,

Glondil and Gildur were strong, bold youths, and his

daughter Gwynllian was his cherished pet But he could

never quite fool himself; he knew that those days and

those faces were gone forever. He could dream, but the

grim, cheerless Now returned inexorably each time.



Out of the shadows of his gloomy chamber came a fig-

ure from the past. Smiling a welcome, he looked to envi-

sion one of his dead sons. But this was not Glondil or

Gildur; this young man had Gwynllian*s eyes.



Torre sat bolt upright, scarcely daring to believe his

eyes saw truly. Yet he knew in his heart that this figure

was alive. The young man moved with the powerful grace

of a warrior, and his weathered clothing could not obscure
the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his chest.

He held his head high, and the straight lines of his jaw



The West Land              163



and brows reminded Torre of the sons who had once been

his pride. But those eyes! Their gray depths held him

spellbound. Here was a man of great power and strong

will- Here he saw also a dream, and the torment of time.

But above all, Torre recognized Gwynllian in the gray

eyes. This youth was of his blood. He was sure of it.



"Who are you?" he whispered. He reached out, and his

uncertain fingers met firm muscle and solid bone. The vi-

sion was real.



The young man knelt before him, and the leather bun-

dle which had ridden on his back slipped down to rest on

the floor. In the dull light an embroidered sunburst glowed

eerily brilliant. The aged King became aware that in the

far comers of the room his people were gathered, listening.



"Torre, son of Tamar, of the ancient line of the Blessed

Kings of Welas, I crave your blessing," the young man

said. His voice was melodious, and though he spoke softly,

the great hall vibrated with his words. "I love best to be
called Hal, the name my mother gave me. She loved you

well, and often spoke of you." Hal broke off, hardly

knowing what to say to the fierce-looking old man who sat

glaring like a blinded eagle in a darkened aerie. "Grand-

father," he whispered, "don't you know me?"



"My grandson," the old man faltered, "my grandson!"

His rumbling hands touched Hal's hair in the gesture of

blessing. Then tears began falling from Torre's bright

black eyes, and Hal found himself awkwardly kissing the

King on both his parched cheeks, encircling Torre's thin

shoulders with his strong and comforting arms.



Outside of Torre's chamber, Cair Indel was all in an

uproar. Excited servants had brought out word of the

Prince's coming, and the news ran like spring torrents

among the soldiers and servingfolk of the keep. Some, who

had noted the half-sun emblem on Hal's leather case, ea-

gerly hailed him as an heir of Veran. But others called

him impostor, and many thought of him as a hated East-

erner. The fortress buzzed with ardent and wrathful talk.



When Hal and Alan emerged from the keep, a sudden

silence came over the crowded courtyard, and all eyes

were fixed upon them. Hal, deep in thought, seemed not
to notice it until suddenly a voice boomed out: "Donkey

prince! Filthy son of the fiendish Iscovar of Isle! Can a

jackass beget anything else, be the mother the finest



164



THE SILVER SUN



blooded mare?" From the crowd came a muttering of ap-

proval.



Hal's head snapped up as if he had been stung by a

whip. Under the gaze of those steely gray eyes, the crowd

grew silent and seemed to shrink back.



"Hear me, men of Welas." Hal's gaze skewered the

listeners. "If I am weak or craven, then judge me. If I am

bloodthirsty, cruel, or savage, judge me. If I am treacher-

ous, foolhardy, stupid or arrogant, then Judge me sternly."

He had spoken softly; now he shouted. "But judge me

not that I am the son of that blood-black King!" The

echoes died away as he stood panting with emotion. "I

do not deserve it. As the One is my witness, I do not.

I cannot explain how it came to be. The greatest fear of

my life is that I might somehow, someday, come to be

something like him." Hal spoke passionately, but with
dignity. "He is viie, villainous, sick and evil beyond be-

lief and beneath contempt- I tell you this, I who know

him well. See the proof!" In one wrenching movement Hal

ripped off his patched tunic, leaving the tattered rem-

nants swinging from his muscular arms. The crowd gasped

in shock; no one spoke.



Hal went on more calmly. "This is but a paltry thing.

Thousands of broken men would have been thankful to

escape with my light punishment. But if there is anyone

here who thinks that I bear love or likeness to the

Islandais King, then let him think again." Spent, he turned

to go, but there was a stir in the shadows of the doorway

where he stood. The onlookers gasped and fell to their

knees. "Sire!" Hal exclaimed. The old King was coming

forth from the darkness of his refuge.



All clad in black, but with his thick hair blazing white

against the lowering sky, Torre tottered with outstretched

hands and stricken face toward Hal. "My child, my

child," he whispered as Hal reached out to help him,

"what has the brute done to you?" His withered hands

touched the scarred shoulders tenderly.



"It is a small matter, Grandfather, and long healed."
Hal cursed himself for having distressed the old man.

Alan, who had knelt to the King along with the rest, now

rose and came forward, unfastening his cloak. Hal took

it gratefully and set it around his shoulders as Alan

bowed before Torre. The King scanned him with keen

black eyes, "So! This is your brother?"



The West Land                165



Hal looked at him in surprise. "My blood brother, ay.

This is Alan of Laueroc. But how did you know?"



"Perhaps later I will tell you. But where is your great

gray steed? I have not seen him yet."



Hal exchanged a puzzled glance with Alan. "In the

stable. I will get him, sire."



"Nay, let us go together. I have not been out of doors,

Hal, since I received the news of your mother's death. I

had forgotten how bright and pleasant the sun can be."



Alan cocked a wry glance at the gloomy sky, then

watched as Torre and Hal disappeared in the direction

of the stable, the old man leaning on the young one's

arm. He would leave them alone to share a score of lost
years.



He did not see Hal again until they dressed for the

evening meal. When they went downstairs, they found

Torre with one who had not had the advantage of such

leisure, a dark man who looked tired and travel-soiled.

Though his body was youthfully trim, his face was lined,

and he regarded the newcomers with weary skepticism

as Torre introduced them. "Hal, Alan, this is Galin, my

eldest and, I fear, my only living child. I had no sister-

sons to honor the Mothers, so Galin is my heir, and

through Gwynllian you are his, Hal, as Iscovar knows

well enough. Galin, this is Alan, heir of Laueroc, and his

blood brother Hal, Prince of Welas, he who is King to be."



"With much help, perhaps," Hal acknowledged.



Galin did not smile. "You should not have called me in

for this. Father," he said. "It is dangerous to leave the

outer defenses without my leadership. The lads could

have ridden out to see me."



"I see no lads," retorted the old King stiffly, "but two

seasoned travelers and warriors. The men will do very
well without you, Galin. You are becoming as set in your

ways as I. You must be growing old."



"Ay, old and fussy," muttered Galin.



"And on my account," added Torre half-humorously.

"Out in all weathers to protect my royal person. I am in-

deed grateful, my son." He cast Galin a soft glance from

under his shaggy eyebrows. "But I grow lonesome for your

company."



"You had two other sons," Hal interposed quietly.



"Ay." Torre's eyes focused on the past. "GIondil was

killed in the attack on Welden. We buried him in an



166 THE SILVER SUN



unmarked grave along the road of our flight. But Gildur,

my youngest son, I never saw after that terrible night.

The assault, you know, was very sudden and treacherous.

Gildur ran to the treasure room to save a few precious

things, the heritage of our people. He should never have

tried. We who escaped did so with nothing except the

clothing on our backs. For months I hoped he would walk

into this room. ... But in the course of time I came to be-
lieve he must have been captured and killed."



Galin stirred restively. "Perhaps, Welandais Prince,

you will tell me how you came to be wearing my brother's

sword?" Almost contemptuously he returned their weapons

to Hal and Alan, pulling them from a pouch at his feet.



Dazedly, Hal accepted the black and silver sword from

his hand. "Gildur's sword? I cannot say! An outlaw gave

it to me."



"Then why do you say, Gildur's sword?" Galin snapped.

"I had another brother."



"And he was killed. But somehow these things came

to Isle, and to my bands." He drew the antique plinset

from its leather case. "Was this not one of the precious

objects from the treasure room of the EIde Castle?"



"Ay," Torre whispered, "ay." He took it into his an-

cient hands tenderly. "This is the first plinset, crafted by

Llewys Lay-Maker for Claefe, Veran's queen, she whom

he brought from the Mountain of the Gods. But wherever

did you get it?"
"I found it in the study of the Lord of Celydon, in the

Broken Lands; a good man. He had it from a minstrel

who had died of fever under his care." Hal phrased his

next question carefully. "What sort of maa was my uncle

Gildur?"



Torre only swallowed, and Galin answered for him.

"Glondil and I were dark, like our father, and his uncle

the Thunderer, and Veran, and the others. But Gildur

was golden, like Ban, and Claefe, and your mother. He

was a musician, and a dreamer."



"He loved the ancient legends and lore," spoke Torre

reprovingly. "In the days of our kingdom's glory, he would

have been revered as a great bard- It is hard when a man

of peace cannot be respected for his own talents."



"The minstrel was a fair man, not yet past middle age,"

mused Hal. "It could have been Gildur." He took back

the plinset, idly striking a few chords.



167



The West Land



"Do you play itt" Torre exclaimed.
"Ay, Sire."

"Who taught you?"



"My mother." Hal raised his eyebrows at the shocked

stares he received from both Torre and Galin. "Why?"

Galin answered in bewilderment. "Gwymlian did not



know how to play."



They ate their dinner in puzzled silence. After they

had pushed their plates aside, Hal spoke as if replying to



an audible query.



"If Gildur lived, and for some reason could not come

to you, perhaps he went to my mother."



"Probably we shall never know," sighed Torre. "But it

is good to think that he might have lived—that he might

not have been tortured to a slow death."



"The minstrel of whom I spoke died abed, among good

and loving folk." Hal traced on the table with his finger-

tip, studying some invisible design. "Besides the plinset,

what was my uncle Gildur likely to take?"
"There were the crowns, of course. The silver one

Veran brought with him from the land of the Setting Sun.

It was never worn; legend reserves it for the Very King

who comes at the close of the age. But Veran wore the

crown of the Rising Sun, made for him of the yellow gold

of the mountain which bears his name, whence he brought

the green Elfstone, and his bride."



Hal and Alan exchanged a surprised glance. Galin

drummed his fingers impatiently, but the old King went

on serenely with his thoughts. "Indeed, the most precious

thing in the room, especially to Gildur, would have been

the Book."



"The Book?"



"Ay. A thick tome, written in Veran*s own hand, in a

strange language. Only the Blessed Kings could read it.

Then Ban died while Taran was still in Branwyn's womb,

and the secret of the 'strange language died with him. But

much of what was in the Book has come down to us by



word of mouth."



"Dot Solden!" breathed Hal. "The Book of Suns! It is
written down here on earth!"



"Ay, we nave many strange prophecies. The fall of the

House of Veran was foretold, though little did I fear,

when I was a youth, that it would happen in my time. But



168 THE SILVER SUN



it was said that a leader would come, a young man of

Veran's line, who would possess wisdom, vision, and the

knowledge of the lost language- He would come on a sil-

ver steed of elfin blood and bear with him the emblem of

his destiny. The marks of suffering would be on his body

and the sheen of moonlight in his eyes. He would be

called Elf-Man, Healer, Ruler, and Sunset King. With the

aid of his people he would turn back the Eastern blight,

and bring peace at last for the closing of the Age."



"Father," protested Galin, "you cannot be serious!"



"And with him," continued King Torre, unperturbed,

"would come his brother, a man great beyond the borders

of blood or nation, a man of heart, like Veran before

him. He would come on a steed of golden bay, and he
would be called Elf-Friend, the Golden One, and Sunrise

King. The emblem of his destiny would reside is the green

Elfstone, gift of the ash maiden."



Alan sprang up, overturning his seat, and strode to the

door, where he stood breathing deeply. Hal picked up the

bench without comment



"Why, what is this?" inquired Torre blankly.



"Your pardon, sire, for my churlishness," said Alan,

returning, his face still dark with emotion. "Something that

you said is painful to me- Here is the stone of which you

spoke." He pulled it from under his tunic, and slipped

the chain over his head to hand it to the old King. But

Torre stopped him.



"Hold it up to the light."



Alan obeyed, and gasped at what he saw. In the depths

of the gem, glowing golden and growing like a living light,

blazed a half circle of radiant beams, brilliantly symmet-

rical. Brighter and brighter it burned, till it far outshone

the torchlight, and even Galin gaped in wonder. Trem-

bling, Alan lowered his hand, and the vision faded.
"What manner of sign is that?" he whispered.



"According to legend," explained Torre, "this is the

stone given by Claefe to Veran, brought by her from the

land of the Rising Sun. It shows the sun emblem at

the center, after which the crown of Veran was fashioned.

Would you tell me how you come to wear it?"



"You seem to know as much about it as we do," Alan

muttered.



"More," remarked Hal. "It seems that Adaoun did not

tell us all that he might."



The Weft Land                 169



"Adaouni1* exclaimed the old King. "Then it is true!"



"What is true?" growled Galin. "Am I sitting in the

company of madmen?"



"Elves," replied Hal quietly. "Veran's memory is still

young atop the tallest mountain."



He tried to give them some feeling of the glow of time-
lessness that hung in the air of the elfia valley, of the

bright glimmer of wonder which clung to the very grass

of the place. He did not mention Lysse, and Alan sat

silently, with lowered head. When Hal was done, Galin

and Torre gazed for a moment with strangely intent but

peaceful faces, as if a whiff of that mountaintop air had

drifted their way.



Then they had many questions, and in the course of

the evening Hal and Alan related most of the events in

the two and a half years since Hal had escaped from the

Dark Tower. Hal described plans for claiming the throne,

and the talk turned to troops and strategy. Charts and

maps were brought out. Hal sensed Galin'a wariness

changing to hope, if not to belief.



It was late when they finally left Torre. On their way

up the spiral steps to their tower rooms, Galin addressed

Ha! with respect, even hesitation.



"Hal," he asked, "do you believe all these—ah—

prophecies?"



"Not that they will necessarily come to pass, nay.

Things are not often as they ought to be- But I must fight

to bring them about, not for my own glory, but for the
sake of my people. It is the burden of my birth to prevent

another such fiend as my—father—from ever sitting on

the throne of Isle again. The course of my life was plain

to me long before I had heard of The Book of Suns."

Hal paused on the landing. "Will you lend me assistance,

Uncle?"



"Ay, I'll lead my men on your behalf," answered Galin

gruffly.



Hal glanced at him again. "With your heart, my lord,

or only to please your father?"



Galin stood a moment marveling at the perception in

those gray eyes. Then he stretched out his weathered

hand. "With all my heart, Welandais Prince," he vowed-

"If ever a brighter dawn is to come our way, it will be

through you."



170 THE SILVER SUN



In his chamber at last, Hal flopped gratefully on his

narrow cot. It had been a long, heartspoken day, and he

felt drained by it. But Alan paced the floor restlessly, in-

volved in some sort of inner struggle. Hal watched him
askance. Were the months of silence at last to be broken?



"It is harder than I had imagined, Hal," Alan remarked

haltingly, "all this destiny. I feel that a great weight of

expectation is put on me. And yours is far heavier. Small

wonder that you found it so difficult to bear."



"You were a greater help to me than I can say." Hal

rose to pace beside him. "You are a very special, wonder-

ful person, Elwyndas. Is that so hard to accept?" Then, as

Alan gestured impatiently, he plunged on. "Listen to me

only a moment, Alan. Why should prophecy trouble us,

indeed? Does it change anything? We never intended to

do less than our best."



But Alan was not to be put off. With courage born of

his misery, he spoke a name they had not mentioned in

months. "But the prophecy concerns me and—and Lysse,

does it not?'*



"Ay," replied Hal quietly.



"What does it say?"



"Only that she is your mendor, as Rosemary is mine.**
"But—" Alan nearly choked, but once started he was

far too stubborn to stop. "I do not intend to have her. I

must never see her again."



"Do you not love her, Alan?"



"Ayl" Alan banged his fist so hard against the stone

wall that the blood ran freely down his wrist "Mother of

mercy, Hal!"



"You have told her so, have you not?**



"Ay." Spent, he spoke dully. "It was an act of great

weakness. I should never have spoken to her."



"Nay, Alan, nay'" Hal seized him by the shoulders,

almost shaking him. "Never regret it! Your love is your

talisman. It was your brave love which taught you the

Elder Speech and took you to the place where only Veran

had gone before—and he a god-man, from out of the

west. Never have I envisioned a man with a greater gift

of love than you, Alan. Yet, all things won, would you let

it go down to defeat from pride?"



Stung, Alan threw off his hands. "Would you have me
deliver her over to death?"



"You are her mendor, too!" Hal cried. "Do you not



The West Land              171



think the choice should be hers? There are many fates

worse than death, even to an eifl"



Alan threw nun a black glare and stamped across the

room to stand by the narrow window. As he looked into

the midnight sky, he remembered the elves' lake: serene,

dark, unfathomably deep. Tumult swirled through him,

and he grew short of breath.



From behind him Hal spoke wearily. "Alan, must we

quarrel? This thing that turns you from me—I've been

miserable these months past—I beg pardon if I've med-

dled where I have no say."



"Say what you will," Alan muttered perversely, and

like a string that has been tuned too tightly, he broke- For

the first time in bis months of anguish, he wept. As Hal's

arms steadied him, he could feel the tears dissolving the

hard knot of bitter pride that filled his chest and replacing

it with hope. Dimly he realized that even the impossible
might happen, that Lysse's hand might yet rest once again

in his. Faintly, he heard her reassuring voice: "Wear this

in hope of a better dawn. Remember me!"



Hal rubbed the hardness of Alan's shoulders, feeling

right muscles slowly relax and tortured gasps turn to deep,

quiet breathing. But the gray-eyed Prince did not think of

the ash maiden. Instead, Torre's words, already forgotten

by Alan, echoed joyously in Hal's mind- ". . . and he

would be called Elf-friend, the Golden One, and Sun-

rise King... .**



Three days after the comrades came to Cair Indel, the

eve of November was celebrated, the ancient Feast of

Fires. Galin rode in for the occasion, and Hal took his

plinset and sang the lays his mother had taught him. For

the old King, it was the merriest holiday in many years.

But to Hal and Alan it seemed a gloomy affair compared

to the previous year's feast at Celydon. Food was scarce

at Cair Indel, for these mountains were not farmed. The

meal was acorn cakes and dried apples. Torre's chamber

was dimly illuminated by torches and rushlights. Like all

of the rooms at the fortress, it was bare of hangings or

decoration. The stone was cold, and the rude furnishings

few.
In the weeks that followed, Hal spent many hours with

Torre. The old King was a deep well of history and all

kinds of lore, but it was not only his learning that drew

Hal to him. It was father love such as he had never

known. Torre cherished his grandson, and Hal looked

to him like a boy. Alan watched the two of them with a

smile. All the bad humor bad gone out of his system,

and he marveled at the change in Torre. Years had

dropped away from the old King since Hal's coming.

He walked strongly, without support; his hands were



172



The West Land               173



steady, his voice clear and true. Torre, who did not be-

stow friendship lightly, treated Alan with a friendly dis-

tinction that was more than the politeness of a host. Alan

justly felt honored, and he was glad of Hal's happiness-

But even Alan did not know how often Hal's thoughts

turned toward Ceiydon.



Winter came. The mountains put on thick cloaks of

snow, and the air developed teeth. Torre came out often,

even in the biting cold, to help Hal and Alan with the
horses; he loved to look at Arundel. But one freezing

day, Hal did not come to the exercise yard. Alan met

Torre, frowning. Hal was on the battlements, he ex-

plained, staring eastward in a kind of a trance, and not at

all reasonable. Torre did not seem put out. "Mothers,

then let us go to him," he remarked.



They climbed up the icy steps. Hal was gazing into the

gray distances of winterbound Welas.



"What is it. Hal?" Torre asked. His voice caressed the

name-

Hal did not answer, and Torre and Alan settled them-

selves to wait. Hal hardly seemed aware of their presence.

After a few minutes, words burst from him, but not, they

sensed, in answer to their query.



"Rosemaryl" Hal cried. "She's in danger!"



"Where? How?" Alan demanded, but once again Hal

seemed not to notice. His face was straining.



"The wolvesi" he blurted a little later. "Why doesn't

she see the wolvesi Asfala sees them. . . . What can

Pelys be thinking of, to let her ride out alonel"
"Thinking of you," Alan murmured.



"She flees," Hal said with immense relief. "But why

into the Forest, into the trees? A horse cannot outdis-

tance wolves among trees!" He grew tense again, biting

his Up in consternation. "Asfala is small, she twists among

the trees, but her legs are short, the snow is deep. Why

did she go that way?" Hal panted; he was Asfala, and

the wolves, and Rosemary, bent low over the filly's neck.

To Torre and Alan, it seemed that the chase lasted an

hour. They stood rigidly, waiting.



"A haven!" Hal shouted. "A refuge, a—a sacred

grove. . . ." His voice trailed away in sheer wonder, and

his shoulders sagged as he went limp with ecstasy. "Of

course, she went there," he murmured. "It is her natal

home, which she has never seen. Did the wolves drive



174



THE SILVER SUN



her there, or was it she who led them?" His voice sank to



a whisper; the listeners could hardly hear him.
'The lady has ridden her steed into the circle of rowan



trees. The wolves cannot follow, for there she is mistress;



more, she is essence. The wolves circle in the sacred



dance. Now Ket and his men come, with bows and clubs,

to drive them off. The wolves scud away, and the outlaws

stand agape; they also cannot enter the Rowan circle.

But, in time. the lady leaves it to join them." Hal spoke

in a dreamy chant, an onlooker aside from self. "Ket

asks her name, though he knows it well enough, and she

tells him: Rosemary, daughter of Rowana of Celydon.

She senses that she is a daughter of her mother, in this

place. Ket kneels at her feet. He loves her. He nearly

weeps with love; he will love her until he dies. But she is



mine; he knows she is mine. She is the Lady, and I am

the Very King."



"Ay," breathed Alan, remembering a dream he had

forgotten, once seen on an ancient woman's loom. "Ay.



The Lady of All Trees dwells on the Forest island of
Celydon."



Hal turned to him, shocked out of his trance, shaking



at his own words, terrified. "Name of Aene, Alan, what

did I say?"



"Truth." Alan put an arm around him.

"I called myself Very King!" Hal whispered, ashen.



"Merest truth, Mireldeyn," Alan told him whimsically.

"Think no more of it."



"Will the lass be all right?" Torre asked, bemused.

"Ay, Ket will see her home." Hal turned to the old



King remorsefully. "Grandfather, how long have you



stood here while I babbled nonsense?"



"I heard no nonsense," Torre retorted, "and I am not

yet too old to stand for a while. Moreover, it has been

said before now that the Lady of the Forest must wed

the Very King, as the Forest is the soul of Isle and the



Very King its heart. But what are the rites of this Lady?
What must she do?"



"She does not do; she is." Hal seemed to know the

answer in spite of himself. "She lives, as the Forest lives."



"Why did she not tell us, or show us?" Alan murmured.

"How blind we were then, Hal!"



"She does not know it herself, Alan( She is more being

than knowing. She is the fruit tree and the dappled deer."



The West Land              17S



Hal shook his head, blinking back tears. "Aene's power

go with her! Knowing is only pain."



"Come in to the fire," said Torre gruffly.

It took Hal a few days to shake off the lethargy of his

trance, and for a few nights he paced the corridors, afraid

to sleep because of what his dreams might be. He hated

the thought that Ket might someday kneel to him. . . .

But the warmth of Torre's love drew him away from his

fears more quickly than he would have believed possible.

In the evenings he sat by the hearth and sang for the old

man-
The quiet winter months passed slowly for Hal and

Alan, in spite of their contentment. There was much to

be done in the year ahead, and they longed to be on the

road once again- If Iscovar's physician reckoned rightly,

this would be their last year of preparation for the war to

come. Hal paced for nearly a month at the thought of it,

until one day he smelted spring even in the icy mountain

air. "The snow is melting and the grass is green in the

lowlands," he said, "though the crags here are still white,

It is time for us to go."



Torre came to watch them pack. "You roam about the

land," he chided, "without shields, helms or mail? Your

fighting skills are great, but it is a wonder you have not

both been killed."



"We have tried to avoid fighting," Hal explained. "We

could appear to be only wastrels, or farm lads, when we

chose. Though truly it was not often a matter of choice."



Torre shook his head. "Two years ago, perhaps, you

could do that; but no one would mistake you now for farm

lads." He studied their powerful shoulders and chests,

noting their purposeful movements and steady bearing.

"You are warriors, and leaders of warriors. There is no
disguising it."



"Just as you say," Hal acceded cheerfully. "But what

are we to do about it?"



"We have gifts," came a voice from the doorway. They

turned in surprise to see Galin, but the King smiled.

Galin's voice, as always, was somber. But Alan thought

he saw a flicker of emotion in his black eyes.



From the corridor came a procession of servants, bring-

ing Ha! and Alan the accouterments of combat. Galin

and Torre first presented tunics of fine chain mail, light-

weight but very strong, crafted of the mountains' best



176 THE SILVER SUN



metal. Then they brought half-helms with a noseguard

attached; these were much less hot and heavy than full

helms, and could be stored in the saddlebags until needed.

The mail could be worn under an outer garment, if Hal

and Alan wished to hide it.



Last, Torre and Galin gifted the comrades with shields.

These also were lightweight yet strong, and rather small,
so as not to hamper freedom of movement They were of

a graceful shape, the point not too long but somewhat

rounded. In the center of each was embossed a half-circle

sunburst, like that on the plinset case, or like the emblem

of Veran*s crown in the heart of the green Elfstone.

Hal's shield and helm shone silvery gray, like his sword

and his steed. Alan's were of the same metal, but treated

with an overlay which made them glow a brilliant gold,

like sunlight.



The two soon gave up trying to express their thanks.

They knew that Torre understood, and beneath Galin's

toughened exterior they felt his love as well as his re-

luctance to show it. So in mutual silence and regard they

saddled their steeds, slung on their bedrolls, and pre-

pared to leave.



"I shall miss you both," said King Torre. He stood tall,

and in his eyes glowed the hope of a new dawn. As they

rode down the gorge they looked back at him. With his

dark eyes sparkling, his thin lips pressed tight, his snow-

white hair bristling in the crisp air, he seemed a roused

bird of prey, poised to strike his enemies, swift and

deadly. In farewell he raised the clenched fist of war.



Galin rode with the brothers as far as the lower de-
fenses. From the foothills they could see the lowlands in

the hazy distance. Hal was right; green patches were

beginning to appear.



"Farewell," Galin said simply as they turned to leave.

Then suddenly he added, "Hal, Alan, I never told

you—"



"We know." Hal assured him, smiling at the love in

his thunder-dark eyes.



"Go with all blessing," he said.



They left the mountains behind them and rode toward

the lowlands, Iscovar's demesne. Galin watched them go.

He was troubled by the emblem on their shields—was it

the rising sun of a new dawn for his land and his people,

or was it the setting of their sun forever? There was a



The Wen Land              177



mystery in Hal's eyes which he did not understand, but

which caused him both hope and fear. Something in Hal,

he knew, was more than man, even more than legend—

but even an elf-man could be killed. With the difficulty
that comes of pride, Galin bowed his head and begged

the Mothers to keep his kinsman from harm.



book four

THE DARK TOWER



Chapter One



Hal and Alan set their course straight toward Nemeton,

for they needed to establish communication with the

castle before they could lay their final plans. Hal hoped

his old nurse was still alive. "She was always clever, and

tough even in tenderness," he grumbled, to temper his

concern. "Still, I wish I knew what happened to her, af-

ter Rhys was killed."



Since they had to travel through the heart of the low-

lands, they put the bold face to it, riding abreast of each

other with jingling mail, helms on and shields at the

ready. In this land of petty lords, they believed, few folk

would pay them any mind. But they were mistaken.

Peasants gaped at them from the fields, and once an

ancient woman scuttled into their path and seized their

hands. "The Mothers be praised that I have lived to see

this dayl" she cried, and kissed their hands, and wept.

Hal and Alan did not know what to think. Another time,
to their surprise and discomfiture, a group of peasants

knelt by their road. "Why are you kneeling?" Hal de-

manded.



"Because you are the Very King," a fellow answered

huskily, "who comes to rid us of the oppressors, all gods

be thanked 1"



ISO



The Dark Tower            181



"But how can you know that?" Hal exclaimed.

"Why, the old song, my lords," the man blurted, and

recited:



"Silver sunset, golden dawn

Bid the fiend from Isle begone.



Silver steed and golden bay

Bring to Welas brighter day.



Two that from Cair Indel ride

Very Kings of both shall bide."
Hal smiled crookedly at Alan. "I should think Torre

might have warned us."



"He knew just what he was doing!" Alan averred.



The lowland lordsmen also took note of their passing.

Several times they outran groups of armed men, and

twice they had to cut their way to freedom. Their new

equipment stood them in good stead, for neither took any

wounds. So they wore the gear when they forded the

Gleaming River, wore it while they fought and fled and

dared their way across Isle, and wore it still when, in

early summer, they entered the southern Forest.



Deep within its green belly, they rode down a leafy

corridor just wide enough for the horses to go abreast.

For no reason Alaa could discern, Hal stopped, signaling

Alan to halt as well. Hal listened intently, and a slow

smile spread on his face. He gave a chirping call,



A little way ahead of them, a man dropped from a tree

to the center of the path, facing them with nocked arrow.

At once other outlaws dropped to both sides of the path,

until an even dozen stood poised for combat. The first

man, a tanned, country fellow of middle age, knitted

his brows in consternation. Hal's grin broadened even as
his eyes grew damp.



"Trigg," he chided, "don't you know me?"



The man's jaw dropped and his bow clattered to the

ground. In an instant Hal was off of Arun, and the two

friends were hugging and pommeling each other's backs.

Trigg's cheeks were wet.



"Dear Hal!" he gasped. "Who would ha* thought it!"



"If you could not recognize me," Hal teased, "I should

think at least you might have known Arundel!"



"Ye've both grown," Trigg marveled, "but ye the most.



182 THE SILVER SUN



A warrior knight, in mail and all, with the muscles of

one of them whatchacallums—dragon slayersi Y'know,

ye were scarce more'n a lad when I last saw ye, though

mighty enough e*en then—"



"Spare my blushes, TriggI" Hal protested, iaughing.

"This is Alan, my brother in blood."
Trigg gripped Alan's hand and scanned his face under

the helm with an intensity strange in one so slow seem-

ing. "I'd scarce ha' thought there could be more'n one,"

he murmured.



"There is not," Alan answered. "Are you not the

friend who gave Hal his sword? Where did you get it?"



"No credit t'me," Trigg shrugged. "A minstrel fellow

traded it fr food, said he'd no use fr it—but I thought

'twas a pretty thing."



"It is, indeed." Hal raised the shining weapon.



"He would not give it up even for a king's brand,"

Alan said, and Trigg's eyes sparkled with pleasure.



He directed them to the outlaws' base camp, where

they found Craig the Grim sitting at the entrance of his

hut, apparently watching the trees grow. He was a

hatchet-faced man, worn and honed by weather and

enemies. His eyes were sharp as flint, but subtle neverthe-

less. Craig greeted Hal with composure, but Alan could

see his pleasure, warm like a bidden fire behind the mask

of his face.
Hal and Alan stayed three days, spending most of the

time in close talk with Craig, catching up on the events of

two years, laying plans, setting up signals. Alan soon

found that, unless he had reason to be otherwise, Craig

was as shelly and inscrutable as an oyster. When he chose

to command, his men obeyed him implicitly. Alan was

glad he was on their side.



"I have heard news of you now and then, Hal, since

you left us," he remarked on the third day. A hint of a

smile showed at the corners of his straight mouth as he

watched their surprise.



"News came to us from Ket'a camp by the woodland

ways, so that I knew you had found a friend in Alan

here. Then rumor came of a handsome reward offeree by

Gar of Whitewater for a couple of rogues so bold I knew

they could only be you two. Again, the Forest ways

brought me news from the Gypsy camps. But after that,

all is confused. From all quarters, vague rumors came of



The Dark Twer             183



two noble youths, poorly clad, but mounted, and armed
with swords and skill, who fought the armed henchmen

of the rich oppressors for the sake of common folk. There

were tales of kindness, of healing herbs and strength-

giving meat. And lately there are whispers that the Very

King had returned, a King that the Speaking Stone would

have proclaimed, before it cracked, ages gone by, and

was destroyed by the invaders."



"Then how has it been proclaimed, now?" Alan asked.

Hal looked too thunderstruck to speak.



"Why, your shields, to be sure! All parts of you, in-

deed. . . ." Craig showed scarcely a hint of a smile.

"There are many old Jingies, and stories, and all of them

have to do with rising sun and setting sun, silver and gold,

and many other omens besides. The peasants hum old

singsongs that a year ago were thought fit only for chil-

dren, and every time you're seen the word runs like fire.

All over Isle you are said to have traveled, fearlessly, like

living legends, and wherever you went the oppressors

were foiled and the poor folk blessed. So you see," Craig

concluded, "I was not entirely surprised when you came

here."



"It is all nonsense!" Hal sputtered. "We left Welas

only two months ago, and we have traveled no farther
than here. We helped a lass with her cow, once, and once

we saved a fellow from a scourging by happening

past. . . . And there was that sick child near the Western

Way, and that burning cottage at Lee; we had to fight a

few lordsmen there. But that is all. We are not legends;



only men trying to do what we must."



"It is of such men that legends are made," replied

Craig gravely. "And I think it is not all nonsense." He

ran his appraising eyes over them both.



"I do not wear this shield in policy, Craig," Hal told

him sharply. "It was given to me."



"I did not think otherwise," Craig declared.



An old woman stumbled along a Forest track, her

eyes dull and vacant, her mouth hanging slack. Fearful

of outlaws, she hastened her plodding feet. But when a

golden steed stepped from the underbrush to block her

path, she could only gasp. Her eyes traveled upward from

the horse's hooves to a shield with a sunburst design, and

then to blue eyes beneath a golden helm. The eyes were
184 THE SILVER SUN



kind, and reminded her of some she had once known.

Speechlessly she allowed Alan to place her in the saddle,

and he took her through the leafy Forest wall. In a cool

space under a giant silver beech, a silver-gray horse

grazed by a still figure with eyes of gray, Hal waited to

welcome the dear nurse of his childhood.



"Oh, Halsey! Oh, my poor little princeling!" she wept

as she flung her arms around this broad-shouldered war-

rior; her head scarcely reached his chest. Alan had to

grin. Still, he swallowed hard as Hal bent to kiss her.



"Strange chance, Nana," Hal marveled, "that sent you

our way. It was merest luck that we saw you."



"Strange chance, indeed," she faltered, wiping her

face, "for I have not been out of Nemeton in many years.

1 have been to see my cousin. . . . But you do not need

that news."



"You speak wisely, as ever." Hal helped her to a seat

on the ground. "Rest awhile, Nana. Eat with us and tell

me what I must know. How is the health of the King?"
"He is a sick man, though he manages to present an

appearance of health. I believe be will not last longer

than a year."



She went on, acquainting Hal with circumstances at

court. Alan was startled by the change in her manner.

Her eyes were now bright and clear, her words rapid and

to the point, her movements sure and purposeful. He be-

gan to realize that her doddering stupidity was only a pro-

tective device. How else could she, formerly the Queen's

favorite, have survived so long in the hostile court? Her

repulsive senility placed her beyond suspicion. She went

everywhere and saw everything, but none of the great

ones noticed or cared.



"I have nosed about these three long years," she ex-

plained, "trying to find out what had become of you, my

poppet. But nary a sign of you couid I spy, and I did not

know what to think."



"I knew you would be hunting and grieving, Nana," Hal

said regretfully. "And now I must ask you to labor for

me."



"Willingly! Since I have seen you, my heart is as light
as if I were a girl again."



"You must make shift, then, to let me know every

month how the King fares. When he takes to his bed, I

must come to Nemeton. But how is this to be done?"



The Darfe Tower               185



She thought awhile. "I cannot do it myself," she said

at last. "To leave the castle often is to invite suspicion.

But there are others who remember you. I believe Tod,

the master of hounds, will serve. Once every fortnight, or

month at the longest, he takes the dogs out to the wealds,

to romp and roll and stretch their muscles."



'That will do admirably," Hal agreed. "Tell him not to

expect me, but a messenger. He must wear a quail's

feather in his hat, and the messenger will carry a bow

and bird-tipped arrows feathered with quail."



When they had finished their meal. Hal finally asked

the question that haunted him. "The Dark Tower, Nana,

is it as full as ever?"



"Many poor wretches have met the misfortune of at-

tracting Iscovar's notice," Nana replied. "Why, the very
day I left, a bold lord came from the north to pay his trib-

ute, and begged the King to curb that robber, Arrok of

Rodsen. By my poor old eyes, the King's answer was to

clap him and his son and all their retainers into the Tower,

and there they'll stay until be takes it into his head to

either free them, torture them, or kill them. There's no

reason for it, no reason at all, just cruel whim and the ex-

cuse of the Sacred Son—"



"Who was that lord?" demanded Hal. Alan's face was

pale.



"Some strange northlandish name. . . . Ror—Roran—

of the town of Firth."



They bid the old nurse farewell and set her far enough

upon her way to make up for the time she had lost. "Put

on your sulky look, Nana," Hal reminded her as he kissed

her. When Alan looked back, she was once again a sul-

len, shambling old woman.



They set off at a gallop into the Forest. By dark they

had found Craig the Grim, and Hal informed him that he

intended, at whatever risk, to free Roran and his men

from the Tower.
"You're mad, Hal, mad!" entreated Craig more ear-

nestly than Alan had thought he could speak. "You can in

no way succeed. Even if you escape with your life, the

kingsmen will be after you like hornets out of a hive.

Think well; it is not only yourself that you risk. You are

the only hope of all the poor folk in this land. Would you

plunge them into another long age of misery, for the sake



186 THE SILVER SUN



of some who are already as good as lost? Think of the

stakes 1"



"If I thought of the stakes on my life," Hal replied qui-

etly, "I would not stir from bed. So I pay no heed, but do

what I must do to be a man. I shall succeed, Craig, and

the kingsmen will not know where to look for me. You

fear too much for me! I know secrets unknown even to

you, and have powers you have not seen."



Craig shook his head distractedly and took breath to

argue, but Hal silenced him with a flash of his gray eyes-

There is no time to talk! Just keep your men on the

watch to help any poor wretches that may wander this

way."
Craig stood frozen by the icy intensity of that glance.

His vision went black for a moment, and he rubbed his

sleeve across his eyes. When he looked up, Hal was off

his horse, grasping him anxiously by the shoulders. For

the first time, Craig noticed that Hal had to stoop slightly

to meet his eyes.



"Are you all right, Craig?" Hal asked. "I am sorry, but

perhaps now you understand."



Craig reached out and touched Hal's arm, as if to make

sure be was real. "So that is the power of a Very King,"

be whispered with a tinge of awe.



Trigg had stood silently by during this strange scene,

understanding little except that Hal was going into great

danger. "Master," he broke in now, "let me go with 'em."



"You have no horse," Craig said.



<'We shall get him one," Hal put in. "Craig, if you can

spare him for a few days, I would be glad of his help."



**Hal," asked Craig slowly, "can you possibly have a
plan?"



"Of course I have a plan! Do you think I would take

Trigg to his death? He will be back within the week."



" Twill comfort me that he goes along to keep an eye

on this harebrained venture. Go, then, all of you, with my

blessing." He turned and stumped off into the Forest.



They borrowed a few things from Craig's stores: a lan-

tern, bandages, extra blankets. Then, with Trigg on

Arundel behind Hal, they rode through the night. By

dawn they had reached the southern end of the Forest

and forded the Black River. Before them stretched the

wealds, the empty, grassy uplands that Iscovar reserved

for the cavortings of the royal hounds and hunters.

Though no one stirred for as far as they could see, they

camped on the fringes of the Forest for the day, taking

watch by turns.



In late afternoon they broke camp and left the shelter

of the Forest. By the time they reached the little villages

beyond the wealds, dark had fallen, and they breathed

easier. They traveled quickly but quietly, following the

furrows of the country roads by the faint light of stars

and crescent moon. At the first light of dawn they started
searching for cover, and daybreak found them hidden in

a copse of trees. On the road not far away passed the

King's patrols. Hal and Alan had to force themselves to

rest.



With dark, they took up their journey once more, press-

ing silently through the murky night- Time passed with

grudging slowness, like a sullen stream. The three travel-



187



188 THE SILVER SUN



ers had lost hope for dawn's dim coming when Trigg gave

a startled gasp, and Hal signaled the horses to a sudden

stop. Not too far ahead, black shapes of walls and towers

loomed against a graying sky.

"Nemeton!" Hal muttered.



"Hey stared at the lowering walls with mingled appre-

hension and relief. Nemeton squatted toadlike, a dark

hulk upon the plain. Bats circled ominously above it, flit-

ting toward a patch of woods that surrounded a jutting

crag of rock.
"There is our journey's end." Hal pointed out the shel-

ter and led them quickly toward it.



They worked their way deep into the woods and made

camp at the bottom of the bluff. Directly across from

them, beyond the trees and the city wall, rose the Dark

Tower. Bright day had dawned by now, but they all felt

shadowed by the Tower's presence. Trigg offered to take

the first watch, Hal had different plans.



'Today we all should sleep," he said. "We are well hid-

den, and Arundel is as good a guard as any roan." He

spoke to the steed in the Old Language, and Trigg mar-

veled to see the answer which sprang up in Arundel's

eyes. Hal smiled and turned away.



"He can rest later," he remarked, "and for us it will

be a long, arduous night. Sleep well."



But they did not sleep well at all, and arose with relief

that the waiting would soon be over.



"Why does no one come here?" Trigg asked at supper.



"Folk say it is haunted," Hal replied. Trigg shuddered,

but Hal seemed not to notice. "And so it is, in a manner
of speaking. When I was young, some lads of the castle

went on a dare to explore that cave from which the bats

come. They returned soon after, running and shouting,

half crazed with terror. Yet, when they were asked what

had frightened them, they could not say."



Alan caught his drift. "Hal," he remonstrated, "how

can you expect him to withstand it? Will he have you by

him to help?"



"Nay. He must stay here with the horses. But I would

put my hand in fire for Trigg," answered Hal. "He is

great of heart, and faithful even where his understanding

does not reach."



"Withstand what?" demanded Trigg shakily.



"There can only be one meaning to what I have told



The Dark Tower             189



you. The bats' cave must lead to the catacombs, the char-

nel pits under the Tower. Alan and 1 will go into it that



way."
"I ha* often fought men," Trigg gasped in protest, "but

never spiritsl"



Hal placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and met

his honestly frightened eyes. "Now hear me well," he

charged him gently, "and forget all those false tales told

to you by idle folk. If you do any fighting here tonight,

it will indeed be with men, for only they would harm you.

But your most difficult fight will be with your own fear."



"1 hear ye," muttered Trigg-



"Once Alan and I have found our friends, we must

summon up the spirits to rid us of the guards. You are

likely to see armed men run, and hear them scream. If

you stand your ground, you will learn that they run from

nothing, and substance of nothing, except the evil in their

hearts reflected back to them in the form of the un-

known."



Trigg gazed for a long moment into Hal's gray eyes,

and a seed of wisdom took root in the good soil of his

honest soul. "I think I grasp ye,'* he murmured.



"Good. By the end of this night you shall be able to
call yourself one of the dragon slayers, the true heroes of

Isle."



Trigg laughed. "Pshaw!*' he exclaimed, but stopped

wide-eyed when he saw that Hal was not joking.



With the coming of dusk, the bats began to issue from

their crevice in the rock. Alan and Hal equipped them-

selves with lantern, bread and bandages. "Have the horses

in readiness, Trigg." Hal instructed. "If we succeed, we

must be off quickly, before the panic subsides. If any

kingsmen come this way, keep out of their path if you

can; protect yourself and the steeds if you must. And re-

member, fear is only fear—of itself, it cannot hurt you.

Farewell.**



"Go with all blessing," Trigg whispered.



The cave of the bats was pitch dark, and the stench

terrible. Hal whispered to the remaining bats as they en-

tered: "Este selle, bissel arledas, al donn tha ne riste."

["Be calm, little brothers, we mean you no harm."] So

the small creatures were silent except for their usual rus-

tlings and chirpings. But Hal and Alan did not dare to
190 THE SILVER SUN



risk a light, not where eyes from the Tower might see,

and their fingers grew foul and slimy as they felt their

way along. Their feet slipped and squished across the un-

even floor covered with dung.



After what seemed an eternity, they cautiously lighted

their lantern. They moved more freely now, but Alan be-

came sickeningly aware that the floor was one great writh-

ing mass of maggots and insects feeding on the dung of



the bats. His stomach turned, and he tried not to look at

his feet.



Abruptly the realm of the bats ended, and gratefully

the comrades made their way along bare, damp stone.

The cave narrowed, turning into a crevice which de-

scended at a steep angle into the depths of the earth.

The two found themselves sliding down a crooked chim-

ney of stone. Presently Hal felt his feet dangling in air.

He lowered himself and dropped lightly to the floor be-

low. Alan followed more slowly. These strait underground

regions choked his heart. Grimly he steeled himself

against whatever treacherous cavern might await him.
He landed beside Hal. But the lantern cast its light on

a large domed passageway, and Alan realized at once

that they stood in a work of man, not nature. The fissure

through which they had entered showed as a dark flaw

overhead. Alan stood gazing in amazement.



"Ancient people dug these," Hal explained. "No one

knows quite why. As mines, perhaps, or retreats in time

of attack. My ancestor Herne, curse his name, very sen-

sibly used one of them as the deepest dungeon of his

despicable Tower. Let us go."



They padded along quietly but at a good pace until

they came to a halt at a wall of rubble which blocked

their way. Part of the tunnel had at some time fallen in.



"Confound iti" muttered Hal, poking about, then reck-

lessly climbing up the huge crumbling mass. Near the top

he stuck his head into a black hole and called down ex-

citedly, "This goes through, Alan, I can feel it! Bring the

lightl"



Alan climbed gingerly up the sliding stones with the



lantern. "Hal," he asked in a low voice, "are you never
frightened?"



Hal wheeled and looked at him sharply, then remorse-

fully took his hand. It was icy cold. Hal chafed it as he

spoke. "Seldom. But you're far braver than I."



The Dark Tower              191



As Alan sputtered in protest he went on, sadly but

without self-pity. "I have always held loosely to life. But

you, who have the heart to embrace life, must brave the

fear of losing it. The old fears that strike deepest, fear of

dark, and depths, and heights—these I scarcely know,

and I can only imagine the courage you spend to over-

come them."



"Can you not imagine what it would be like to get

stuck in a hole like that?" Alan broke in.



"Imagining doom! Why, Alan, that's not like you at

all!" Hal chided, smiling. Then he sobered. "Do you re-

ally want to turn back?"



"Nay," answered Alan ruefully, "go on, as ever. I will

follow."
The next half hour might have been the worst in Alan's

life if it were not for Hal's generous words. They wormed

their way through the tiny tunnel, pushing their baggage

before them. Sometimes they stuck fast, making their way

through only by main force. Then rock fragments would

shower them till, hearts frozen in terror, they were sure

they would be buried alive. When (hey got through at

last, it was tricky work not to go tumbling headfirst down

the other side. But they reached the bottom and sat

there for a few minutes, panting.



"How long have we been in here?*' sighed Alan. "It

seems like hours."



"Not so long, I hope," murmured Hal, "but long

enough. We had better be moving."



They had not walked too far when Alan felt the pres-

ence of the spirits of the dead, though only as a bodiless

weight in the air. Within a few paces the dim lantern light

began to reflect on jumbled human bones, many of them

broken, intermingled with bits of hair and clothing.

Through the darkness they sensed that the pile grew into

a mountain, reaching far above their heads. This was the

work of seven generations of oppression, thousands upon
thousands dead. The stench struck them to the core, for it

was the stench of death, of rotting flesh and the creatures

which feed upon it. Hal and Alan could not face each

other's eyes.



"You who died in pain and hatred," Hal spoke to the

waiting spirits, "we come not in idleness, but because we

must."



The rustle like a breath of new air went through the



THE SILVER SUN



192



still place. A deep voice rumbled, as if from afar: "We

know you, Mireldeyn and EIwyndas, and we have waited

long for your coming."



"We must ask your help," Hal continued, "or we are

not likely to live through the night."



"Wherever you move, you shall be the center of our

circle of friendship and ringed with our Otherness." As

the voice spoke, Alan felt the heavy chill in the air turn

to warmth and comfort. He raised his head and breathed
deeply; the stench of death no longer troubled him.



"Many thanks," said Hal. "But wait in this chamber

until I call." Businesslike, he began to climb up the lat-

ticework of skeletons. Alan's eyes widened in distress.



"Hall Must wer



"It is the only way to reach the door." But Hal paused

a moment, listening once again for the spirits. "Is it not,

our friends?"



**The only way," echoed the deep, distant voice. "Go,

Elwyndas, with our blessing. We are proud that our shat-

tered bodies can yet be of such use."



"It will cause you no pain?"



"None."



"Then, many thanks."



They toiled silently up the macabre slope. The light of

their lantern fell sometimes on the half-rotted flesh of a

more recent victim, or on the retreating forms of squeak-
ing rats and scurrying beetles. Hal struggled along, eyes

fixed on his footing, trying not to wonder whether they

might find Roran and the others atop this grisly hill.

From behind he heard a half-strangled gasp, and spun

around Just in time to save Alan from falling. Trembling,

Alan sank to his knees, white as the bleached bones be-

neath him From the tangled heap of remains protruded

a skeletal hand, and on its chalky finger was a silver ring

set with a deep black stone. Hal stared silently as Alan's

shaky hand reached out as if to living flesh.



"Father," Alan breathed, and he searched the dark-

ness around him as if for a familiar face. Hal knelt be-

side him, gripped his shoulders.



"Alan," he whispered, "even if he is here, you do him

no service to call him."



"The dead can have no place in the lives of those they

leave behind," said the deep voice from its distance of

Otherness. "Lover shall not speak to lover, nor father to



The Dark Tower             193



son, but the Wheel shall spin out its seasons. So it is

written in the Book." Alan thought he heard tears in the
voice.



"Alan," urged Hal gently, "think of the living—if they

are yet alive."



Alan raised his head and clenched his jaw a moment,

and his trembling stopped. "May I take the ring?" he

asked presently, in a voice he could not quite control.



"It belongs to the son of the one who wore it."



Alan removed the ring reverently and slipped it on his

own finger. Then he rose, and they went on without look-

ing back.



Streaks of dim light guided them to the door of the

chamel chamber, over piles of fresh bodies which Hal

examined hastily and turned from in relief. They extin-

guished their lantern and hid it among the gruesome con-

tents of that cellar. On the threshold they listened a

moment. The door was not barred; who would think to

prevent the dead from escaping? So, hearing no voices or

footsteps on the other side, they pushed it open.



Far above. Lord Roran lay in the darkness of his cell.
The barred window overhead told him that it was night,

but he did not sleep. He could not think. He had lost

track of the days, for his head was light with hunger.

Nothing but moldy bread and stale water had passed his

lips. The first day he had been given a morsel of rotten

meat, not fit for dogs, and he had scorned it. The guards

had jeered at him. "By this time next week," they had

laughed, **you will be ready to beg for such as that." They

were right



Since then they had paid him no unwelcome attention.

His lump of bread and pannikin of water were wordlessly

thrust at him each day. But now he heard the sound of

harsh laughter approaching. The creaky door of his cell

swung open and a body was thrown roughly on the stone

floor Just out of his reach. As the door crashed to and

the men tramped noisily away, the still form on the stones

stirred and moaned.



"Father?"



"RobinI" Roran sprang to the end of his fetters like a

maddened dog on a chain, lunging and wrenching in his

frenzy to reach his son. It was no use, and as he sank



194 THE SILVER SUN
back in the straw, exhausted, he heard Robin whispering,

"Father, don't..."



"Robbie," sobbed Roran, "what have they done to

you?"



"Father, pray stop. Your tears hurt me worse than the

blows."



Roran lay still, collecting himself. When he spoke

again, his voice was calmer. He could tell from Robin's

panting that his son struggled to suppress great pain.



"I am better now, Robin. Tell me the truth. What have

they done to you?"



"They have tied my hands behind my back, and forced

a spear through my legs behind the knees." Robin could

not quite steady his voice. "I cannot move without crip-

pling myself- I cannot come closer to you." There was a

long silence. Finally Robin asked, "Have you seen Cory?"



"Nay." How like him to ask for Cory, Roran thought

with painful pride. Since that autumn day nearly two
years before, the boys had been inseparable. Boysl No

more. In that time they had grown to tall youths, skilled

in the arts of war and peace, bold in body and mind, and

as alike in their regard for each other as they were dif-

ferent in appearance. Trust each to think of the other be-

fore himself!



"I hope he has not been hurt," Robin whispered.

"Probably they do not realize how high he stands in our

affections, or that he knows anything. . . ."



Slowly the last phrase sank into Roran's mind. "Any-

thing about what?"



"Hal. They kept asking me about him. I told them that

I knew nothing of him, but it seems they do not believe

me." ,



"Hall" breathed Roran. "So that is what this coil is

for!" Abruptly he shouted, "Guard!"



"Father! What are you doing?"



"If it will get that spear out of your legs, I will tell them

an earful about Hal! Ay. I would lead them to his front

door if he had one!"
"Father, nay! You must not betray him. Do you think

it would make any difference, even if you did? They

would kill us all the sooner, having had their purpose of

us."



"Better even that than this," grated Roran hoarsely.

"Guard!" His mind was numb and fixed in his despair.



The Dark Tower             19S



"Father." There was a tone in Robin's voice that cut

through the haze of Roran's wretchedness, a note of lov-

ing command that could not be ignored. "Let them slay

me if they must, but do not let them torture my heart,

Father! Do not let them change you."



Roran lay panting in his filthy straw. He was exhausted,

too exhausted to feel or think, but suddenly the situation

presented itself to him with a clarity that reached beyond

hope or fear to the depths of his soul.



"So you want to fight them, Robbie." His voice was as

calm as if he were discussing a day's plans, but full of

proud affection.
"Ay. They can have my body and welcome, so long

as I keep my soul, and you yours."



"You have saved it for me. my marvelous son. We

will fight them together."



When the key turned in the lock and the door swung

open, Roran looked up with fortitude, expecting the tor-

turers. But it was Hal and Alan who entered his cell.

Between them walked a pallid guard, and the Tower keys

dangled in Hal's hand.



In the copse beyond the walls, Trigg struggled against

sleep as the night wore on. He sat on the ground between

the horses and nodded. But suddenly his head snapped up,

and he jumped to his feet. The night rang with the hor-

rible shrieks of men in mortal terror. The black windows

of the Tower came ablaze with torchlight. Trigg blinked

in disbelief. Panic-stricken guards were leaping from the

windows to an ugly death on the hard ground below.



Others ran out through the courtyard or atop the walls.

The shrieking continued, and the windows of the keep

beyond the Tower began to glow bright. Then the postern

gate in the Tower wall swung open, and in the torchlight
Trigg could see people streaming to freedom. They did

not run or scream. Some tottered on maimed legs, sup-

ported by others almost as weak. Some had unbandaged

stumps of fingers or arms. Some had blind sockets for

eyes, and were led by others almost as blind from long

darkness. All of them moved off quietly, turning pale, smil-

ing faces to the night sky.



In the midst of this strange procession came Hal, carry-

ing someone wrapped in his cloak. At first sight of him,



196 THE SILVER SUN



Trigg crawled onto Arundel's back, gathered Alfie's reins

in one hand, and sent the horses toward him.



He felt as if he were being pushed through a solid

wall made of nothing but fear. He lay flat on Arundel's

back and tried not to let the darkness crush his lungs.

He thought that bis head would burst with souodlessness,

but he could not scream. He believed that he was slipping,

falling to his death. With the last of his strength, he

forced his arm around the warmth of ArundeFs neck.

Then, just as he felt his senses leaving him, he seemed

to burst through.
He sat up, bewildered, smiling. The whole world was

filled with friendship and praise. Just ahead was Hal,

calling him proudly by name. Trigg slipped lightly to the

ground and looked at the still form in Hal's arms. It was a

dark-haired youth, his face deathly white, with ugly knots

and cuts all over his head.



"Water," directed Hal rapidly. "And any food that we

have, give to those who need it most. Then go help Alan

at the stable."



Trigg hastily handed out bread and dried meat. The

people took it quietly, with wondering thanks. When it

was all gone, he ran to find Alan deeply enmeshed in a

welter of saddles and bridles. The stable was empty of

its staff, the doors ajar, horses streaming out into the coun-

tryside like the prisoners. Alan held a dozen or so

steeds clustered around him by the power of the Elder

Tongue, and even Trigg's unpracticed eye could see that

they were some of the finest in Isle. They slung gear OD

them as quickly as possible and trotted them around to

the postern gate.



Hal was still working over the injured boy while Roran

and his retainers stood by. Hurriedly Trigg and Alan
helped them onto their horses. Hal carried Robin on

Arundel before him. Trigg had a steed to himself. This

made him anxious, for he was no horseman, but he need

not have worried. The spirited creatures stood like statues

while Hal and Alan bid their farewells to the spirits. When

the deep voices came out of the night air, Trigg was sur-

prised; but he was no longer afraid.



They rode hard for the remainder of the night. Before

many miles had passed, Lord Roran dropped his reins

and slumped in the saddle. Alan slung him across the



The Dark Tower              197



horse and secured him as best he could; then they pressed

on. One by one the retainers also toppled from the weak-

ness of their starvation. By dawn, only a few were still

upright.



At first light, Hal found a spring of clear water with

trees growing around, and there they stopped. Alan

and Trigg got the men off their horses and rolled in blan-

kets on the ground. Then Trigg went to see if he could

help Hal, who had Robin beside the spring, changing

the hasty dressings he had put on in the Tower. Trigg
had not realized how badly the youth was injured. Neither,

apparently, had Cory, for he fainted at the sight. Trigg

caught him as he fell, and carried him off to a blanket

on the other side of the spring.



"No wonder," muttered Hal as Trigg assisted him.

"He's been starved for a week and a half. And he's one

of the lucky ones, in the Tower. Did you see the others,

Trigg? The tortured and maimed. ... By blood, I'd for-

gotten how horrible . . ." Hal gulped and stopped, dab-

bing fiercely at Robin's wounds.



"But did ye see their faces?" Trigg exclaimed. "Full

of peace 'n* wonder, despite their hurts. D'ye know what

ye've done, Hal? Ye've breached the TowerI All of Isle

will be abuzz with it."



"The Tower will be as full as ever in a week," Hal an-

swered in a low voice, "and most of those poor, crippled

wretches recaptured. I released them to confuse the

kingsmen. ... I might have been more merciful to leave

them in their cells."



"No whit!" Trigg protested. "Ye're too tired to think

aright, Hal. Their faces—they smiled 's if they'd looked

for midnight and found dawn."
But Hal had scarcely heard. "Robin, here, had a spear

in his legs," he panted in a kind of desperate monotone.

"We took it out as gently as we could, but he shrieked

and swooned. They all shrieked, when the spirits came.

The prisoners would have run like the guards, except

they were chained in their cells. The whole night has

been full of screaming, and none of it mine. Alan took a

ring from a dead and tortured hand. Horrible—"



"Ye're babbling," Trigg said, and took the cloth away

from him like a mother taking a toy from a cranky child,

stretched him on the ground and covered him. Within a

few moments, Hal was deeply asleep. Alan returned from



198 THE SILVER SUN



puttering with the horses, lurching from tree to tree in his

weariness. Trigg looked at him and sighed.



"Go get yer rest," he told Alan. "I'll watch."



"You're a godsend, Trigg," Alan mumbled, and fell

asleep as he met the ground.
Hal awoke in late afternoon, still exhausted, but calm.

Alan sat up groggily beside him. Two cheerful campfires

gave them welcome; over one bubbled a pot of gruel, and

the other licked at spits of roasting birds. Trigg, looking

tired but content, was dishing gruel for Robin, crooning to

himself. Hungrily turning the spits was a stranger, a burly

peasant with a homely, open face, who could almost have

been Trigg's twin. Beside him, rendering the air poetic

with its aroma, sat a bag of fresh, hot bread.



'"At's Drew," Trigg explained as Hal and Alan

blinked. "Lives nearby, 'n' came for water. We got along

fine; he's a cousin t*me that I ha* not seen these many

years. Bread *n' gruel from his wife, in trade for one of

my grouse."



Anxiously, Hal went to kneel beside Robin. The boy

opened his eyes, and the ghost of a smile played around

his pale lips. "Hal," he whispered. "I thought it was a

dream."



"No dream," he murmured, caressing Robin's forehead.

"Are you in pain?"



"Nay. Trigg has comforted me marvelously well."
"He is a good nurse," Hal agreed softly. "I know."



" 'N' he knows a need when he sees it," grumbled Trigg

from behind their backs. He handed Hal a ladle full of

whitish goo. "Go wash. Soap from Drew. No dinner till

ye do."



Hal and Alan looked at each other, and their weary

dismay suddenly gave way to shouts of laughter that woke

the camp. From head to foot, they were covered with bat

dung, dirt and dust, filth and cobwebs. Only Hal's fingers

were clean from bandaging Robin. He whooped until tears

wet his grimy cheeks. "A pretty pair of rescuers we are!"

Alan choked.



"Like gods, you appeared to me," remarked Roran, go-

ing to his son. "Anyway, we're no sweet-smelling lot our-

selves, after sitting for a week in our own dirt."



" 'At's truth," Trigg said bluntly. "But ye I'll let eat

before ye wash."



They all ate and washed by turns, gradually becoming



The Dark Tower                199
clean and full through the course of a lazy evening. When

they finished at last, Trigg was asleep. The rest of them

felt sociable for the first time in days, and clustered com-

panionably around the campfires. Even Robin sat with

them, resting against Cory. At his waist Cory wore the

hunting knife Alan had given him, with its polished handle

in the shape of a horse's head.



"You seem almost as done in as the rest of us, Hal,"

Roran remarked.



"It was hard, going back to the Tower," Hal acknowl-

edged quietly. "I have been there before."



No one wanted to ask him when. "And Alan, what has

come over you?" Cory inquired lightly. "You are so silent,

and brooding—" Corin stopped abruptly. For a moment,

Alan's glance pierced him with fear. But Alan's reply was

calm.



"I have been watching the Wheel in motion, and I can't

see the tilt of it. Look here." He reached under his tunic

and drew out the glimmering Elfstone upon its golden

chain. He held the green jewel aloft in the firelight, to-

gether with the black and silver ring on his hand. Corin
gasped as brilliant light bathed him.



Glowing like a vision in the heart of each stone was a

radiant half-circle sunburst in the form of a mighty crown.

Corin squinted into the dazzling depths and vaguely per-

ceived twin faces under crowns of silver and gold. But the

vision faded before he could recognize the faces. Alan

lowered his hands.



"Did the ring ever do that before?" asked Hal softly, as

amazed as Corin.



"Never to my knowledge." Alan laughed harshly. "But

then, I paid it little heed."



"Whence came the ring and the stone?" asked Roran,

his face pale under his swarthy skin.



"The ring came from my father's hand, long dead in

the King's charnel pit." Alao scarcely seemed able to go

on, and Hal spoke up in his stead.



"It's a marvel that we found it. They always loot the

bodies before they discard them, even of the gold in their

teeth." He froze, and a peculiar pain washed across his
face. "Corin," he said suddenly, "try to take the ring off

Alan's finger—but be careful."



Puzzled, Cory obeyed. But as soon as he touched the

ring he jerked his hand back with a yelp of pain. "Are you



200 THE SILVER SUN



all right?" asked Hal anxiously. "What happened?" cried

Reran.



"It stings like nettles!" gasped Corin, laughing even as

tears of pain sprang from his eyes. "I dare say I'll live.

But I should think, Hal, that if you were expecting some-

thing like that to happen, you might have taken it on

yourself!"



Hal took the ring gently from Alan's finger and set it

upon his own. Lord Koran touched it, then winced and

put his finger to his mouth. Hal returned the ring to Alan,

who sat in silent bewilderment.



"I knew nothing of this," he said at last. "How did

you?"



"A buried memory. He wore it to his death, all through
the torture, and none of the guards would touch it But I

touched it without harm...."



Roran looked startled, and drew breath to speak, but

kept silence.



"I had forced it out of my mind along with the rest of

those black days," Hal concluded grimly.



No one had the heart to pursue the matter further.

Corin tried to return the conversation to a former topic.

"And the green stone? Whence did it come?*'



But Alan sprang up and strode away from the fire.

Cory looked after him in dismay, unable to follow; Robin

had fallen asleep on his shoulder.



"Never mind," Hal said gently from beyond the fire.

"He will be back shortly."



"He's so changed," Corin blurted.



"With reason," Hal replied. "The green stone is a gift

of love from a certain maiden whose people remember

back to the Beginnings. It was with her that he learned to
watch the turnings of the Wheel. . . ." Hal looked into

Corin's perplexed face and sighed. "It is difficult to un-

derstand."



"Impossible," grumbled Alan from behind Cory's back.

"Pay no mind, Cory.... Here, let's get Robin back to his

bed."



They all went to bed, and slept late into the following

morning, and rested by the spring all that day, regaining

strength, since Drew had no word of kingsmen being near.

Then they chatted by another evening's fire and slept an-

other night, and in the morning started gently northward.

Robin was strong enough to sit on a horse, though he bad



The Dark Tower              201



to let his feet dangle below the stirrups. And still there

had been no news of any pursuit. It seemed that Iscovar

was having trouble in Nemeton-



Hal did not know that he had paralyzed the whole

court city with a night of terror that would be made leg-

end, and written into the lore books of the sorcerer

scribes. No kingsmen would be able to ride from Nemeton

for days to come. And Iscovar himself was roaring with
rage to hide his own cold fear. No one knew how he had

shrieked in the spirit-laden chill of that night, sensing an

omen of his own approaching death.



Chapter Three



A few days later, in the shelter of the Forest, the fugitives

paused to hold a council. Hal made his birth and his

quest known, and Roran found hope in his words. It was

decided that Roran and his retainers would speed north-

ward to prepare Firth for siege, since surely Iscovar would

be eager for revenge on him. Trigg would guide them to

Craig, and Craig would help them on the way. Hal and

Robin, riding more slowly because of Robin's wound,

would travel to lay plans with Ket, Margerie and the

Gypsies. Alan and Corin would journey to Alan's relatives

in the north, though he did not expect to win much help

from them. By midsummer, Hal and Alan hoped, they

would be back together. Hal would warn Ket to keep an

eye on Nabon of Lee in the meantime. If Nabon marched

against Celydon, Ket must cut him off before he reached

Pelys's domain, and send a messenger to warn the castle.



The company faced a sad leavetaking. Roran, knowing

that he would soon face the King's armies, bade farewell
to his only son. Cory felt the wrench of leaving Robin,

though he was glad to ride at Alan's side. And Hal felt

strangely reluctant to be parted from Alaa, though he

saw no other way to make his bid ready in time. He

watched his brother ride away until Alan was only a



202



The Dark Tower             203



flash of gold through the summer leaves, and he won-

dered at the heaviness of his heart. At last, he turned

northward with a sigh. The young heir of Firth patiently

awaited him.



Hal and Robin made their way through the Forest as

fast as Robin's strength would allow, looking for Ket the

Red. Craig already knew that the King's army marched

toward Firth, and he would harry it to the top of his bent.

But Hal needed to enlist Ket's support. Still, when they

had located his camp, Hal would not approach him be-

fore his men. Robin wondered why, for Hal had said

they were friends.



When Ket walked off at dusk into the shadowy Forest,

a cloud-gray horse drifted through the thick-woven trees
to meet him, soundlessly, like an apparition. Ket paled

and swayed where he stood, the more so when he saw

Hal's face beneath his silver helm.



"Liege!" Ket whispered, trembling.



Hal was off of Arundel in an instant, taking him by

the shoulders, restraining him, for he had started to

kneel. "None of that, I beg you," he told him. "Ket, why

are you afraid?"



"My Prince. . . ." Quaking, Ket turned away his face;



he could not go on.



"How does he know that?" Robin blurted.



"He just knows. He knows my Lady, be knows me.

Ket, look at mel" Hal almost shook him.



The tall outlaw raised anguished eyes. "I had not

thought to rival ye," he faltered.



"Of course not. I would know it if you had. How could

you see her truly, and not love her? Ket, why are you so
afraid?"



"Ye—ye're so changed." Still, his trembling had

calmed, as Hal did not fail to note.



"I am the same man you knew before. Perhaps you

see me better. I think it is you who have changed, more

than I." Hal released Ket and settled himself on a twisted

root, and as he had hoped, Ket sat by his side. They both

kept silence a while, letting their words trickle through

the mesh of their emotions, until Robin awkwardly turned

and rode away. Hal put bis head back against a thick

old tree.



"How did ye know?" Ket murmured at last.



Hal shrugged. "What matter? I want no accounting



204 THE SILVER SUN



from you, Ket; I want help. But can you tell, now, what

I want from you even more?"



"The greeting of a friend." Ket turned, his brown eyes

dark with remorse. "But I have failed ye, Hal."
"Not entirely." Hal quirked a smile at him. "You have

just called me by my name."



Ket gulped out a laugh mat was half a sob, and they

hugged each other, bursting into eager talk. Ket wanted

to know where was Alan, who was Robin? And Hal

asked plaintively about his lady; he would not see her yet

awhile.



The next day he and Robin, with Ket and all his band,

started east. For a month or more the two travelers spent

their time helping the outlaws, and later the Gypsies,

slow the advance of the King's army. It was a difficult

time of hard riding and long waits in ambush, snatched

sleep and nighttime raids. Hal did not dare to show his

face near Whitewater town, so with many misgivings he

sent Robin as his messenger to Margerie. The youth re-

turned triumphant—cocky, indeed. Robin loved the ex-

citement and danger of his new life. But the pace, and

worry for his family, wore him more than he cared to ad-

mit. And, though he would not complain, his legs still

pained him, making him feel weak and sick. Some days

he thought he could not have kept OD if it were not for

Hal's unfailing kindness. He never guessed how lost and

lonely Hal felt without Alan.
After they had seen Iscovar's army to the Marches,

they turned southward again, hurrying toward Celydon,

for Ket had said that Nabon's preparations were far ad-

vanced. It was late in July when they reached him at

last.



"Alan?" Hal demanded.



"Not yet."



"And Nabon; when will he move?"



"Any day." Ket raised his eyebrows as a panting mes-

senger ran into camp. "By my beard, I believe it is

now!"



Rosemary was crossing Celydon courtyard when a

warrior cantered in at the gate, and she stopped in her

tracks. "Hal!" she breathed. Yet she felt as if she stared

at someone she had never seen before, someone in shin-

ing helm and mail, with straight lines to his arms and



The Dark Tower



205
back and a hard set to his jaw. He sped toward her like

an arrow, and leaped down while Arundel was still in

stride.



"Lady!" he exclaimed. "Rosemary. . . ." It was the

first time he had called her by her given name, and she

believed he had almost called her Love; his eyes on

her had gone soft as evening mist, his face breathless

and still. His hand had stopped in midair. She moved her

own; fingertips just touched, but warmth sprang through

them.



The other rider trotted up, and Hal tore himself away

from her with a rending like the parting of flesh. They

both felt that pang. "Lady," said Hal hurriedly, "I must

go to your father at once; Lee is on the march. Will you

keep this for me? I will be back for it, after the fighting."

He slipped off his plinset and handed it to her. How

odd it had looked, slung over his warlike mail.



She watched after him as he strode into the keep, and

silently watched as he rode away, a few minutes later.

He turned to her once, met her gaze mutely, then gal-

loped toward the Forest. Within the hour, Pelys's garrison
marched out to battle. Near their fore rode Rafe on a

giant black charger. He was lieutenant of guards now,

and Will was his captain, but this was their first fray.



Alan had found his mother's kinsfolk in the north to

be of even less help than he had feared. Determined to

bring some good news to Hal, he led Cory into the depths

of the Westwood, where they encountered outlaws, as

they hoped they would. After eavesdropping on some

sentries, Alan allowed himself to be captured by a band

under the leadership of a spearlike man called Blain the

Lean. Within a few hours, Blain was feasting him like a

longtime friend, and Alan was glad of it, for the word of

the wilds was that Blain commanded nearly a thousand

bows.



"I serve a certain Prince," Alan remarked obliquely

over his meat-



"A Prince who is imprisoned, you mean?" Blain shot

him a sharp glance. "He and the King do not agree, it

seems, which is all to his favor."



"Nay, he roams, as I do," Alan answered cautiously.

"The peasants call him Silver Sun."
Biain had seen Alan's own shield, of the golden sun



206



THE SILVER SUN



design, and Alan thought he might have heard of Hal's.

But he was not expecting the force of Blain's reaction.

The outlaw lurched toward him, almost leaning into the

fire. "When?" he cried.



"What?" Alan nearly choked on his food.



"When will that vile Tower break? Already it cracks.

Tell me wheni" Blain's eyes stared wildly through the

smoke.



"What do the songs say?" Alan softly threw the ques-

tion back to him.



"Spring." Blain subsided to his seat "When outlaws

march in light of day, and fires bum bright at end of

May. Spring. This spring?"



"You have said yourself, the dark den cracks," Alan
murmured, mindful of listeners. "Will you march, Blain?"



"I and my men, till we drop!" the outlaw promised

fiercely. He leaned back with a sigh of admiration. "How

clever of you and the Prince to have planned your tim-

ing according to that song! And you have patterned your

very shields after the old tales! You'll have every peasant

in Isle ready to give his life for your cause,"



Alan stared at him, frowning uneasily. "The time was

not of our planning," he said at last.



"As you say." Blain smiled eagerly, avoiding a dis-

agreement. "Where should we march, my men and I?"



"Laueroc."



"Ah." Blain nodded, his narrow eyes glinting. "But

more, my lord, tell me more of this Prince, and of your-

self! We have need of hope, here."



"Make yourself some." Alan rose. "I will return an-

other time to tell you more. But now I must hasten back

to his side. I have been away from him too long."



Blain gave him escort out of the Westwood. Alan and
Cory left the keen-edged outlaw at the last fringe of

trees and hurried eastward. Their search for support had

taken more time than they had wished. Though they

Journeyed as quickly as they could, speeding back across

Isle, July was nearly over when they entered the Forest

once more.



They cantered toward Celydon, anxious to be reunited

with their comrades, looking for Hal at every turn of the

woodland trail. But as they neared their destination, they

noted a cloud of dust above the trees, and heard the dis-

tant clang of weapons.



The Dark Tower             207



"Nabon must be attacking sooner than expected," Alan

muttered as they hastily buckled on their helms. "Do

your best, Cory!"



The road to Celydon ran through a valley beneath a

knifelike ridge. It was here that Ket had chosen to set his

ambush. Alan and Cory urged their horses to the top and

looked down on a raging battle. Ket had arranged a rock-

slide, first, to divide the invading army. Now his outlaws,

together with the guards from Celydon, struggled against
the remaining invaders. Many of Nabon's men lay dead

beneath the rocks or with tufted arrows in their throats,

and the rest were trapped against the rocks and the steep

slope; but they still numbered more than the forces of

Celydon. Ket's men had laid aside their bows, fighting

with the quarterstaff, and could do little except defend

themselves and contain their enemy. Pelys's men killed,

but they were bloodlet and tiring.



Alan and Corin thundered down the slope. Nabon's

men were taken off guard, but the defenders were expect-

ing something of the sort, and pressed the attack. The

momentum of the charge broke Lee's defenses, and sev-

eral invaders were killed. Aian circled Alfie and sent him

into the jumble of rock. The horse climbed with the agility

of a goat, and Corin's steed hesitantly followed his lead.

Though they were only two against many, Alan and Cory

devastated the rear of the invaders' defenses, gaining

great advantage from their height.



All was confusion now in the ranks of the enemy, for

they did not know which way to turn. Celydon's forces

cheered and attacked with renewed vigor, some of them

joining Cory and Alan on the rocks. They wreaked havoc

on the forces of Lee until, finding a gap where men had

moved to climb the slope, Nabon's warriors fied as best
they could, leaving their dead and wounded behind them.



Rafe was furious that they had escaped- "Forward!"

he cried fiercely. "Track the rats of Lee to their burrow!

Now is our chance to put down the menace to the South

forever!"



"Softly!" retorted Will. "What would you do with Lee if

you had it? Divide our lord's forces, peradventure, and

leave him open to the attack of Gaunt? Or perhaps you

expect Lord Pelys to leave Celydon and move to Lee?"



"Are we then to leave Nabon to attack us again in a

year or two?" Rafe persisted hotly.



208 THE SILVER SUN



"Have better hope," drawled Ket, limping to his side.

"Have ye not heard the whispers that fill the land?" Rafe

stared, uncomprehending. But before he could speak,

Alan rode up with a troubled face.



"Have any of you seen Hal?"



"He should have been here hours ago!" exclaimed Ket
"He and Robin rode this morning to warn Celydon. D'ye

think he would be dallying with the lady, at a time like

this?"



"Some ill must have chanced," muttered Alan. He and

Corin shot off before the others could express their con-

cern.



They rode far apart, zigzagging in search, whistling to

each other now and then to stay abreast. They had not

gone a mile when Corin heard Alan's frightened cry. The

sound came from a tree-lined knoll, and Corin hastened

to the spot. He found Alan bending over Robin, listen-

ing to his chest. "He is not so badly hurt," Alan said,

trying to sound sure. Wrapping the still form in his cloak,

he gently lifted it to the saddle before Corin. "Take him

to the castle," he said- "I must find Hal." Cory left at the

fastest pace he dared with his precious burden.



The other two bodies were those of kingsmen. They

stirred and groaned. With averted eyes, Alan ran his

sword through each. Then he mounted Alfie and set off

at top speed on the plain trail that ran through the Forest,

following the prints of horses' hooves. How many sets?

Eight? Ten? Even a dozen? He could not tell. From time

to time the Forest mold was splashed with great clots and
dashes of blood. Fiercely Alan told himself that it was

not Hal's, but relentlessly the truth contradicted his

hopes. Why else would Hal not lose his pursuers in a

fox's maze of twisting tricks, as he had done so often be-

fore? Because the biood trail made all such devices

useless. The spoor led straight as an arrow toward White-

water. What lay there? No friends outside the walls,

though the kingsmen did not know that. In his time of

need, Hal's concern bad been only to lead the enemy

away from Robin, and Celydon, and from Ket's men, so

exposed in battle. Bad luck, or worse than bad luck, that

he had been attacked when there were none in the For-

est to aid him! Alan cursed that luck bitterly as he sent

Alfie at merciless speed along the trail.



By dusk, Alan had regained some measure of calm. He



The Dark Tower             209



stopped Alfie at a stream and let him sparingly drink as

he forced himself to consider. Now that night was falling,

what would Hal do? Alan knew his tactics almost as well

as he knew his face. Darkness would hide the blood trail.

He could almost see Hal lifting Arundel out of the taota-

lizmgly labored gallop to which he had held him all after-
noon, letting the kingsmen know at last the speed of the

dweller in the Eagle Valley, Like a gray ghost they would

disappear into the darkness of the Forest; and then?

Surely Hal would make a wide circle and ride back to-

ward Celydon, hoping that his enemies would continue on

the straight line he had laid out. To circle to the north

would be to trap himself against the Rushing River.

Surely he would circle to the south.



Unless he had already died, or been captured. Unless

he no longer had strength to ride Arundel at his full

speed. Alan pushed the thoughts from his mind. Though

be felt he had gained on the kingsmen. they were still

hours ahead. He could do nothing to binder them. But if

Hal still had the strength to play the fox . . . there was a

chance.



When he rode on again his pace was easier, and he

bore to the right, leaving the trail he could scarcely see.

After he had ridden a couple of hours into the night, he

began to pause from time to time. He would whistle a

long, low tone, listen intently for a full minute, and then

ride rapidly on.



It was not yet the mid of night when his whistle was

answered by a distant neigh. He raced toward the sound,
and tears of thankfulness and agony wet his face when

he saw them. Arundel stood still, his silver flanks darkly

blotted with blood. Under his nose lay the crumpled form

that was Hal, fallen when his great strength had finally

given out.



Alan fetched the flask, and soon Hal's head stirred in

his lap. "Alan," he whispered, knowing even through the

darkness who it was. "By the sweet Lady, I have missed

you." Then his head fell limp again. "Hal!" Alan cried in

panic, and felt frantically for his wrists. The flutter of life

was still there. "Mireldeyn!" Alan called desperately, and

felt Hal's body painfully respond. "Ay," Hal breathed

through clenched teeth. Alan made him drink again from

the flask before he spoke to him, and his voice shook.



210 THE SILVER SUN



"Mireldeyn, for the sake of the love I bear you, I beg

you—don't leave me!"



"Elwyndas," Hal breathed from afar, like the spirits of

the barrow, "I am wounded to the death, and my life is

torment in me."
"Try to live!" urged Alan, as sobs tightened his chest

"If you love me—try!"



It was a long moment before Mireldeyn spoke. "As I

love you, I will try my best. I give you my word."



With every pace of the long ride back, pain shot

through Alan like that which filled the body he held be-

fore him. Arundel limped behind, for he had taken a

deep cut in the shoulder. Alan had spoken to him, telling

him to fall behind and make his way to Celydon at his

own pace. Still he would not leave his master.



The long night hours stretched themselves out into a

black tunnel of pain which, somehow, had to be tra-

versed.



Celydon castle was full of dead and wounded. Too many

were friends, but most were from Lee. As Rosemary

moved from bed to bed, wiping brows, giving water, she

did not see the one she dreaded to find there; nor was

he among the dead. Why, then, did he not come to her?



A gentle voice behind her shattered her troubled silence.

"Are you the lady Rosemary?"
She spun around to face a towheaded stranger crouch-

ing beside a slim dark youth. Quickly he answered her

pusled glance. "I am Corin. I have been traveling with

Alan. He has gone to find Hal, who has seen battle, it

seems, along with Robin here."



Robin was unconscious with a deep cut on the head,

and his shield arm was smashed at the shoulder. It took

both of them to set it. Rosemary was as pale as Cory be-

fore they were done, for Robin writhed and moaned in

his pain, thdugh he did not wake. To distract both of

them, she asked Corin how he had come to know such

comrades. The story he told made her long more than

ever to see her gentle warrior.



Far into the night she labored, and till the dawn she

waited, walking quietly but restlessly from place to place.

The servant girls rested, nodding, against the walls. Robin



211



212 THE SILVER SUN



slipped into the deep sleep that comes after pain, and

Corin slumbered, exhausted, beside him. Rafe dozed in
the gatehouse, and the wise, sure-fingered old physician

slept on a straw tick in the midst of the wounded, ready

to rise at an instant's notice should there be need. Now

and then a man stirred or moaned in his pain, but none

woke. In all the world, it seemed to Rosemary, only she

kept vigil. She had never felt so alone.



But then a clatter of hooves roused Rafe, and Rosemary

shook the physician into wakefulness. In the hour before

dawn Alan came, bearing his burden before him.



The physician's face grew grave as he peeled off blood-

stiffened clothing and gently probed Hal's weakened body.

The wounds were many, but one was deadly. In the break

of the mail beneath the arm a sword had pierced deep,

through muscles, ribs and vitals. Incredibly, Hal had

wrenched himself away with such force that the sword

had broken off in the hand of his foe. Yet he had kept his

seat and fought and fled, with the point of the sword bur-

ied perilously near his heart.



Hal stirred at the first touch, and his eyes searched the

many who stood around him, holding candles, holding

his hands and feet. "Robin?" he whispered.



"He will be well," Corin hastened to assure him. "He
is sleeping."



The healer's probe opened Hal's wound, and he stifled

a cry by biting his lip so that the blood flowed in yet an-

other place. His eyes went to Rosemary's. "Love," he

panted when he could speak, "pray go from me."



She started to protest, but the healer stopped her with a

sharp glance. She kissed Hal, and went, but only as far as

the next room. She knew that Rafe held down his shoul-

ders, that Alan placed the biting stick in his mouth. She

knew that Hal panted and trembled as the knife cut into

his side, and she could see in her mind's eye how he

willed himself to keep still. Then she heard him struggle,

shouting, "Fiends! Bloody, bloody fiends!"



"He thinks he is in the torture chamber!" choked Alan.

"Hal! Hal—" With gentle words he brought him back to

himself for a moment as the knife bit deeper yet. Then

the castle rang with the terrible, racking scream of a strong

man in unbearable agony. Rosemary rushed into the room.

Corin leaned against the wall; Alan looked pale and shaky.

Hal lay still. "By the gods, be is dead," Rosemary



The Dark Tower             213
breathed, but the old physician shook his head. "Fainted,

praise be. Hold the basin, my lady."



The knife moved delicately, warily; one slip could mean

death. The healer pulled out the shard with cautious fin-

gers, then wiped the sweat from his brow with a sigh that

was more like a groan. They washed and dressed the

wounds, and the still form did not move. But as Alan

and Rafe laid him in the lord's own bed, Hal stirred and

thickly spoke. "You can cage and torture the body," he

grated, "but the soul flies free as the eagles."



Alan touched his forehead with cool fingers and called

pleadingly, "Hal!" His distant eyes focused slowly and

painfully on Alan's face.



"Brother," he whispered, "if I die, will you carry on

what I have begun?"



Rosemary felt a chill like ice grip her heart, and she

swayed on her feet. Alan's face went as white as the

blood-drained one he faced. "Hall" he exclaimed. "Do not

say thati"



"My soul is weary within me, and longs for escape,"
murmured Hal. "As you love me, will you not do this

thing for me?"



"But I am not you, Hal!"



"Alani" Hal pleaded.



But Alan had risen to his feet, his face awesome.

"Mireldeyn!" he commanded, and Rosemary wondered at

the strange words she now heard. "I charge you, by the

love we bear each other, to give over such thoughts!"



"Elwyndas," groaned Hal, "let me go!"



"For the sake of those who have suffered under seven

generations of oppression, I will not! Only you can save

them!" Alan's voice was as compelling as a trumpet call;



then it gentled. "Let us see your innermost strength,

Mireldeyn. Look at me."



Eyes met and embraced. Like dawn, or moonrise, Hal's

flickered into tentative light.



"Say it," Alan commanded-
"I promise you, Elwyndas." The words were dragged

out from under an immense weight of pain, but they came,



"Promise me what?"



"To carry on the fight."



"By what do you swear?"



"By the love between us."



"What more?" Alan was merciless.



214 THE SILVER SUN



Hal knew what Alan wanted. Under that adamant

gaze he summoned the last shred of strength in his soul.

"By the burden of my birth," he gasped, his face glisten-

ing in agony of spirit.



In deepest love and gratitude, Alan did what he had

never done—he knelt and kissed Ha! on the brow. Then

he turned and spoke in a low voice to Rosemary, who

stood stupefied by this strange scene.
"The shadows of black memories lie on his soul," be

told her. "Sit by him and talk to him; remind him of every

moment of love you have ever shared, every ray of light

in his life, every reason to live, I have done alt I can for

him. Now I go on a fool's journey—to seek Veran's balm

for his heir's ills."



Like the wind of war Alan swept across the land. He

did not ride Alfie, spent in spite of his great heart, or the

wounded Arundel. Instead he rode Rate's giant black

charger, Night Storm, and sat like blond lightning on his

back. He bore neither shield nor helm, nor even blanket,

but rode on the lightest of saddles and carried only water,

sword and a little food. His cloak spread in the wind of

his passing like the wings of an eagle. Folk who marked

his going blessed themselves, as if they had seen an omen.



The little jar at Firth marked "Bloome of Veran's

Crowyn" was as far beyond his reach as the moon. The

elfin gold which flowered in the Eagle Valley was farther

yet. For unspoken reasons, he and Hal had never carried

with them any of the precious plant; it was not fitting,

somehow, to pluck the lovely remnant of the legendary

past and hoard it in concern for self. But now, in direst

need, Alan fiercely prayed that Hal's strength would hold
out as he urged the black steed toward a little valley be

remembered, where an old woman worked at her loom,

where time stood still and the blight of warlike greed had,

some way, not yet entered.



He left Celydon in the early day. Two long days and

two nights passed, and still he rode. He used no caution

and sought no cover, but set his course like the bird who

flies before the gale, as straight as the fields and roads

could take him. Though he galloped through a lord's

meadow or past a manor gate, men had scracely time to

shout before he was gone from view.



Late in the second night he stopped. Stormy lay flat,



The Dark Twer              215



but Alan could not rest, though his eyes were bloodshot

and his face twitching from lack of sleep. He paced im-

patiently through the dark hours. At the first faint light

of dawn, he spoke to the steed in the Old Language, and

Night Storm rose trembling to his feet. "By my troth,

you are worthy of your master's love,'* Alan praised him.



He cast about the countryside, searching. As the first

rays of the morning sun struck the tops of the trees, he
found what he sought. But his lips parted with a groan

of the deepest despair he had ever known. Some name-

less battle of a petty war had raged across the little valley.

The turf was torn and scarred, the stream muddied and

stained with blood. Bodies of men and horses mingled

with the bloated carcasses of sheep. The stench of death

and war lay on the place. No trace of the indefinable

fragrance of timelessness remained.



Eyes clouded by tears of helpless wrath, Alan turned

to leave. Then he stopped. There was no need to hurry

back and watch Hal die, he told himself, taking a per-

verse satisfaction in the agony of his failure. Stubbornly

he went to the ruined cottage and found the charred body

of the old woman lying near her loom. He wrapped her

in his cloak and took her to a spot less defiled than most,

by the stream and under an old willow tree. From the

forrested slopes he carried stones and raised a cairn

over her. Finished, he knelt and commended her to Aene,

though he eerily felt that it was not her grave that he

had made. But as he knelt, an inexplicable feeling of

peace stole over him, and the mist cleared from his eyes.

His left knee rested against a root of the great willow.

Just beyond the ridge of the root, and almost hidden in its

sheltering curve, shone a single tiny golden flower....
Rosemary sat by Hal's bedside as Alan had told her

to, and spoke of the good things in life, of flowers and

green growing plants, furry creatures, warmth after win-

ter, food after hunger, cool water in the heat. She spoke

as best she could about dreams, deeds, friendship and

fellowship. But most of all she spoke to him of love, her

memories and dreams of their love.



She could only hope he heard her, for he gave no sign.

He lay burning with fever both of body and spirit. His

wounds did not heal, but remained raw and open, and he

wasted away day by day, even minute by minute, until



216 THE SILVER SUN



she could plainly see that no strength of body kept him

alive. His eyes were open, bright and staring, but he saw

only scenes of horror. He whispered his defiance, and

sometimes cried out in agony. At such times the sweat

stood out on his forehead and his every muscle strained,

though she knew he had not bodily strength to raise his

head.



Sometimes, at her father's bidding, she took a few

hours' rest while Pelys or Rafe sat by the bedside in her
stead. But her sleep was as troubled as Hal's waking

nightmare, and when Pelys saw it did her no good he no

longer insisted on it. From time to time, when her mind

grew blank of things to say to Hal, she took the plinset

and played the songs he loved the best; happy songs,

songs of sweet sadness, love songs. As the haze of her

tiredness and despair thickened, she said and sang what-

ever came to mind, scarcely realizing anymore what

passed her lips.



She sang, without thinking whether it would help or

harm, one of the old jingles that had lately become proph-

ecies of hope for the people of Isle. She had heard it from

one of Ket's men in the Forest.



Bearing balm of Veran's flower,

Man born biest with elfin dower.

Eye to make the evil cower.

Breaker of the darkest tower.

Silver is the springtime shower,

Rids the land of wintry power.



Bifstone green on chain of gold.

Bright dawn forged in Veran's mold.

Sword in sunlight blazing bold
Drives the wolves from out the fold.

Each his own to have and hold,

Rising sun has conquered cold.



Rosemary stopped, not sure what she had done. Hal

spoke in the language that was strange to her. Though

suffering still strained his face and the sinews of his body,

his eyes no longer stared at present horror. Instead, they

looked far away and inward, at a place where he longed

to be.



Veran's balm. . . . Rosemary clung desperately to a



The Dark Tower             217



hope of which she scarcely knew the meaning, and she

begged for Alan's swift return.



Alan had plucked the little plant tenderly, even in

his frantic haste, and with a whispered apology he stowed

it carefully in his pouch. But he rode Night Storm away

at breakneck speed. It was midmorning, and precious

hours could never be regained.



"The single hope of Isle depends on you," he told the

steed in the Old Language.
Night Storm ran through the day on numb legs that

moved under him by the force of a will scarcely his own.

Alan's skillful hands guided him around the obstacles that

the exhausted horse no longer noticed. The night was

harder yet. Stormy plunged and stumbled, and Alan

talked to him constantly, encouraging him through almost

every stride. Not too far ahead, a normal three days' ride

from Celydon, he knew that Corin was waiting with Alfie.

Night Storm had to make it that far.



But the horse did not think he could. Never had he

been so pushed to the limits of his strength. If it had

been Rafe who lay on the sharp edge of death, perhaps

he would have discovered by himself the strength that

lies beyond the limits. But love of Hal or Alan was not

in him, and there came a time when the authority of the

Old Language no longer moved him. He stumbled, fell

and lay still.



Alan jerked his leg out of the way in time. He said

nothing. He loosened the girth and tugged the saddle

clear. He poured his remaining water over Night Storm's

head and down his throat. Of his own gear he threw

aside water flask, food, boots—everything except his
sword and his precious pouch. Then he went to the

horse's head.



"Now," he ordered, "up!"



Stormy did not even twitch an ear.



Desperation had made Alan ruthless. He straddled the

Inert body, drew his sword and deliberately struck the

horse on the flank with the flat of the blade.



With a scream of fury. Night Storm scrambled to his

feet. Never, from the time he was a tiny foal, had he

met with any treatment but deepest respect. Now his

only thought was to crush, maim, kill the one who had

done this indignity—but the man was not within his

reach. A weight was on his back, and a coldly mocking



218 THE SILVER SUN



voice said, "Now, you coward, runt" And, unbelievably,

the sword struck again-



Night Storm whirled away like the wind of his name.

He did not realize that day had dawned, that the black-

ness before his eyes was not the blackness of night.
Blinded by exhaustion, hatred and shame, he ran until

he felt his heart would burst. He ran for fear of the pun-

ishing sword. He ran in unreasoning hope of leaving the

terrible man behind. He burned with mortification and

the angry desire to prove his greatness, to win revenge

with his own suffering and death. He ran until, incredibly,

he was pulled to a stop. But his legs which could still

carry him along would not support him, standing. Black-

ness engulfed him as he fell gently to the ground, con-

scious of nothing until Corin woke him.



Miles away, darkness had come before Alan's eyes

also. He laid down his head and entrusted to Alfie the

task of taking him with all speed to Celydon.



He came with the first sunlight of the new day. Rose-

mary heard the clatter of Alfie's swift hooves on the

cobbles of the courtyard below, and in a few minutes

Rafe had helped Alan to the bedside. Alan was a ghastly

sight, with blackened, bloodshot, sunken eyes in a hollow

face that twitched with sleeplessness. But Hal was like a

spirit barely visible in daylight. So wasted was his body

that he only seemed to live in the tortured soul that cried

from bis gray eyes. Fever burned him like torment, but

it was not that which troubled him. He still cried out
softly, in unintelligible words, and would have moved if

he had had the strength.



Servants brought a brazier with boiling water, and

Alan shakily placed the little flower in it, whispering

words Rosemary did not understand. But she sensed it

was a prayer, and bowed her head. In a moment a feel-

ing of peace and comfort crept over her, and the anxious

lines of strain fell from her face. She looked at Hal, no

longer in desperate suspense, but in breathless hope; her

mind's eye saw him sleeping sweetly, Alan knelt, leaning

on the bed, and from under his tunic he pulled a green

stone. "Lysse," he breathed, as if to a presence in the

room, "you and your people, help him." Alan pressed

the cool stone to his lips, and though his eyes showed un-

consolable longing. Rosemary saw that the quivering

nerves of his face had stilled.



The Dark Tower              219



Hal stirred and sighed, murmuring something she did

not understand, something about Adaoun. Then his lids

closed gently over eyes deep and calm as a mountain lake.

Alan, scarcely breathing, reached out to stroke his peace-

ful face, and Rosemary also came close to touch. She

smoothed the pillow and drew up the covers around Hal's
neck, but Alan buried his face in the blankets and wept

for sheer relief. Rosemary touched his shoulder, then left

him there with Rafe.



"He is sleeping quietly," she told her father, where he

sat keeping Robin company in Corin's absence. Then,

feeling not at all strange, she went to the stable, to where

Arundel and Alfie shared a large box stall. "He lives," she

told them. "He lives. Do you understand me?"



Arundel arched his lovely neck, and over the serene

waters of Celydon he sent a great, ringing neigh of trium-

phant joy.



Alan never remembered going to sleep after his four-day

ride- When he awoke, much later, he found Rate sitting

by him anxiously, as if he were the invalid. He ducked

Rate's offers of food and hurried to Hal's chamber. Hal

was awake, with Rosemary in attendance, but too weak to

do more than gaze with faintly wondering eyes. Alan

could see that he scarcely knew where he was.



In the days that followed, Alan and Rosemary tended

Hal constantly. Rosemary held the cup or the spoon while

Alan raised the helpless head on the pillow. Alan lifted
and bathed the frail body while Rosemary changed the

sheets. Together they put on fresh bandages and dressing.

Within a few days Hal started to mend. His wounds closed

and dried, and he gained some flesh. He moved some-

times, trying to care for himself. Once in a while he whis-

pered a few words in answer to some query of theirs. He

slept most of the time. But when he woke, his eyes were

puzzled, wondering how he had come from the horrors of

the torture chamber to the care of these loving people.



On the third day, Corin came back with Night Storm.

Alan met him at the gates. "Hal is much better," he told

him gladly, and told it to the steed in the Elder Tongue,

with fervent thanks. Stormy lifted his handsome head, and



229



The Dark Tower             221



for a moment Corin's sober face glowed with happiness.

Then he asked about Robin.



"He is mending well," answered Alan, wincing guiltily.

He had only been to see Robin once. The youth had been

seriously hurt, and deserved more attention from his

friends, but even Corin had been torn from his side. Alan
could only hope he understood. Snared in his thoughts, he

burst out, "Cory, it had to be you. You had traveled that

way with me, and knew the place I named."



"Of course," replied Corin in surprise, and peered at

Alan. "Your troubles are not yet over, are they."



"I'll take the horses to the stable," said Alan gruffly.

"You go to Robin."



"And Hal."



"Nay, not Hal. He is not yet ready.**



Another person came to the castle that day, anxious

about Hal, a daring and unaccustomed visitor: Ket. Rafe

brought him to the lady, and he was glad enough to give

her his news. The kingsmen, after searching near White-

water for a few days, had backtracked into the Forest,

and Ket's men had dispatched them. Rosemary thanked

him for his good tidings, but explained that Hal was not

yet strong enough to see him.



"Would it help if you spoke to him in that—that secret

language of yours?" Rosemary asked Alan, privately.
"Perhaps. But it would be like pulling a flower into

bloom. He will come to himself in his own time, and his

own peculiar way."



Hal's way was to dream. He no longer slept quite so

much, but spent hours staring into the distance with

clouded eyes. Alan sat silently by, hours on end, as if his

wordless presence could somehow be of help; he did not

dare to offer any other help. Rosemary looked in on them

from time to time, and then quietly went away. She sensed

that she was not needed—not yet.



Sometimes, in his trance, Hal would whisper words in

the Elder Tongue, snatches of song and legend. He spoke

of Bevan of Eburacon, and later of Veran, and Brand,

and Brent; all the Blessed Kings. He spoke of Adaoun

and Claefe, even of Lysse. Alan watched and listened day

by day, waiting for the name of Mireldeyn.



"Elwyndas," Hal murmured. "Elwyndas, mir belledas

kellarth."



His trance broke like a thread, and he sat bolt upright



222 THE SILVER SUN
with a cry; tears rolled down his face. Hastily Alaa caught

at him, afraid he would fall.



"My brother, my brother!" he choked. "How could I

have forgotteni" He stared wildly into Alan's eyes, and

Alan put his arms around him, trying to steady him with

his embrace. In a moment, Hal let his head fall to his

brother's shoulder.



"You gave me your blood," he sobbed.



"Some time ago," Alan acknowledged. "I would do it

again if I thought it would help. Softly, Hal."



"It all rolls on me now, like a tide," Hal groaned. "The

accursed Tower, and Roran, and you riding away. . . .

And Robin, woundedl And Arundell" Hal stiffened in

anguish.



"They are nearly healed," Alan told him earnestly.

"Robin is longing to see you, but we thought it would

distress you. Softly, Hal!"



"Softlyl" Hal pulled back to face him as if facing his
judge. "I had forgotten them; I had forgotten you and—

and Rosemary. .. ." His voice trembled with the magic of

the name.



"Hal," Alan charged him gently, "do not be so hard

upon yourself. You have been hurt to death; indeed you

have passed through death's dark realm with only your

innermost strength of will to sustain you. You have been

spent in body and spirit. It is not strange that your heart

heart has rested, these days past."



"Still...." Hal faltered.



"Still, nothing!" Alan barked in exasperation. "Not an-

other word, brother. Lie back; you are ailing."



Hal settled into his pillows with a tremulous smile. Alan

stood by his side.



"If you like, I will send her to you now," he added.



Hal nodded. Alan touched his hand, then strode off to

find Rosemary.



The next day he and Hal talked for hours, retracing

the events since they had taken different paths. Hal re-
called little of his illness, but one thing he did re-

member: the pitiless majesty of Elwyndas. "You made me

swear. . . ." he murmured.



"By the burden of your birth." Alan said it for him.



"Why, Alan? Was not the pledge of our love enough?"



"My love would have let you leave me, or forgiven

you for breaking your word. You knew that," Alan ex-



The Dark Tower                223



plained grimly. "But the burden of your birth has no

escape and no forgiveness to offer. I could bind you by

nothing less." Alan's eyes were lowered. "Do you hate me

for it, Hal?"



"You brought me Veran's balm,*' answered Hal, and

that one sentence said all.



But in the week that followed Alan saw less of Hal, as

Rosemary and the others saw more. When Hal and his

love were together, Alan roamed the castle aimlessly, un-

able to set his mind to anything except the thoughts of
Lysse that tormented him. He was glad of Hal's happi-

ness, and of the healing comfort that Rosemary gave him,

but Alan had no such solace. Sometimes Rosemary

glimpsed the darkness in his face, quickly hidden, a sad-

ness too noble to be called envy, and she wished she

could bring him to his lover. She never guessed what dis-

tance of more than miles separated Alan and Lysse.



She was astonished daily at the change in Alan. There

was a new knowledge in his eyes; wisdom, indeed. Rose-

mary had always thought of him as a straightforward,

generous fellow, his greatness shining in his face and

deeds. But now he had known some sorrow which was

not easily defeated, and the bearing of it had given him

stature that made him seem more Hal's brother than ever

before. Rosemary wondered about the strange green stone

she had seen, the pendant that hung, hidden, by his heart.

Whence had it come, and what was the meaning of its

glimmering light?



Somehow Alfie seemed to have changed along with

his master. Next to Arun or Asfala, he had always seemed

an awkward, ramshackle beast. Now he looked as sleek

and finely molded as a greyhound or a deer. He moved

with a powerful grace born of rightful pride. His muscles

rippled in his long limbs; his flanks shimmered in the
sunlight; his eyes sparkled with a golden glow. Gazing

into their amber depths. Rosemary thought she saw some-

thing of the mystery that was in Hal, for Hal was always

uppermost in her thoughts.



How he had reached out to her, once he had come

back to himself. He had whispered her name, pressed her

hand to his thin face; later he slept with the warmth of

her lips still lingering on his. Even in his weakness he

thrilled her, his words and his touch at once tender and

bold. No question, now, that he loved her! He no longer



224 THE SILVER SUN



kept a courtly distance between them, and every hour

with him brought her new happiness.



One day, when Rosemary went to the walled garden

to gather flowers for the sickroom, Alan stood there, wait-

ing beneath the trees. She saw at once from the set of his

jaw that something was afoot.



She had just come from Hal. "How is he?" Alan asked,

and for a moment she forgot Alan*s brooding face in her

joy. "Much stronger," she replied. "Today he sat and ate
without help. I think he will soon be able to walk."



"Then the burden will soon be on him again," Alan

muttered. "As soon as he has taken a few steps, you will

find him swinging a sword, preparing himself to take up

his journey once again." Striking his thigh with a fist, he

turned to her. "I am no good here, my lady. I am leav-

ing."



"Leaving! But Alan, why?"



"As the best gift I can give to him and you. I give you

both the precious days for your own. Let him have time

for healing, and let him be yours alone, for the time. Let

him not think of his task, or of leaving you, until I have

returned."



She sensed the pain that underlay the gift, and her eyes

brightened with unshed tears as she gave him the only

comfort she could. "Oh, Alan," she whispered, "it is no

wonder that I love you like the brother I never had."



For a moment his face softened as he reached out to

her in mute thanks. Then he turned away, and she

watched the hard set of his back as he strode off to see

Hal.
"There is nothing for me to do here," Alan explained

to Hal, a little later. "I will go to Laueroc, to see how

time turns in the home of my fathers. I shall be back be-

fore the leaves fall."



"Will you take Cory with you?" asked Hal, after a long

silence.



"Nay. He needs the rest." That was not true, and Alan

groped for a better reason. "I would rather have him here

with Robin. I feel that I must go alone."



Hal looked searchingly at him, seeing love and

foolishness and perhaps a touch of shame. He found no

words to give to Alan. "Go with the One at your side," he

said at last, and held out his left hand. They passed their



The Dark Twer             225



grip in silence; then Alan quickly left. Hal lay staring at

a closed door.



There was a sort of timelessness in Celydon, Hal found,

timelessness which Alan had given at some nameless
sacrifice to himself, but it had its source in the lady. Rose-

mary sat at the bedside, sewing Hal shirts of soft lineo, for

hours, or days, he scarcely knew which; the time passed

on tiptoe, unnoticed. As he grew stronger, they talked

more, and sang to the plinset, old songs and new. Soon

Hal was strong enough to spend part of each day in the

garden. Rosemary could almost see the sun and air nour-

ishing him, as if he were a blossoming plant. After a

while they took walks, longer each day, until they were

roaming far afield. When they rode the horses, they

roamed farther yet Hal was strong and healed by then,

but he did not visit Ket in the Forest or go to the practice

yard. Never had Rosemary seen the burden lie so lightly

on him. For whole afternoons they would lie in the sun

amidst the long meadow grasses, and he would make her

flower garlands for her hair. They would talk of love, and

kiss long kisses, deep and warm. Rosemary would gladly

have given herself to him entirely, but he would not take

her; not while the likelihood remained that he would be

killed to leave her destitute and dishonored. Only in this

way did he acknowledge his burden—except for one day.



It was three days after Alan left. Hal had asked Rose-

mary to fetch her father to his bedside, and when Pelys

arrived Hal asked for her hand in marriage. But before

Pelys gave his consent, he felt, he must reveal his birth to
them both. Pelys would hear nothing of it.



**Tut, tut, lad, do you not think that I know you after

an this time? You are wise, and brave, and well suited to

be my daughter's husband. I do not need to know any-

filing more."



"There is peril all around me. It may well reach out

and touch her, and you."



"I always knew that you walked in perill She knew it

too. Do you not know that the gravest peril of her life is

to be without you?"



"I must tell you!" Hal said desperately.



"Ay, ay. tell it then, if you must," Pelys acceded. "But

understand that she is yours, not by your words or my

consent, but by the choice of her own heart."



226 THE SILVER SUN



"I am Hervoyel," Hal burst out.



"I thought your other name was Mireldeyn," Pelys
remarked.



Haltingly Hal told them his story, searching for words

that would help them understand the pitfalls of his des-

tiny. Pelys whistled and looked somber, but Rosemary,

with the insight of love, saw beyond the danger and the

awful responsibility to the deepest wound in Hal's soul.



"Oh, poor Hal," she whispered, almost in tears. When

he told about his mother's death, and his torment in the

Tower, she cried outright. He put his good arm around

her. "It is not a pleasant tale," he murmured. "I am sorry,

love." But her tears were balm on his wounds.



As the narrative continued, he explained why he had

not taken her more into his confidence. "I knew that

Nabon of Lee would make his move soon, likely within

the year. Ket and his men watched him while I was gone,

and also guarded you, my lady, as well as they could.

But even so, if you had been captured—perhaps taken

for extortion-—then a hint that you knew something of

the Welandais Prince would have spelled your death in

some foul torture chamber. I know your courage, but

you cannot keep your thoughts from showing in your

face; your eyes are like mirrors for truth. So, for your

own sake, I judged it best that you should know little of
me or my doings. But the danger is over, for the time,

and before Naboo has gathered his strength again we can

expect to put an end to him, in an unseasonal feast of

fires."



The tale flowed long into the afternoon, and Hal grew

tired and weak before he was finished. There was much

that Pelys and Rosemary did not yet understand. Most of

Rosemary's questions, if she had asked them, would have

been about Alan, and the hidden ache in his eyes, and

the green stone which hung from his neck. But she did

not ask them, for Hal slept, and when he awoke he was

purged of care. Throughout the lazy, happy days which

followed, Rosemary kept her perplexities to herself.



So she was now betrothed. She and Hal would wed

within the year, if he lived. She shivered when she re-

membered how closely death followed on his heels, but

as much as she was able, she turned her thoughts to the

present and its Joy. Still, she was often puzzled. So much

more she knew about Hal now, and yet she hardly knew



The Dark Tower            227



him at all. He spoke to the horses sometimes in words
she could not understand, and did not tell her what lan-

guage he spoke. There was a mystery in his eyes that

went beyond facts of birth or life, a knowledge and vi-

sion which she could not begin to name or explain. She

wondered when he would tell her what it meant, if he

ever would, or could. Her musings made her sad, some-

times, and wistful. Looking at her, Hal thought his heart

would break for love of her, though he could not under-

stand her moods; this maiden, of alt things, was a mystery

to him.



When the leaves began to turn and a chill came into the

air, Hal's cares came back with a vengeance. Time ceased

its slow, stealthy passing and began to rush by. Hal

started spending his days in the practice yard with Cory

and Robin. His time with Rosemary no longer passed in

long, dreamy wanderings, their thoughts and their talk

roaming like their feet. Instead, they sat in silence, cling-

ing to each other like desperate children, their kisses

made urgent by the pressure of the passing days.



When the leaves had turned golden and scarlet, but still

clung to the trees, Alan returned. Hal and Rosemary met

him as he rode from the Forest. Alan's glance was hard,

Ilia face set in grim lines. Hal seemed not to notice, for

his eyes were moist as he gripped Alan's hand and
thumped his shoulders. Wordlessly returning the rough

greeting, Alan ducked his head—hiding what. Rosemary

wondered? But when he turned to greet her, she saw that

something of gentleness had come back to the tired lines

of his face.



For two days he rested at Celydon. He sparred with

Hal in the practice yard, and could not help smiling with

pleasure to find him as well as ever. But smiles did not

come easily to Alan these days, not even when he was in

the boyish company of Robin and Cory and ardent Rafe.

Once he lounged an hour with Hal and Rosemary in the

sunshine of the meadow, and he slowly relaxed, as if

something inside him had let go for a while. But he would

say little about where he had been, except for a brief talk

with Hal.



"We see it everywhere," he blurted then, as if the

words rushed out of him almost against his will. "The

petty cruelties and persecution, torture and crippling,

broken men and broken spirits, the dead and the slowly



228 THE SILVER SUN



dying. But when I saw it happening to those I knew and
loved as a boy . . ." He paused, clenching his teeth.

"You have heard me mention Tynan."



"Your father's old seneschal."



"Ay. He is still alive. Crippled with torture, and living

only because he is too old to pose much threat. But he is

fierce and loyal in spite of it all. I stayed at his cottage.

The rest—either dead, or only half alive, surviving at the

price of their souls."



"Do they have hope now?" Hal asked, but Alan looked

away and answered only with a shrug. Hal was puzzled,

for he felt that Alan had something more on his mind.

But Alan stayed strangely silent. There was one visible

sign of change: he no longer wore the ring he had got

from his father's hand. When Hal asked him about it, he

took the silver shining thing from a pouch slung under

his tunic. But he offered no explanation, and he would

not meet Hal's wondering eyes.



On the third day after Alan's return, they left Celydon.

Parting from Rosemary was a painful wrench for Hal,

but they hoped that perhaps in a year they need not be

parted again. Another hope eased Hal's going, a hope that

maybe, once they were on their way, the comradeship of
the road would return and Alan would be more himself,



And indeed he did become more easy as the days went

by. Robin and Cory seemed to notice nothing wrong, but

Hal still sensed a barrier between them, a distance, which

hurt and fretted him. What had caused it, he could not

understand. Was he somehow to blame, or had Alan

found something in Laueroc which made him so aloof? If

Alan had a secret . . . Hal remembered years past, and

sighed. He could not probe, when Alan had so patiently

borne with his own unfolding mysteries. Sadly, reluctantly,

Hal acknowledged that a door had shut between them

when Alan went to Laueroc, and stood between them

still.



They spent the winter in danger, not so much from men

as from freezing cold and ravenous beasts. So great was

the pressure of their task that, in this season when all

men kept within doors if they could, they sought no shel-

ter, but moved across the empty surface of the land like

ants braving a cottage floor. The horses grew thick coats

of fur for protection, and spent their nights stamping and

snorting, huddled nose to tail against the cold. The com-

rades wore layer upon layer of clothing, but in spite of it

their fingers and faces were frozen and thawed and frozen
again. They grew hardened to the weather, and found a

fierce Joy in their defiance of it. Only in the worst of

storms, when blinding curtains of white would have frozen

them entirely, did they take refuge in some cottager's hut

or outlaw's cave. They watched the weather signs care-

fully, for to be caught by such a storm would have spelled

certain death.



When they left Celydon they turned northward. They

hastened across the Marches, wary of Arrok and avoiding

Firth, for the King's army still besieged Roran's town. It

would be to his advantage, Hal thought, that Iscovar's

forces were divided, for the commander who had marched

to Firth would almost surely have turned bis army against

the Prince.



229



230 THE SILVER SUN



Before winter struck, the company reached the harsh

Northern Barrens, where Hal went to parley with the war

lords, as Roran had arranged months before. These were

mettlesome men, vain and quarrelsome as peacocks, chief-

tains of the barbaric tribes which roamed the far north in

constant warfare. Tent dwellers even in bitterest winter,
they were gaudy in their apparel, brawling in their ways.

Robin and Cory found themselves fighting them from time

to time, but Hal dominated them by force of his will and

his flashing eyes. And Alan looked grim enough to give

any man pause.



The warlords agreed to join forces against Arrok when

the time came, and also to drive the besiegers from Firth.

They hated Arrok and respected Roran, so these were

tasks to their liking. Hal only hoped they could keep

peace among themselves long enough to accomplish them.

But winter would help enforce the truce he had ordered

in preparation for the greatest war of ail.



By the time the worst cold came, Hal and his comrades

were on their way southward through the Westwood-

There they spent several days with Blain the Lean, the

outlaw whom Alan had met the summer past. Blain was a

strange man for an outlaw, thin, dark and intense, not at

all like the usually sturdy and stoical folk who are able to

survive in the woods- He showed no skill in arms. Yet in

his own way he seemed very clever, even worldly-wise.

He discussed with authority the overthrow of power and

the taking of power, describing in detail schemes of kings

and nobles, sorcerers and priests, present as well as past.
He even had some knowledge of military maneuvers- Hal

wondered where he had got his education, since he was

not of the nobility. From the sorcerers at Nemeton? It

almost seemed that he must have been a novice, at least,

in that coven of subtle and ambitious men. Yet Winter-

fest, that most sacred of Eastern yearly-days, came and

went while they were with him, and no notice was taken.



Hal and Alan learned much from Blain, and listened

more than they spoke. The keen edge of his intelligence,

and its almost fanatical force, commanded their respect.

His men, none of whom could read or write, almost wor-

shiped their leader, as if he were a seer. But the visitors

sometimes felt an indefinable lack in Blain, like an ingre-

dient missing in a complicated drh. It was difficult to

know how he feit toward them. Though he could not



The Dark Twer              231



seem to restrain himself from showing strong feelings

about all matters of the mind, concerning matters of the

heart he revealed little. Still, he offered his allegiance

readily and with conviction. He seemed to like Alan, for

he spoke most often to him. This was all to the good,

since he would be fighting beside Alan at Laueroc. Hal sat

back contentedly, saying little.
When they left Blain, their ways once again parted.

Alan and Cory traveled south toward Laueroc, while Hal

and Robin headed back across Isle toward the Forest and

Craig the Grim. Relentless winter was at its height, and

their journey was a slow one. It was a weary month and a

half before Hal and Robin came to shelter. They settled

into outlaw caves gratefully, waiting out the stormy skies.



Once every fortnight or so, as for many months past,

Tod, the King's master of hounds, took his charges out for

a few days on the open weald. Each time, he chanced to

meet a fellow of indeterminate occupation, going bird-

shooting with quail-feathered arrows. And as planned,

Trigg would return to the Forest and report news of the

King to Craig. When Alan and Cory rode in from

Laueroc, after Hal and Robin had already been with

Craig three weeks, the report was still the same: no

change in the King's health. But on a night when a hint

of spring stirred in the breeze, on a night when Hal paced

restlessly in his den and thought of sleeping outside, Trigg

burst into camp on a lathered horse with the news that

King Iscovar had taken to his chamber at last.



The four comrades were off before sunrise the next
morning, and three nights later they made their camp in

the same copse that had provided shelter the night of the

Tower raid. The next morning, while Robin and Cory

stayed in its concealment, Hal and Alan boldly galloped

the main road into the place that Hal had once hatefully

known as home.



They won their way into the castle by main force of

arrogance. In shining helms and glittering mail, with

shields at the ready, they pounded the gate with the hilts

of their naked swords. When the gatekeeper asked their

business, Hal shot him such a glance as froze his tongue

to the roof of his mouth. Fiery golden flecks filled Alfie's

eyes as they rode through the courtyard, and the proud

steed arched his neck and struck out his hooves as fiercely



232 THE SILVER SUN



as an eagle striking at his kill. ArundePs eyes glowed

darkly dangerous; he moved with his own peculiar ghost-

like grace. Hal and Alan held the horses to the slow trot

past groups of kingsmen who gaped in floundering amaze-

ment. The news had spread quickly, and the groom who

joyfully ran to take their horses was one who had known

Arundel before.
Hal and Alan strode swiftly through the cold stone cor-

ridors of the keep. Servants, guards, even noble scions

flattened themselves against the walls to make way for the

two warriors- The lines and scars of four years of hardship

were on their faces, and the memory of those years in

their eyes. Their consummation was now at hand.



Only the guard at the King's chamber door attempted

to stop them, for his was the ultimate responsibility, and

his life the forfeit. Hal scarcely looked at him, but struck

the sword from his hand in one blow, knocked him to the

floor with the hilt and threw open the door without a

backward glance. Alan followed him, though distaste for

Iscovar repulsed him like an odor in the room. He sta-

tioned himself just inside the door. But Hal strode to the

foot of the great canopied bed and looked down at the

wasted form of the man he knew as his sire.



King Iscovar had been a grossly corpulent man when

Hal had seen him last. Now his overlarge skin lay in puck-

ered folds around him, toadlike, yellow and wrinkled.

His body, once vigorous and overbearing, lay limp. But

the passions which had dominated his life still glared from

his eyes: cruelty, greed, pervasive ill will. His face was

as expressionless as a mask, staring blankly at his heir.
But he could not mask the malignancy of his soul; it

lurked in his eyes.



He and Hal observed each other silently for some mo-

ments. The King seemed detached, but hot hatred smol-

dered in his gaze. Hal's face was hard and fiat with his

dislike. "I have come for my inheritance," he said at

last, "little though I desire it from you. Will you help me

or hinder me?"



Iscovar's eyes glittered as he moistened his lips to an-

swer. But before he spoke, the guard entered, staggering,

sword raised. Hal ignored him, but Alan blocked his path.

"Hold!" he commanded. "Do you not know your Prince?"



King Iscovar's glance shot to the figure by the door, and

his face paled beneath the yellow of his skin. "Laueroc!"



The Dark Tower              233



he hissed in the voice of a cornered serpent. He struggled

to lift himself, words tumbling from him in a panic of

guilty hatred. "Out! Get away from my presencel"



Alan stared with frank repugnance at the man who

had sent his father to the torturers. In his disgust, he was
quite willing to leave, but Hal stopped him with a glance»

"He will stay with me," he told the King curtly. "What

assurance do I have that you will not order him thrown

into that loathsome Tower of yours?"



The King's face flared sickly purplish red. "Guardsl"

he shouted in a paroxysm of passion. "Guards!" Hal drew

his sword as running footsteps sounded outside. But when

the guards entered with a clatter of weapons, Iscovar

summoned them impatiently to his bedside. "Command

Chamberlain Waveriy to come to me," he ordered them.

"Also Kepp the Steward, and Derek, Captain of Guards,

and Guy Gaptooth. At once!"



In a few moments the puzzled minions of the King

hurried in, cheerful as ghouls at the thought of a crisis:



jaundiced old Waveriy, master intriguer and sorcerer;



Kepp the Steward, a small, round man with a perpetually

frightened look; Derek, lean and leering, harshest master

of torture; and Guy Gaptooth, burly warrior, one-eyed,

scarred and pitted with the marks of a thousand combats.



"Nay, I am not dead yet," sneered the King as the
gleam faded from their eyes. "Nevertheless, you are to

have a new master. This is your Prince, whom you may

remember. From this moment, I give my authority over

to him. Obey him in all things. Now," he continued, turn-

ing to Hal, "get that Laueroc out of herel"



Hal looked his officers over with cold gray eyes. Each

in turn cowered and shrank, thinking there might be a

price to pay for past deeds. Derek in particular felt the

cold finger of fear, for he had known Hal under different

circumstances, and he was certain that Hal had not for-

gotten those days in the Tower.



"This is Alan, Lord of Laueroc," Hat told them at last.

"Think of him as my second self, and obey him in all

things. Now go. He will give you your orders until I can

come."



Hal glanced at Alan as he turned to leave, but the

new lord of Laueroc would not meet his eyes. Sighing, Hal

turned his attention to the prostrate monarch. Drawing



234 THE SILVER SUN



a chair to Iscovar's bedside, he settled himself to hear

whatever information his sire might care to impart.
Within just a few days, many changes took place in-

side the castle walls at Nemeton. On the evening of the

first day, Laueroc and the Prince ordered the gates thrown

open wide, and under their watchful eyes tall, grim-faced

men came marching in by the hundreds, each carrying

a fearsome bow as tall as himself and razor-tipped four-

foot shafts. These men did not lodge in the King's stink-

ing barracks, but settled in the open air of the courtyard,

where they surveyed with hard eyes all who passed. Yet

they did no dishonor to maid or man, and the castle folk

soon learned to respect their new guards, captained by

hatchet-faced Craig the Grim. Toward Laueroc and the

Prince they scarcely knew how to name what they felt.

There was something in their eyes which caused great

fear, which made people think it would be death to dis-

please them. Yet they showed none of the harshness that

was usual in Nemeton; indeed, they showed unwonted

generosity. All prisoners were released from the Tower,

healed, fed, clothed and sent home. And orders were given

that servitors and soldiers were to be better fed, and not

to be beaten! Half suspicious and half unbelieving, the

common folk who were the pulse of the castle watched

and waited.
Chamberlain Waverly, head of the Nemeton sorcerers,

was no longer to be reckoned with. Either braver or more

craven than his fellow officials of the castle, he had left

the King's chamber, walked through the gates and kept

going. He had taken ship toward foreign ports, word had

it, hoping to find a suitable patron for his sinister talents.

In the absence of his leadership, his coven-mates had

discreetly scattered, and the rites of the Sacred Son had

come to an abrupt halt.



Derek of the Guards had made for the gates as well,

but Alan had stopped him. Now, for the first time, he

worked side by side with his men. Since there were no

prisoners to guard and torture, they spent their days dig-

ging long trenches on a sunny hilltop outside of town,

It was backbreaking work, but they scarcely raised their

eyes from the earth they turned, so great was their awe

of the gray-eyed Prince. Derek's leer had left him, and

like his men he was half mad with wondering why he was



The Dark Tower               235



yet alive. When would the order be given, as he was sure

it would be, that would make them target meat for the

grim-faced archers? For all they knew, they dug their

own graves. But Derek clung tenaciously to life under
any conditions, and did not complain.



Derek knew by now that there would be no more

guarding of the Tower. Even Derek himself, when he

had tried to bolt that first day, had not been put there.

Even the kingsmen had not been put there, though Alan

favored the idea. But Hal would have no one lodged in

that Tower. "Not even the foulest fiend," he said grimly.

So there was a problem of what to do with the kingsmen,

the mounted elite of Iscovar's warriors. Many of them

were out on patrol and never came back. Those in

Nemeton gave their oath of allegiance to Hal. but they

gave it glibly, obeyed him churlishly and disobeyed him

when they could. One by one, he found it necessary to

strip them of their gear and turn them out of the city.

Their black cloaks went flapping into the Tower dun-

geons; Hal seemed to think the place fitting for such

cloth. Their gaudy helmets went to the smithy, to be

melted down and made into more comely things. Tbeir

horses Hal kept.



He would need mounted warriors to fight the southern

lords. To find men to fill his empty saddles, he appealed

to the troops. "I need riders," he told them bluntly. "Any-

one may try." Once he had picked his candidates, he and
Alan worked them mercilessly hard. They had only a few

months at the most, and to send them against trained

warriors as raw fighters would be slaughter. Yet Hal's

discipline was not the brutal durance that these men had

known before, but a kind of concentrated freedom. With-

out knowing quite how or why, the men thrived on it.

Like the rest of the household, they began to experience

obedience that casts off fear.



Guy Gaptooth continued training the foot soldiers

under the Prince's watchful eye. A hateful tension grew

in him, for he was no longer allowed to vent his spleen

on the hapless youths under his command. He bad not

kept Hal's strange new order quite a week when he

broke. During drills one morning he suddenly went ber-

serk, rushing at a recruit in blind rage and attacking him

with his sword. Hal interceded as the youth was laid low,

and Alan dragged him out of the way. Then the gaping



236 THE SILVER SUN



recruits witnessed an exhibition of swordfighring worth

remembering. Guy was a behemoth of a man, a head

taller and five stone heavier than Hal; he fought with the

crushing force of a charging bull. But Hal led him in

circles like a baited bear, reaching effortlessly through
his frenzied strokes to prick him to greater fury, so that

while Hal remained cool and untouched his opponent ran

wet with sweat and blood, steaming like a pot on the fire.



From where he knelt by the injured youth, Alan called

in disgust, "Have done, Hal!"



"When he is worn out," Hal called back, "we can tie

him up."



"To what purpose!" Alan shouted. "Death is in his

eyesi Be merciful and kill him, before he is forced to slay

himself!"



Hal hesitated, regarding his opponent carefully as he

continued to play his circling game. The man indeed

showed only the look of a maddened beast in his eyes.



'Torment him no longer," grated Alan. "Kill him, or

I will do it myself!"



With one swift thrust Hal buried his blade in Guy's

heart, and almost in the same movement gave him the

mercy stroke to the throat. Then he walked toward Alan,

bemused, absently holding his dripping sword at his side.
"Now what sort of thing was that to say, in front of

all who watched?" he asked, more puzzled than vexed.



"It got results, did it not?" Alan retorted coldly. "You,

of all people, to be squeamish! If you are to win your

throne, you cannot afford to be so chary of shedding

blood."



"Ay, blood will be shed," muttered Hal, "in plenty.

But I hope and pray I will never grow careless of it. This

is not like you, Alan."



"Was I right." Alan shot back, "or not?"



"You were right," Ha! assented wearily.



*'WeIl, then." Alan's eyes were hard and dark as

jewels, blank of all feeling. Hal could find no love in

them, no understanding. He sighed and shifted his glance

to the dazed, white-faced youth who sat at his feet.



"How is he?"



"Flesh wounds," Alan answered, his voice gentler.

"He will be fine in a few days."
By the recruit knelt another, as pale as the first. "Your

brother?" Hal asked. Gulping, the youth nodded.



The Dark Tower                237



"Well, get him to his bunk, and you stay with him."

Hal watched as they walked slowly across the prac-

tice yard, the one carefully supporting the other. He

could not help thinking how another pair of "brothers"

had once been, and he sternly held back the tears of

misery burning in his eyes.



Six days later Robin rode into Celydon on a tired

horse, and knelt with courtly formality to hand Lord

Pelys a piece of vellum bearing the royal seal. Peiys read

the missive, dismissed the youthful messenger with a

smile and summoned Rafe.



When Rafe came before him, Pelys showed him the

letter with the royal seal. 'The Welandais Prince sends

for you," he told him. "He has need of you."



Rate's jaw dropped as he sputtered in astonished

dudgeon. "I serve no son of the Black Kingsl" he
shouted hotly at last. "Most likely he has homs, like the

god he serves, for the fiend himself is his sire!"



The twinkle broke into Pelys' eyes then. "Hal had no

horns the last time I saw him," he chuckled.



"Hal?" whispered Rafe weakly.



"Even so," answered Pelys dryly, enjoying his joke.



"Hal," muttered Rafe. frowning. "Son of the torturing

fiend of the Dark Tower. I always knew there was some-

thing strange about him!"



If Pelys had had the use of his feet to carry him the

distance between them, perhaps Rafe would have felt the

weight of his fist. As it was, Pelys became, for once in

his life, quite speechless with wrath. "Rafe!" he thun-

dered at last. "It would break his heart to hear you!"



"I know, I know," Rafe faltered, ashamed. "It is hard

to believe, that is all."



"Then believe what you like! Believe that he is a

changeling, as you once said, that the Otherfolk are play-

ing tricks on the evil king! But know this for a certainty:
he is the same Hal you always knew, and no finer man

in Isle. Are you going to him, or not?"



Rafe met the eyes of the choleric old man, and mis-

chief glowed in his own eyes. "Of course!" he replied in

insulted surprise. "I must go to him at once!" He bowed

and marched out of the room, leaving Pelys red-faced

and seething.



Chapter Seven



Throughout the land of Isle there was a quickening of

more than of new life and green leaves. The lords, of

course, knew that the King was nearing his end, and ea-

gerly planned their strategies to seize the throne. But the

wars of scheming lords were commonplace in the lives of

the countryfolk, and it made small difference to them

whether the wars were for a wench, a plot of land or the

kingdom itself. War was war whatever the reason, and

their fields were likely to be trampled, their homes burned,

their sons forced into the soldiery and their lives forfeited

to the indiscriminate clashing of opposing armies. What,

then, caused the peasants to whisper excitedly in the vil-

lage streets at night, to do the foreman's bidding by day
with a sparkle behind the dull-surfaced veil of their eyes?

Most of them knew only that there was something in the

air, a hopefulness born of half-forgotten legends that

seemed to have come to life. All the countryfolk felt it

and rejoiced.



In the town of Nemeton there was a quickening too,

the quickening of love for a firm but gentle ruler. Just as

hardy green shoots sprout from the stoniest of soils after

a warm spring shower, so results of Hal's kindness were

springing up in the strangest places. The round face of



238



The Dark Tower              239



Kepp the Steward lost its constant frightened look, and

his cruelties disappeared with his fear. In the practice

yard. Rare drilled the troops in place of Guy Gaptooth,

the burly warrior now dead. His men were a motley lot,

but they came to love hotheaded Rafe, who forged them

with the fire of his passions. On the sunny hilltop outside

of town, the former guards still bent to their shovels. They

no longer feared imminent death, but worked with a will-

ingness hardly understood even among themselves.
On the day that the trenches were finished at last, Hal

led the diggers to the Tower, where wagons were waiting

outside the grim gates. "Today we lay your victims to rest

at last," he told them. "But I will have no cowards in my

legions. Anyone who panics and runs risks joining the

company of the dead."



Strange how their hearts warmed to that word "my,"

though they did not understand what Hal had said; they

thought he threatened them with execution. When Hal

opened the doors of the charnel pit they froze in fear of

the spirits before them and the Prince behind them, each

as great as the other, and they squirmed as if in a vise.

Then they moved, slowly and deliberately, willed forward

by a strength not yet their own. A few screamed and ran

to their death on hard flagstones or the bottom of the

pit, as Hal had said they might. But still the Prince urged

the others to the work at hand.



They loaded the wagons with disjointed bones and bits

of human debris, the horror of the scene lost in the black-

ness that swam before their eyes. They followed the wag-

ons to the communal graves they had dug, and the fear

went with them. They unloaded the wagons and rode

them back with fear clinging to them like an odor. They
worked, though they did not know it, through the day,

into the night and through the next day. Alan helped,

though Hal had told him not to. When the last human

remains were placed in the graves and covered with fresh

earth, Hal led the men like sleepwalkers to their barracks,

where they slept through half the next day. When they

awoke, they remembered little and understood less. But

they felt a change in themselves, and smiled in the spring

sunshine as they had not since they were children.



Within a few days, and of their own volition, the

guards had managed to find a great, pillarlike stone,

which they dug out of its bed and laboriously drew to the



240 THE SILVER SUN



site of the communal graves. They set it upright at the

crest of the hill, where it could be seen for miles around,

and chipped on it the runes for honor, and sorrow, and

the repose of souls. Then they knew that the spirits slept,

and they turned, unburdened, to the tasks Alan set them.



All except one. On the softest bed he had ever known,

Derek of the Guards tossed and moaned in a sickness

that was not of the body, and Hal sat by him, unable to

help.
Rafe did not know about Derek. He had little compre-

hension of the events at the Tower, and little time to won-

der about them, busy as he was with the training of his

men. He took hardly any time for himself, but when he

could, he rode Night Storm on his rounds.



A few days after the mass burial, Rafe went to check

the sentries he had stationed at the gates, patting Stormy's

neck and whistling under his breath. As he approached,

his men hailed him. There was a stranger outside the

gates, and they could get no sense out of him. He had

showed no hostility, but even so they were reluctant to

let him in. When Rafe asked them why, they fumbled

with words. He looked like Death, one said at last. Rafe

muttered impatiently to himself. "Let him in," he said

finally, "and I'll take a look at him."



He continued to whistle softly as the unwieldy gates

creaked open. But as the rider came through, his whistling

ended in a sharp intake of breath. Rafe had not thought

there could be another such horse in the world, a splendid

creamy-gold creature, like a brother to ArundeL At first,

Rafe was so taken up with the horse that he scarcely no-

ticed the rider. Then he focused his attention on him, and
an unreasoning chill tingled his spine. Head to foot, the

fellow was covered by a long, dark cloak, and a hood

concealed his face in its shadows. Moreover, he rode the

incredible horse without a scrap of harness. Dark clouds

scudded overhead, and the world was filled with the omi-

nous rumblings of thunder, the eerie flickerings of light-

ning. In the chilly light, the silent rider seemed less flesh

than a spirit of the approaching storm. The cream-colored

horse shone pale as the lightning, the rider thundercloud-

dark in his shroud.



The very air was tense with waiting, though only a few

seconds had passed. Time seemed to have come to a



The Dark Tower               241



standstill; between the mutterings of the thunder silence

yawned like an abyss. Rafe heard every little creak of his

saddle as he rode up to the stranger. "Who are you?" he

asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. "What is

your business here?" The stranger turned toward him as if

to answer. Then time leaped from its crawling pace to a

race out of control, as everything happened at once.



A malicious gust of wind caught the stranger's hood

and lifted it back from his face. Rafe was dazzled by the
sight of bright golden hair, a jaw chiseled to perfection by

some unearthly sculptor, a face like that of a god. But it

was the eyes that held him—eyes as fearful and as won-

derful as eternity. He thought he would die, disintegrate

with love. He wanted to flee in sheer terror, yet he longed

for strength to stay. As if from another world, he heard

the shouts and screams of his men. " *Tis an evil spirit!

A demon—a nixie—runt Its eyes will freeze your blood,

turn you to stone!" Many ran, screaming in panic. Some

stood with pale, staring faces that rather looked as if they

had been carved from stone. And one, perhaps the brav-

est, perhaps the most bloodthirsty, drew his bow, shouting

that he would make an end to the evil thing.



The stranger did not move, but Rafe reacted with des-

perate haste, leaning forward to strike the arrow with his

hand. With blood dripping from a long, jagged gash in his

palm, he turned on his men in fury. "What are you do-

ing?'* he screamed, "Would you kill someone who has of-

fered you no harm, who does not even show a weapon?

Get back to your posts, and wait till I retumi" Though

Rafe himself was white-faced and trembling, the force of

his words made them ashamed of their fear. They re-

turned silently to their places.
With the eyes of his men upon him, Rafe turned once

more toward that terrible personage in the dark cloak. But

the hood was up, the awful Otherness veiled. The stranger

held a strip of clean, soft cloth, and with this he word-

lessly offered to bandage Rate's injured hand. Unreason-

ing fear still gripped Rafe, but his stubborn pride took

precedence. He let the hand be bandaged, and then he

led the rider across the courtyard. Death followed him on

a pale horse; or was it essence of life, too much life?



Hal and Alan were drilling the horses. When they came

in sight, the stranger guided his golden steed past Rate's

and sped toward them like the wind, bis hood falling back



242 THE SILVER SUN



and his golden hair streaming. He called out to them, a

melodious greeting. Rate had heard those haunting sounds

before. . , . Hal and Alan turned, shouting "Anwyl!" as

they rode eagerly to meet him. Rafe watched them em-

brace, talking excitedly. A dizziness of release came over

him, turning his vision black; he clung to his saddle. He

heard hoofbeats, and felt hands helping him to the ground.

Then, for the first time in his life, he fainted.



It was only a few moments later when he woke, with
Hal, Alan and Anwyl all bending anxiously over him.

"Rafe," Hal told him huskily before he could speak, "from

the bottom of my heart I thank you. If anything had

harmed Anwyl here, my crown would have scarcely been

worth the gaining."



"I have fought strong men in battle without faltering,"

whispered Rafe. "He threatens me no harm, and yet I

am weak with terror of him. Why, Hal? How does he un-

man me so?"



"Because he is not man, but elf." Hal helped Rafe sit up

against the wall. "You feared the unknown; you knew,

without knowing, that he was not like you. Yet you neither

fled him nor attacked him, but helped him in spite of your

fear. You are a marvel among men, Rafe."



"I have learned my lesson, that is all," Rafe muttered.

"When I remembered how I would have killed you once,

because of something strange I saw in your eyes, I thought

that someday this one might be as dear to me. But the

fear—I cannot live with this fear, Hal, even if I never see

him again. It clenches my heart. Is there no cure for it?"



"Only to go through it," Hal said slowly, "and come out
the other side."



Anwyl sat chatting with Alan, but rose gladly when Hal

called him over. Panic surged through Rafe as he watched

Anwyl approach; he clutched at the ground, and could not

keep from trembling. Hal spoke to Anwyl in the Old Lan-

guage. He and Alan knelt by Rafe, one on either side,

holding him. "Look into his eyes," Hal instructed him,

"for as long as you can withstand it, and when you can

bear it no longer—keep looking."



He looked. Fear stabbed him to the heart, rent him,

scattered him to the winds. He struggled until his body

seemed lost to him, and his fear was a cowardice only

of soul. Rafe felt as if he were floating down a long, dark

corridor, hanging back at every turn. But at last, with a



The Dark Tower            243



glow of warm light and a great surge of relief, he came

out into a beautiful place of abundant life. There Anwyl

dwelt, and something called Aene, and in an instant Rafe

understood what he had feared—the vast, awesome, para-

doxical power of love. And he knew that the elves could

destroy men with a thought and a glance, and he knew

that they never would. The knowledge spun in his mind
like a wheel of light, fading into blackness. He woke to

find himself still leaning against the wall, with Anwyl

holding his hands. Tears started down his cheeks, and he

buried his face in the crook of Hal's arm.



"It is not the spirits of the night, or any spirits, or even

the fiends of sorcery that cause the evil of this world," he

faltered. "Nor is it the Ancient Ones, whom men have

called heartless, cunning, cold of blood."



"Nay," replied Hal softly, "and if the folk of the First

Song could destroy evil without destroying man, certainly

they would do so. But evil is as much a part of man as

heartfelt love; sometimes evil begins in love, or love is

called evil. ... It is a hard knowledge, but better than

ignorant fear, I think."



"Far better." Rafe raised his head to face Anwyl. "I

thank you. But my head is spinning with questions, Hal.

Where do the elves live? How did you and Alan come to

know them?"



Hal smiled. "Anwyl and I must go to Derek, I'll talk

with you later."
"Alan?"



"I could tell you," he answered, "but I'd rather not."

He turned his back and walked away, for when he looked

at Anwyl the pain of remembering Lysse filled his heart.



Derek still moaned softly and tossed upon the soft sick-

bed, fighting a fever of the mind. For five days he had

recognized no one, said no word, touched no food or

drink.



Hal placed a brazier by the bed, and on it a pan of

steaming water. Into this he put what Anwyl had brought

him, and they both sat down to wait.



Anwyl carried two canvas bags full of Veran's golden

flower. "Why, Anwyl?" Hal protested. "You must have

stripped the valley clean of it, laid it waste."



"Because you will have need of it, Mireldeyn."



"There has always been need," Hal muttered.



244 THE SILVER SUN



"But now the close of the Age of Veran is at hand.
Soon my people will leave the Eagle Valley, and whether

we live or die, we can never return. This is no time to

think of saving or holding back. In the new Age, which-

ever way the tide turns, there will be no place for Veran's

Crown, or for elves either."



"Much that is wonderful will then be gone from our

land."



"But much new and different wonder may yet come

into it, that we cannot foresee. Hold fast to hope,

Mireldeyn."



On the bed, Derek lay quiet, sleeping peacefully. Hal

and Anwyl shut the door carefully as they left.



Hal came to Derek the next day, to find him wide

awake and anguished.



"My Prince, my Prince," he cried in agony, "I have

seen my soul and it is black—black!"



"Not one man in a thousand would have realized it,

and not one man in a hundred thousand would have re-

membered it," Hal said, with admiration in his eyes.
"Derek of the Guards, you will make a liegeman yet."



He looked back at him, and the sweat was running

down his face. "My Prince, your forgiveness is the burden

I must carry the rest of my life."



"Will you eat now," Hal asked him, "and grow strong

again, and serve me?"



"Ay. I must serve you the rest of my life.'*



That day was the eve of May. At dusk, hilltop fires

sprang up to mark the vernal half-day; the great stone

that marked the graves loomed in the red glow like a

tower of blood. All night, Hal and Alan wandered the

grassy uplands between the fires, plucking the spring

flowers and tossing them onto the raw earth of the

mounds in memory of Leuin of Laueroc, wherever he

might be.



In the morning, Alan and Cory left for Laueroc. There

Alan would lead the battle to regain the home of his fa-

thers. Anwyl rode with them, bound toward Welas and

Veran*s Mountain. Cory stood in awe of the elf. but bis

previous experience with the spirits spared him an or-

deal such as Rate's. Hal and Robin rode with the three
as far as the crossroads.



"Happy birthday!" Hal remarked on the way. "Happy



The Dark Tower              245



birthday, yourself!" Alan retorted. They were both just

twenty, but they had moved as men in the world of men

for years past.



When they parted, Robin and Cory eyed each other

in shy affection, saying little. Each knew that he might

not see the other alive again. Hal gave Anwyl the embrace

of a brother, though the elf hardly knew what to make

of mortal caresses. Then, almost hesitantly, Hal offered

Alan bis left hand for their own distinctive grip. Alan re-

turned the gesture, but his grasp was hasty, hard and

rough, and he would not meet Hal's eyes. "Go with all

blessing," Hal said at last. Cory waved to Robin, but

Alan rode away with a stiff back, without another glance.

Hal bit his lip, and Robin looked at him with sidelong

sympathy, for neither of them knew that Alan turned

away his face to hide the anguish in his eyes.



With the aid of old Nana, Hal had ferreted out most
of the spies in the castle and sent them packing. There-

fore, the great lords knew less than they would like of the

doings of the Prince. The best-kept secret in Nemeton

was the condition of the King. The healer was a man of

peace, physician in the castle not entirely of his own witl.

He soon allied himself with Hal, and dropped cleverly

erroneous hints. Thus, when Iscovar lay glaring at nothing

but his own death, talk would have it that he might live a

month or two yet. With this information the great lords

had to be content.



One May evening, when Alan had been gone a little

over three weeks, the physician came and spoke privately

with Hal. Days before, Ha! had ordered the filthy cham-

bers of the Tower filled with straw and soaked with

barrels of oil. Now he said no word to anyone, but. taking

a torch from a sconce on the wall, he strode to the main

door of the prison that had been the nightmare of Isle for

seven generations. He thrust the torch into each of several

cells, then threw it down and made his way out to the

courtyard, where he joined Craig the Grim and his men.

Tongues of flame showed at the barred windows. The

soldiery and the castle folk came out and silently filled the

courtyard, watching and waiting. Suddenly the blaze

streaked up the sides of the Tower and burst from its

top like spray from a fountain. A pillar of fire reached
hundreds of feet into the air; at its apex, flames spread



THE SILVER SUN



246



like the petals of some giant, exotic flowers. There was

no shouting in the courtyard, but an excitement that ran

too deep for words. The fire lighted upturned faces set in

lines of grim exultation. Their time had come at last



To the south, in Bridgewater manor, the peasants stood

watching the glow in the sky with blinking awe, hardly

comprehending. But westward, along the Black River,

the villagers looked to the sky, and within moments their

own giant piles of straw and brushwood were lit, sending

the news yet farther westward. Like bright pollen from

the giant flower, sparks of light lit up across Isle, on some

hilltop in the domain of every lord between the Forest and

Laueroc, between Nemeton and Whitewater, and north-

ward through the Broken Lands to Lee, to Celydon,

Gaunt, and on to Rodseo.



Alan saw the fires from a cottage near Laueroc, and

on a hilltop of his childhood home he lit the pyre that
sent the news on to the faithful in the lowlands of Welas,

and thus to Galin, Torre and Adaoun in their mountain

fastnesses. Pelys saw flames in Lee, lit his own signal,

kissed Rosemary and marched his troops toward Gaunt,

riding in a litter between two horses. North of Whitewater.

the Gypsies poured oil on the waste and set great patches

of fire. Looking from his battlements in Firth, Roran

knew the siege would soon be lifted. Outside of Rodsen

and Firth, a smattering of bonfires carried the news on to

the warlords of the far north, and they began to move.



In their strongholds of oppression, the great lords slept

a sleep heavy with years of having their own way. On

their watchtowers, the drowsy guards yawned and won-

dered wearily what crazy superstition the peasants were

celebrating now. Little did they realize that the entire

land was on the move. Armed men issued from the Forest

and the Westwood as quietly and relentlessly as ink trick-

ling from the bottle. Blain and his hundreds sped in forced

march toward Laueroc. Ket and his men took position

around Lee. Smaller bands, and even lone men, emerged

to avenge themselves where they might.



There was no sleep for the countryfolk this night, but

they did not mind. In Lee, Gaunt, and scores of petty

domains all along the rim of the Westwood and the East-
ern Forest, men, women, and children toiled through the

dark hours until great piles of stolen food and goods arose

in hidden Forest places. Then the women and children



The Dark Twer            247



took a few belongings and went to the Forest to keep out

of harm's way, with only a few graybeards to protect

them. The men and youths kissed their loved ones and

went forth with willingness to die.



Thus it was that Nabon of Lee awoke from his sound

night's sleep to find his storehouses empty. His goods were

in the Forest, his walls surrounded by outlaws, and many

of his own men in their midst. Haughty Gar of White-

water had to walk around his domain that morning, for

his horse wandered on the waste with the Gypsy ponies.

His town was nearly empty, and many were the gaps in

his ranks where the youths he had forced into his service

had slipped away in the night to rejoin fathers and broth-

ers. Margerie laughed to herself in her close-shuttered

house, for she knew that of all people she was the last he

would suspect of having defied him.



In Weldon and all the petty realms of Welas, lords
awoke to stolen supplies and missing men. In Laueroc,

guard was strict and rule was harsh, but no one knew the

ancient, secret passageways better than Alan. Iscovar's

puppet could not march forth to war this day, for almost

all of his great stores of food and weapons were gone.



Only in Nemeton, of all the places that knew Hal as

friend, no movement took place. All night the courtyard

and streets stood packed with ten thousand people, each

of them as silent as the stars. The gray light of dawn

grew, and still they stood: soldiers, outlaws, servants and

townsfolk who had learned to love their strange Prince.

But as the rays of the rising sun sprang from the sea at

their backs, Craig the Grim appeared beside Hal where

he stood on the platform of the keep.



"King Iscovar is dead!" he cried. "Long live good King

Hall"



A shout like a battle cry went up from the waiting

multitude, and the courtyard bristled with uplifted fists.

"The crown! The crown! The crown!" chanted Hal's

people as Robin came forward with the ceremonial cush-

ion. But they fell silent as Hal spoke, and though his

voice was low, it was heard by all.
"I will wear no crown of the cursed Eastern Kings,"

he said.



"Alan thought as much," answered Craig, "and there-

fore made this one for you, and greatly regrets that he

could not be here to place it on you. It is a plain thing,



THE SILVER SUN



but will you not wear it for his sake?" Craig lifted the

gold-bordered linen cloth to reveal a circlet of stiver with

the half-sun emblem graven on the front.



Hal's eyes shone like the crown. "By my troth," he

breathed, "I will wear it gladly." He knelt. Craig placed

the crown on his head, murmuring, "AH the gods be with

you, Hal," When Ha) rose and faced his people, he

gulped, for every knee was bent to him, and beside him

Craig and Robin knelt as well. For a moment the silence

was intense. Then Craig raised his fist in salute, and led

the joyous shouts that followed: "Long live King Hall

Long may he reign!"



Hal flushed under the acclaim, and his lips tightened

in discomfort. "King in name only," he said when at last
he could make himself heard, "until the strong lords also

bow to the crown. It is time we were moving, as I am

certain they are."



book five

LAUEROC



Chapter Oase



Hal had no intention of being trapped in Nemeton like

a fox taken in his hole. Caution would not avail him

against far superior force. His only hope was to out-

maneuver his foes in open battle.



He marched his men into the heart of the south, the

fertile and oppressed Soft Lands, trusting his friends in

the north and west to keep Nemeton from attack. On

the sixth day, his army crossed the sinuous southern

branch of the Dark River and entered on an ancient,

eerily level plain. The long, brazen horns of the town

trumpeters had bellowed news of the King's death before

him, so Hal sent his scouts far ahead on the watch for

enemies. Wherever they came, peasants bundled together

their few belongings and fled for their lives, for they

knew that war was more merciless than the winds of a

tempest in sweeping over a land. Hal's men told them to
go toward Nemeton, where they would be fed and shel-

tered. Some were unbelieving. Some scurried like mice

toward this unexpected sanctuary. And a few who had

heard a whisper of hope knev/ that the time had come

of which the legends spoke—and turned to follow Hal.



News was that from the south Mordri of the Havens

was marching, and from the west, Kai Oakmaster.



250



Laueroc               251



Daronwy, a powerful lord, gathered strength at Bridge-

water, not far away. It was no use trying to besiege him,

with the other lords hastening to his aid. Hal felt his way

to the south and west, watchful for the enemy. Word

came that Daronwy had left his stronghold to join his

allies for an attack on the new-crowned King-



A few days later, at dusk, the opposing forces met,

camping on open fields, facing each other across a space

as flat as a chessboard, naked to each other's eyes. The

combined armies of the lords made a force almost three

times the size of Hal's. Looking over at the dark, fire-
flecked mass of their numbers and the glint of their

weapons in the twilight, Hal inwardly winced, feeling

dread tighten around him.



"Prospects dont look good," he remarked to the young

captain at his side.



Rafe pulled a face at the wry understatement. "Did

you expect better?"



Hal sighed, "Not much better. This was a fool's venture

from the first, Rafe. Yet, what else was I to do? Nemeton

is not built to withstand siege; the Easterners were too

proud for that. And a King . . ." He let the sentence trail

away.



"A King must show his mettle." Rafe completed it for

him.



"Especially a new King," added Hal bitterly, "and no

matter whose blood might be shed. . . . Well, perhaps

help will find us."



"If Alan takes Laueroc with dispatch," Rafe asked

carefully, "when might he come to our aid?"
"In a few days, at the earliest. More likely a week."

Rafe watched, without comment, the slight shadow that

darkened Hal's face. There was some nameless trouble

between Hal and Alan, he knew. And Alan seemed

changed, lately. . . . Rafe wondered, briefly, guiltily, if

they could expect help of Alan.



"Even longer, for Ket or Koran to get here," Hal added.

"I don't know where else to look for aid. . . . But until

some comes, we must survive."



They watched the men planting pieces of sharpened

lumber in the ground, angling the pointed stakes outward

into a sort of Forest of spiky trees to shelter Craig's arch-

ers. There was no other shelter on this featureless plain,

not even a swell in the ground. Behind this makeshift



252 THE SILVER SUN



fence, Hal and his army would have to await the enemy

charge, in the morning.



He did not sleep much that night, pacing through the

hours as restlessly as his sentries. Though Rafe would not

say it, he knew that even survival might be impossible. He
flinched away from thoughts of Laueroc, not wanting to

wonder whether Alan was wounded, even dead. ... He

envisioned Rosemary, safe in her tower at Celydon, and

held that dream for as long as he could. Some comfort in

that; nothing threatened her except his own death- . . .

Hal gulped, and stood for a moment weak as water, long-

ing for her embrace, and knowing he might never see her

again.



Rosemary had long since left her home to ride to Hal's

side. That they expected her to idle in empty Celydon,

when all the land was on the move to aid her beloved'

She had barely been able to restrain her impatience until

the nightfall after Pelys left. Then she had bundled her

hair into a helm, found herself a brown cloak and boyish

boots, saddled Asfala and slipped out past the dozing old

men who guarded her. Transformed into a cocky-looking

lad, she traveled steadily southward. She met only harm-

less farm folk, for the Forest was oearly emptied of its

usual inhabitants. Once she was accosted by a skulking

pair of ruffians. But they quickly gave way before the

bright sword she drew, never guessing that she did not

know how to use it.



She rode with urgency. By the sixth day, she had made

the southern reaches of the Forest, She drew rein as she
came to the end of the trees and looked out over open

weald. The Forest, once strange to her, had become her

shelter and friend. Nemeton! All her instincts told her to

stay far from that place of horrors. Yet she must go there,

to find Hal. Setting her jaw, Rosemary urged Asfala onto

the treeless expanse, toward the distant court city.



Six days into the campaign at Laueroc, in the fields just

outside the walls, Alan lounged in his tent. His tenti He

smiled with amusement at the thought. As commanding

officer and declared Lord of Laueroc, he had come to

merit the luxury of shelter. Cory was cleaning up after the

evening meal; impressed with Alan's new status, he no

longer let him help with camp chores. So Alan lay at ease,



Laueroc               253



musing on the victory that was likely to be his on the

morrow, when he heard footsteps outside and a voice ask-

ing, "May I come in?"



"Certainly, Blain, you may," called Alan happily. The

lanky scholar-outlaw had showed a keen understanding of

the intricacies of their situation. His advice had prevented

more than one mishap, and his strategems had been of
significant help. Other men, Alan knew, were warmer of

heart, finer of instinct and sympathy. But a mind like

BIain's was not likely to be soon found again.



"May I speak with you alone?" Blain asked.



"Go ahead," Alan replied. The outlaw glanced mean-

ingfully at Corio, and Alan frowned with annoyance.

"What ails you, Blain? You know you can speak before

Corin as before myself."



"Not this time," Blain stated mysteriously.



Alan heaved himself up to protest. But Cory had a

statesman's instinct for smoothing over differences. "I must

go to the well," he remarked cheerfully, and left, Alan sat

back, scowling, to hear what Blain had to say. But BIain's

usual directness was given over to rumbling and hesita-

tion.



"You are a man of great heart," he said at last. "A

man of strong will and much wisdom, but chiefiy a man

of great heart."



"You are not in the habit of idly paying out compli-

ments, Blain," replied Alan dryly. "What is on your
mind?"



"The sacredness of the Sacred Kings is a tale told by

conniving priests and sorcerers, to further their own am-

bitions and fatten their purses!" Blain spoke with sudden

passion. "I have seen no gods, and I know you cleave to

none, but put the poor, superstitious folk under the fear

of such vengeance and they will never try to free them-

selves. No son of Iscovar has any better right to the

throne than his manhood can win him. It should go to a

man of heart, such as yourself."



An icy fist seemed to grip Alan, choking his power of

speech. Blain went on, intensely: "Take it, my Lord

Alant You have the occasion and the power to grasp it,

and are twice as worthy as he. For the good of the people

who love you—"



Like the shock of a sudden blow, an inhuman noise



254 THE SILVER SUN



overpowered the camp, a roar loud and terrible as that of

an enraged lion. Cory, like the others, was paralyzed for

a moment where he loitered by the well; then he dashed
back toward the tent. He was in time to see Blam come

stumbling out in blind panic, followed by Alan, raising

his naked sword and possessed by fury. He overtook

Blam in two leaps, like an attacking beast, and BIain

never drew a weapon, so helpless was he in his fear. Alan

pinned him to the ground with the sword at his throat,

gasping out words choked with passion: "Traitor! Filthy

traitor! He is the finest man that ever lived. To think that

I would strike down my own brother, he who trusts and

loves met"



"Mercy, my lord," BIain faltered.



Alan barked a short, hard laugh that sent chills down

Corin's spine. "Ay, you shall have mercy—for a few

moments. You do not deserve to die the clean death of

the sword. You shall die a traitor's shameful death, hang-

ing by a rope. Conn, fetch cord to tie his hands."



Cory was back in a moment, and Alan jerked the

prisoner to his knees. Cory's hands shook so that he could

scarcely manage the knots. Alan took Blain's blade and

sheathed his own. The blood-red rage was gone from his

face, replaced by a look of unswerving purpose. "Mercy,"

BIain started to plead again, but stopped at Alan's icy

glance, for he saw that bis death was doomed by a force
greater than that of wrath.



"Waste no breath begging for mercy," Alan told him in

a low, calm voice, "but try to go out like a man, BIain.

You have no gods to aid you?" BIain lowered his bead as

the question bit into him.



The whole camp stood gathered around, silent as the

prisoner. Alan spoke to them. "This man has traitorously

urged me to seize the throne of Isle from the one to whom

I owe my love and allegiance- Though my rage has

calmed, I cannot let him live. I do not require you to be

present. Those who would not see, go with all honor."



No one moved,



"I need a hangman," Alan went on. "I will not appoint

any man to this task. Does anyone offer?"



No one moved or spoke. "Then I must do it myself,"

said Alan, reaching for the rope. Gray-bearded Tynan

stayed his hand. "I will do it," he said quietly, but then



Lweroc               255
several came forward, shamed by the old man. The rope

was quickly knotted and fastened to the bough of a tree.

A stump was set beneath it, and to this Blain walked

unescorted, scarcely swaying as he was helped up and

the noose placed over his head. He shook his head to

the makeshift hood he was offered. With clear eyes he

faced Alan in unspoken request.



"Speak," Alan granted.



"You men of mine, stay with my lord Alan and serve

him," he told them earnestly. "Serve him well, I charge

you, for my sake. I love him well, though I love myself

more, and would have overthrown him when I could.

. . . But if you serve him, perhaps my soul will gain some

merit yet. And beware of pride, which has undone me."

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Alan. "I am ready,"

he said.



Alan suddenly became aware that Corin stood silently

by his side. "Cory," he whispered urgently, "go to the

tent." He kept his eyes on BIain.



Few grown men would have dared to cross Alan that

day, but Corin had his own notions of duty. "I am staying

with you," he said firmly. Alan shot him a piercing glance
and saw no youthful defiance, only unflinching love.



The hangman waited for his signal.



"Let it be done quickly," Alan ordered. The fellow

nodded.



"Torture me no longer, my lord," said Blain in a low

voice, and Alan bit his lip to see the sweat that beaded

his face. Suddenly he strode forward and showed Blain

the only mercy he could: struck him hard on the forehead

with the pommel of his sword. Then he jerked the stump

from under his feet.



Though Blain was unconscious from the moment of

Alan's sudden blow, there was no escaping the choked

breath, the contorted, purple face, the convulsed body,

and the Jerking heels which beat a frenzied rhythm

against the trunk of the tree before they slowly stilled.

Blain's body took a long time to die. Alan wanted to turn

away, to sob, to run, to crumple on the ground like a

rag doll and beat his fists against the dirt. Many eyes

watched him for signs of weakness; he did not care about

them. But beside him stood Corin, and for the lad's sake

Alan stood like stone.
When at last it was over, Aian asked for volunteers to



256 THE SILVER SUN



tend to the burial. Only when that was done did he walk

deliberately to a copse of trees darkened by the approach-

ing night. There he leaned against a tree and vomited,

and wept in shame, knowing that the strength of his rage

had been proportionate to the strength of his secret de-

sire.



Chapter Two



By the time Rosemary reached Nemeton, Hal and his

army had survived one day of war. Their shelter of pointed

stakes lay splintered and buried in bodies. The troops

were reeling with exhaustion. A full tithe of the foot sol-

diers lay dead, and more were terribly wounded. Hal

and his warriors, Rafe, Craig and the outlaw-archers

under his command, all stood dazed and stumbling, en-

crusted with drying sweat and drying blood. But they

held their ground. Their enemy had engulfed them, broken

on them like an ocean, and their flimsy line, formed along

borrowed lumber, had withstood the tide.
Yet, the army they faced the next morning scarcely

seemed diminished. With sinking heart, Hal called his

men into line of battle behind their shattered defenses.



"Those posts are smashed to bits," Craig grumbled.



"I couldn't use the same ploy twice, anyway," Hal

sighed. "Today, we attack, and hope they aren't expect-

ing it. Ready, Rafe?"



The young captain only nodded. He looked strained

and pale beneath his layer of grime. Hal himself was

bleary-eyed after a sleepless night spent among the

wounded. Now he would not be able to spare men to tend

them.



2S7



258 THE SILVER SUN



"All right. I must go to the horses." Hal strode away,

but turned back after only a few paces. "Luck, you two,"

he added quietly, and went to find Robin and Arundel.



He led his mounted warriors in charge after charge that
day, and the next, and the next. Rafe hurtled along after

them, shouting hoarsely, his soldiers close behind. And

Craig's archers took a heavy toll of the lordsmen—but it

seemed that the enemy ranks never thinned. Hal and his

army were pushed back, back, through the grueling days,

until he could have wept, until he was past weeping. He

wouldn't have blamed the troops if they had broken

ranks and fled, but their valor tore at his heart. They made

the enemy pay dearly for every step gained, and they

paid dearly in their turn. Wounded comrades had to be

left at the mercy of those arrogant lords. . . . And Trigg,

faithful Trigg, was among the missing,



On the fourth day, only the coming of darkness saved

Hal's army from being trapped against the river. "Cross

the water," he ordered when his dwindled forces regath-

ered. "It's our only chance." So, half swimming, half

fording, exhausted beyond fear of drowning, they put

the river between them and their enemy. Then each man

collapsed to the damp ground, unmindful of food, fire

or blankets. A deathly silence spread over the camp.



"I'll take a spell at watch," said Craig gruffly. "A few

of my men are still standing. . . . Hal, you look like a

wraith. Go get some rest!"
"I'll try," he mumbled. "Where, where, is Alan!" But

Craig had no comfort to offer him.



There was no fighting next day, for a blessing. Seeing

Craig's hard-eyed archers stationed on the shore, the

lordsmen chose not to risk themselves in crossing. The

enemy soldiers set to knocking together covered rafts.

Grateful for their caution, Hal wandered his camp, help-

ing where he could, taking stock. He used the gift of the

elves to bring relief to many of his men, curing weari-

ness of body and spirit. His followers regarded him with

wonder, and called him the Healer King. But he had no

cure to offer for death, watching his men give into mortal

wounds. And he had no cure, seemingly, for his own

despair.



A messenger from the north came early in the day.

He left soon after, and Hal offered the men no hint of

his news. But he spoke privately to Rafe and Craig.



Lnoeroc              259



"Roran has failed. Gar of Whitewater marches on Neme-

ton." They stared at him, stunned as if by a blow.
"For my own part," Hal added, anguished, "I am not

reluctant to die in such loyal company. Still, I wish you

were in safety."



Rate snorted. "This is unlucky talk, Hal. Help may

yet come."



"Ay, it may," echoed Craig. But his face was bleak.



At sundown, Hal and Craig rode the perimeter of the

camp to make sure all was secure. At the outpost farthest

from the river a beardless boy stood holding a fine sorrel

mare. Craig was certain that Hal had gone mad, for he

spurred toward this lad and hurled himself from the sad-

dle. Trembling, Hal reached out and delicately removed

the helm. As Rosemary's auburn hair tumbled about her

shoulders, Hal dropped the helm and kissed her, deep

and unashamed, in front of all who watched. When he

released her at last, she saw that his eyes were moist.



"Oh, Love," he choked, "you should not have come."



"Why not?" She stood smiling and breathless from his

greeting- "I believe you are not entirely sorry to see me."



"I love you. The sight of you is like wine in my veins.
But oh. Love—" The words were torn from him. "I

would not have you see me die."



She caught her breath as the cold grip of fear closed

in her heart, but her eyes remained steady. "Why?" she

challenged him.



"The past two days we have fought against a force

three times our size. We have done well." Hal spoke

ironically. "They are now only twice our number. My

men are weakened by wounds and exhaustion. If we

fight tomorrow, that day will be our last. If we retreat, we

shall be hounded like rats at the haying, for Gar of

Whitewater marches on a handful of men at Nemeton.

My fighters are great of spirit. They will follow me to

the end, whatever that may be. For myself I do not

grieve, but it grieves me that I can find no hope for

them—" Hal stopped short, suddenly recognizing his grief

for Rosemary.



"Have better hope. Liege." She tucked her hand into

the crook of his arm. "Alan has taken Laueroc, and no

doubt is speeding to your aid. Moreover, Gar of White-

water is not marching on Nemeton. The siege of Firth

was quickly overthrown, but Roran was very low on sup-
260 THE SILVER SUN



plies; it took him a few days to stock his ships and set

sail. Then he sped before the wind, and came to White-

water only hours after Gar had left, after the Gypsies had

harried that lord as much as they could. And news

travels quickly these days. Ket heard of Gar's march,

and since his business at Lee was done, he cut swiftly

across the Forest to stop him. I have not heard the end

of it, but I think there can be small doubt of the out-

come. With Ket at his fore and Roran and the Gypsies

on his heels, Gar is doomed."



"Craig!" Hal shouted. "Do you bear that? Gar am-

bushed, and Alan riding to our aid!"



"I hear." He rode over, struggling to conceal the doubt

in his face. "Good news, if it is true. But what are we to

do until Alan gets here, if indeed he is coming?"



Hal turned on him with blazing eyes, but Rosemary

touched his arm and lightly mounted Asfala. "Follow

me," she ordered. "I have something to show you."



Not a word more would she say. After a few minutes
they topped a rise and found themselves facing a silent

mass of men, at least a thousand in number. Hal recog-

nized prisoners he had released, peasants he had offered

shelter in Nemeton, townsfolk he had left behind. Indeed,

they comprised a motley crowd, but with a uniform de-

termination of mien which made their random ranks

seem as formidable as the battle lines of trained armies.

At their fore, scowling, stood Derek.



"He guessed my secret when I came to Nemeton,"

Rosemary explained. "He, too, was anxious to go to you,

but he feared your wrath. He asked me to intercede for

him."



"He needs no intercession," Hal muttered. "I could

kiss the fellow!" Suddenly dismounting, he strode to

Derek and hugged him like a bear, thumping him on the

back. Derek's lean face broke into a smile, perhaps a

smile of love such as he had never known.



Before dawn the next day, Hal's army was roused and

ready. They eagerly took their positions behind the slight

rise Hal had ridden the night before. The enemy could

have no knowledge of the fresh men who had come

with the previous twilight. When the lords' armies crossed
the river after their apparently fleeing quarry, they would

find themselves trapped between water and Hal's war-



Laueroc              261



Hal rode with Rosemary until the army was in place.

Then he sent her well to the rear of the lines, with Robin

and some others to guard her. "Now, as you love me,"

he charged her earnestly, "keep yourself far from the

battle, for this day will come to no good for me if I must

be worrying about you. Promise me."



She silently agreed, with a kiss for good luck.



"Robin, stay by her, and if I fare badly, take her to-

ward the guards at Nemeton. But I do not doubt that I

shall see you both later. Take care."



So it was that Robin was not with Hal when Hal

needed him most.



Arundel was not with him either; he was also with

Robin. The horse had been wounded several times, and

was too stiff to defend himself properly. But Rafe would

not see Hal mounted on anything less than the best

steed available. So Rafe rode a hack, and Hal took the
black charger. Night Storm.



Hal's men waited, bright-eyed with anticipation, until

the signal; then they topped the rise and struck. The

slope of the land favored them, and the momentum of

the battle was theirs from the start. First the archers

showered the enemy with a deadly rain of arrows; then

the mounted men charged, hewing like woodcutters. In

their wake followed a swarm of foot soldiers and variously

armed peasants, chopping like butchers. Within min-

utes the ranks of the enemy were decimated and forced

back toward the river. But then- scattered horsemen

rallied, banding together at the center of their line.

Into this group Hal plunged, for it was essential that

they be split apart.



In a moment he was at the vortex of a seething, tum-

bling caldron of men and horses. Behind him and to the

sides, Hal saw, his men were picking off the enemy

warriors that had turned their attention his way. Still, he

always faced several foes, and Night Storm turned to

each threat, scarcely needing Hal's guidance. ".Bee

wilndas." Hal murmured to him. "Good friendl" Though

surrounded on all sides, they were hardly scratched, and

through their concentration and teamwork they had
stalled an enemy charge.



But suddenly Night Storm reared so high that Hal was

catapulted off the steed. Dazed, Hal realized that an up-

raised enemy sword had an instant before been aimed at



262



THE SILVER SUN



his own neck. Stormy feinted at the wielder with light-

ning forehooves. But the blade sank into the horse's

throat, and Stormy crashed to the ground.



Not the first time he has saved my life, Hal thought

hazily. I'm sorry, Rafe. . . . But there was no time for

grief; hooves were bearing down on him from all direc-

tions. Hal struggled to his feet and looked wildly about

him for some refuge. In this extremity Robin should have

come to him; but it was Derek who appeared by his side.

"Your back to mine, my King," Derek urged, and Hal

obeyed him gratefully.



Derek stood almost a head taller than Hal, and pro-

tected him admirably. But Derek was not skilled with the

sword; he had spent most of his life working with even
grimmer implements. Hal was able to fend off his oppo-

nents with his long reach, to pink them in the belly or the

thigh. But he was painfully aware that, behind his back,

Derek was taking hard blows. He told him what nothing

had ever made him say before.



"Kill the horses under them, Derek!" Hal shouted.

Derek scarcely heard the words, lost in the battle din

around him. A red curtain swam in front of his eyes;



he dimly realized that it was his own blood. He swung his

sword at random. He cared little for his own life, but ur-

gency pounded in him like a pulse: "My King—my King

—my King—" Then pain pierced him to the vitals, and

blackness blotted out the blood-red tide.



Hal felt him fall, and bit his lip in helplessness. But at

that moment, like a fog being swept away by the wind,

the struggling mass of men and horses disappeared from

around him. Panting, Hal found himself staring at Alan's

anxious face.



"Are you burti" Alan demanded.



"Hardly a scratch. Alan, finish it for me, pray. , . ." As
Alan cantered off, Hal sank to his knees beside Derek,

feeling for life. The mangled form stirred under his hands,



and Derek opened his eyes, whispering, "Good my lord,

you are well?"



Hal nodded, scarcely able to speak. He forced words

out against the tightness of his chest. "Derek, the debt is

paid in full, and over- For my life I thank you."



But Derek's eyes stared peaceful and unseeing at the

blue sky. Hal closed the lids. Beyond him, the battle was



Laueroc               263



nearing an end. Hal rose and trudged heavily off to find

Rate.



"The news travels across the land almost faster than

mortals can convey it,'* Alan said. "It is as if there is a

power in the air. Everyone in Isle knows that something

wonderful is happening."



"The end of the Age is approaching," Hal quietly

agreed, "and all things are spinning quickly to a close.

The people feel it, though perhaps they do not under-
stand."



Hal and Alan, with Rosemary, Rafe and Craig, sat to-

gether in council the day after the battle.



"The people of Welas understand," Alan replied. "Leg-

ends have come to life for them, and they accept it with

fierce joy. I believe fhere is not a man or boy of Welandais

birth who has failed to turn his hand against the oppres-

sors. The companies of Torre and Adaoun swept across

the countryside like fire in a field of dry grass. Before I

left Laueroc, I heard they were already in Welden. Folk

told of a giant white horse, gold-winged, that flew above

the armies, directing their movements to best advantage.

They spoke also of a tall, fair race of mountain warriors

who struck terror into the hearts of their adversaries, and

of their horses, lovelier than dreams, who fought as

fiercely as their masters. And these things were said fear-

lessly, with admiration and joy."



Rosemary was puzzled, for she knew nothing of the

elves, but Rate's eyes sparkled.



Alaa continued more slowly. "Hal, I also heard that

Torre and Galin both died at the taking of Welden."
Hal bowed his head in pain for a moment, and Rose-

mary reached out to inquiringly touch his hand. "My

grandfather," he explained, "and my uncle, my mother's

only living brother. I had so wished to see them

again...."



"Torre was ready," Alan said. "They say he was splen-

did. They say he fought with greater force than strong

young men, that his face shone as he struck down the foes

that had dishonored him. He shouted your name as his

battle cry, Hal, and his army took it up. He received his

death blow in the heat of the struggle, but he lasted long

enough to see the battle won. Somehow he knew that

Galin had been killed, and he named you as his heir. You



264



THE SILVER SUN



are now the last of that line, Hal," Alan added gentiy,

"and I know Galin would not begrudge you that crown."



Hal kept silence. After a pause Rafe inquired, "Any

other news, Alan?"
"Pelys still had not taken Gaunt, when last I heard,"

he answered, "but it was said it must soon fall to him.

All of the peasants and half the soldiers had made away

with arms and supplies, later to join with your father, my

lady. I heard also that the warlords fight against Arrok as



one body, for a wonder. His doom will not be long in

coming."



"Lord Roran has defeated Gar of Whitewater," said

Rosemary softly, "and he will soon be here, and very

glad, I am sure, to find Robin safe. And Ket had no dif-

ficulty taking Lee, with Nabon's garrison weakened by

his raid. Why, Hal, it sounds as if it is all settled. You

have nothing to worry you anymore."



"Nay," said Hal somberly, "nothing to do but bury the

dead."



Chapter Three



Alan badly wanted to talk to Hal. But the time was never

right. For days after the battle, Hat was silent and moody,

taking shovel alongside his men to rid the battlefield of

its grisly load. Only when he was with Rosemary did his
face brighten, so Alan was careful to leave them alone.



By the time they departed for Nemeton, Hal was in

better spirits- Swift messengers had come to him from all

parts of Isle, each one bringing news of victory. Hal sent

the couriers back to their masters with news of his con-

quest, and other news of which Alan knew nothing. There

was, a gleam in Hal's eye as he and Rosemary rode side

by side into Nemeton.



The greeting he received there took away bis breath,

and replaced the gleam with a tremble of wonder. The

streets were lined ten deep with people smiling and call-

ing his name, each bearing the bounty of summer's

flowers. Rosemary wore only a borrowed frock, and Hal

was tattered and stained with weeks in the field. But be-

fore they reached the first crossroad they shone brighter

than the gods of legend, laden with as many blossoms as

they could carry. Wreath upon wreath decked the horses'

necks, and trumpet vines entwined their ears. Rosemary

held a huge bundle of roses in her arms, and daisy crowns



265



266
THE SILVER SUN



adorned her head and Hal's. Petals sprinkled them from

head to foot. Alan had fallen back a few paces, grinning;



great chains of flowers draped his neck and Alfie's. Rate

and his soldiers, Robin and Cory, Craig and his men—all

were beset by swarms of happy folk, and those who could

not reach them threw their bouquets into their path or

pelted them with the blossoms- Hal and Alan were

amazed to see many whom they knew, peasants and cot-

tagers whom they had aided or who had aided them. In

the center of town they met Roran and his company. He

embraced Robin, and the crowd cheered them; the noise

was deafening.



At last they all came to the castle. The courtyard was

filled with servitors and guards, and hundreds of towns-

people thronged in as well. The air trembled with their

happy chatter. But when Hal ascended to the platform

and turned to greet his people, one voice cut through

them all, clear as a trumpet call. "See where he stands,

the King of Isle!" Alan knelt with hand raised in salute.

Rosemary, and all of Hal's men, and hundreds more knelt

before him and joined Alan's salute with a great shout.
Hal was speechless.



Rosemary gazed at him with smiling, adoring eyes.

Alan faced him tenderly but almost defiantly. "I told you

once," he said, "that I would kneel before you someday,

and you would know why. Do you?"



Hal looked deeply into Alan's eyes, and saw shame

there, along with a glimmer of the love he had missed for

so long. "Ay," he said roughly, "I know. So much for it.

Now will you get up!"



He took Alan and Rosemary each by one hand, and

urged them to their feet. Wordlessly he presented them

to the multitude in the courtyard; then he turned and led

them into his castle.



That afternoon, Alan once more tried to make oc-

casion to speak with Hal, but he was missing. The old

nurse Nana had taken him aside. "I have something for

you," she told him, "something your mother left you." She

led Hal to a sealed and forgotten garret where there stood

a small chest. He was startled to see, emblazoned on its

lid, the emblem of the half-sun. "I do not know what is

in it," the old woman said as she handed him the key. "I

confess I tried to open it once, but it stung my fingers.
Yet I know your mother opened it often. She was always



Laueroc                267



careful to keep it from the King and from you, so I have

done the same until I was certain you were quite grown.

It came from Welas, with your uncle Gildur," Nana

added.



"Gildur!"



"Ay. He stayed here in great secrecy for almost a year

and a half after the capture of Weldon. He whiled away

the hours by teaching music to your mother. 'Tis a strange

thing, but I could almost swear that your instrument is

the one he played. ... In the end, of course, the King

caught wind of him, and he had to flee. This was all be-

fore your birth." The ancient woman paused thoughtfully.

"There is a great deal I should explain to you, my child,

now that you are King, But perhaps something in that

chest will tell it better than I can. I shall leave you with

it now. But if you wish to speak with me, call me back."



He did call her back after several hours, and sent her

out again after a long talk. Alan and Rosemary grew
anxious when he missed the evening meal, and went to

wait for him on the garret steps. It was almost dark when

he emerged, but they could see that his face was pale and

distraught. "Alan," he said abruptly, "will you ride with

me in the morning? Rosemary, love, I need time to be

alone and think. Do not be troubled for me. I shall see

you tomorrow." He strode off into the twilight, leaving

them puzzled and worried-



The next day, Hal and Alan rode at random over the

rolling wealds that surrounded Nemeton. Hal seemed to

be in no hurry to reveal his concern, and Alan had de-

cided to postpone his own difficulty until Hal's was done.

Their talk was as wandering as their track. They spoke

of people they had known, of fun they had shared in the

years past, and of the troubles they bad shared, too. But

those hard days were over now; the goal was attained.

They felt a vague sorrow, and did not know how to com-

fort each other.



In time, the talk turned to Blain. "I was blood-blind

and crazed with rage," Alan said. "But when my fury

calmed, I was full of doubt. I knew what I had to do, and

yet I felt like a murderer."



"You did me a great service," Hal told him, "which I
might not have had the strength to do for myself."



"I did not feel strong, but weak and helpless," Alan



268 THE SILVER SUN



muttered. "My bloodthirst is cured, Hal. Never again will

I reproach you for squeamishness."



Hal startled Arundel by banging his fist into the saddle,

gesticulating wildly. "Mother of mercy, Alan!" he cried,

''you did not have to say that! Tune was, when . . ." He

choked back his words.



"When a glance would have been enough." Alan fin-

ished the thought with his heart in his voice, and looked

up with aching eyes. "Hal—"



How he had longed for that warmth. But Hal could not

yet bear to hear what Alan had to say. Staring straight

ahead, he cut him off with a crisp statement. "Alan, we

leave for Laueroc on the morrow. For the wedding and

coronation."



"Laueroct" gasped Alan, startled. "But why?"
*Ten hundred years ago, the Very King Bevan took

his beloved that way, and perhaps wedded her on a Mid-

summer's Eve, as I will mine. Folk will be there from

throughout the realm." His hesitation was barely percep-

tible, but Alan, who knew him well, sensed it at once.

"The elves will meet us there, though I would never ask

them to come all the way to Nemeton. Adaoun is per-

forming the ceremonies." Hal looked at his gaping brother

in carefully affected anxiety. "You do not begrudge me

the use of your town, I hope?"



But Alan was not fooled. "You have laid a trap for

me," he said, and his voice was low and dangerous.



"Destiny is no trap, but most often a blessing," Hal

replied. "The course of our lives was set, Alan, long be-

fore either of us was born."



"Destiny be damned!" Alan shouted. "I will not got"



"You shall go!" Hal commanded icily. He faced Alan

with gray eyes gone cold and hard, gleaming eerily with

elfin power. Alan's blue eyes blazed Just as bright with

mortal wrath, and did not waver for an instant. For a full

minute the two wills clashed with all the force of physical
combat. On a hilltop the horses stood rigid as statues, the

young men sitting them silent as the wealds all around;



but legend was to remember the flash of bright metal and

the ring of steel in the air.



Slowly, like the soft dusk of dawn, Hal smiled, and

the shining steel of his gaze turned to glowing love, a love

welling up from so deep in his soul that Alan continued



Laueroc                 269



to stare, lost in a trance of astonishment. "Your power is

the equal of mine," Hai murmured. "It is well."



"Name of Aene," Alan whispered. Suddenly he real-

ized that Hal was aged beyond his years, battered and

agonized by the death he had dealt, tired and sad; yet his

back was straight and his face filled with honest joy.



"It is well," he repeated. "Alan, if you love me—"



"Hal!" pleaded Alan wretchedly.



"Nay," he continued, as if agreeing with something Alan
had said, "you are right. I will not do that. Once you

made me swear an oath that nearly tore my heart to

shreds, for my own sake. But I will bind you by no such

oath. I know you, Alan of Laueroc, and I know that you

do not need my bidding to keep the law that springs from

love. Farewell, Alan. Let your heart guide you well." He

wheeled Arundel and sped away toward Nemeton.



"Hal!" Alan called after him. "Hal! Wait—" But Hal

had disappeared over a rise of the rolling wealds, and

Alan got no answer except the lonesome cries of straying

sea birds.



Chapter Foar



"He was not back all night," Rate told Hal the next

morning.



"I expected as much," he answered. "Well, let us go."



It did not take them long to make ready, for they were

all accustomed to traveling light. For the first time since

Rosemary had known him, however, Hal needed a pack

horse to carry something he wished to take along.



They were all saddled and waiting when Cory ap-
peared, looking distressed. "I cannot find Alan any-

where!" he exclaimed.



"Alan will be coming later, I dare say," Hal replied.

"We must go on without him."



**I will wait for him here," Cory decided.



Ha! shook his head. "You shall come with us. He must

make his journey alone." The youth gaped in startled

protest, but Hal shot him a glance that made him quickly

take his place in line. For the first time in their ac-

quaintance, Hal had chosen to command.



270



Laueroc               271



The castle folk merrily wished the company a good

journey and great happiness. Nevertheless, it was a silent

cavalcade which made its way out from Nemeton toward

Laueroc. There were Hal and Rosemary, Cory, Robin

and Roran, Craig and Rafe and a few maids. Not a word

was spoken among them; they all felt the presence of the

unseen watcher on the wealds.
That night Robin came to Hal. Concern for his tow-

headed friend blotted out fear of Hal's wrath. "Hal, what-

ever is the matter? You must tell Cory something. He is

so miserable."



Hal sighed. "I cannot tell Cory what is happening," he

explained, "or you, or anyone else—not even my lady.

For, if Alan's journey does not go as I expect, no one

must ever know." He shook his head fretfully. "Tell Cory

that Alan is in no danger or hardship. He knows that

Alan can take care of himself. Tell him—I miss him,

too...."



"Are you quarreling?" Robin asked gently.

"His quarrel is more with himself than with me. Robin,

what more can I say? I know him well; he will fight drag-

ons, if need be, to—to come to me. All will be well."



Robin returned to Cory with these words of dubious

comfort. But if Hal's reassurances sounded confident, his

restless sleep that night belied him. There had been a time

when he thought he knew Alan's heart. But his brother

had been distant for so long, and he did not know

why....
Still, it was impossible for Hal to remain unhappy for

long with Rosemary. He was on his way to his wedding,

at long last! Within a few days, the spirits of the entire

party had lifted. They traveled in easy stages, taking

pleasure in the journey. In each village the excited folk

called greetings and good wishes, pelting them with flow-

ers.



When they came to Laueroc at last, a great throng

awaited them, not only townsfolk but many old friends,

One of the first they saw was Pelys in his litter. Rosemary

ran to him and embraced him, whispering, "Father, par-

don." But Pelys answered gently, 'Tush, tush, daughter,

I expected you would be off," and kissed her absently.



Will was not with Pelys. He had been killed at Gaunt;



Rafe sorrowed to hear it. The warlords were not present



272 THE SILVER SUN



either, for already they were fighting among themselves.

But old Margerie was there, cackling in coquettish shock

as Hal kissed her. The King of the Gypsies was there, a

tiny man, gnarled as an ancient thorn tree, and stone
blind. His hands traced Hal's face reverently, as if be

touched the carved features of an idol. Ket was there too,

his blazing hair still out of control under a leather cap.

His brown eyes glowed warmly when Rosemary greeted

him. Then, like everyone else, he asked Hal, "Where is

Alan?"



"Thinking," Hal grumbled. "Say no more about it,



Ket."



And then there was Adaoun, with all the People of

Peace. It was indeed the closing of the Age, and perhaps

the hearts of men had been purged for the new beginning

to follow. Whatever the reason, they greeted their earth-

brothers the elves with joyful wonder, though they could

not communicate their gladness with words. But Rosemary

trembled when she faced Adaoun, even though she was

not afraid, and Hal put his arms around her. Adaoun

gazed deeply into her unflinching eyes and set kindly

hands on each side of her head.



He spoke to her softly, "Laifrita thae, Kellea," which is

to say, "Greetings, Kellea.'* Her elfin name meant "the

faithful one." Rosemary responded in the Ancient Tongue,

"Laifrita thae, Adaoun." ["Fair peace to thee, Elf-
Father."] With the Old Language, there came to her the

understanding of many mysteries, so that she looked at

Hal and saw that he was Mireldeyn. He gazed at her with

loving pride, and she answered with happy tears; at last

she knew him entirely.



"She is the one," Adaoun told Hal.



"Did you ever doubt it?"



A spark of light glowed deep in Adaoun's ancient,

youthful eyes as he shook his head.



"Where is Elwyndas?" asked Lysse.



"Wrestling with his pride," Hal replied. "And yet, he

may hardly know with what he fights. There are many

things he does not fully understand, and the very thoughts

of his mind take arms against him. But I depend on his

great heart to bring him here in time."



"I will go out and wait for him until he comes," said

Lysse, and in a moment she was gone.



Laueroc              273
Cory and Rafe searched the crowd for the elf they knew.

but did not find him. Soon Hal brought them confirmation

of their fears: Anwyl had been killed at Welden. "He was

one of only a few of us who fell," Adaoun explained, "for

most of the lordsmen fled from us rather than fighting us.

But Anwyl was overbold for your sake, Hal, eager to

wrest Veran's treasure from the ancient hold of Welden,

and he met with men to whom the panic had not yet

spread. He was not afraid to die, but it grieves me that

we did not find what he sought."



"I have it with mel" Unbuckling the canvas of his pack

beast's load, Hal exposed a small, strongly built chest,

plain except for the half-sun emblem shining from its

metal top. "Torre's youngest son, Gildur, brought it to my

mother's keeping before I was born. I knew nothing of it

until three weeks ago, when my old nurse showed it to

me."



"Let us see," Adaoun said in a hushed voice.



The chest seemed to open itself to Hal's touch, so quick

and silent was the task. He stood aside, and Adaoun

stooped and reverently took from it a crown of shining

silver, beautifully simple and unadorned, the bright metal
molded in graceful pointed shafts like the rays of a sun-

burst. "This is the ancient crown of Eburacon," Adaoun

explained softly. "Veran brought it with him when he came

to us over the waves of the Western Sea. It was all he had

left of that former Age of greatness."



Next he took from the chest a crown of gleaming gold,

pure and graceful of design as the first. "This he fashioned

like the first, out of gold freely taken from the streams

of our mountain valley, and in a mold newly made by his

own hands, to signify the dawning of the new Age."



Then he brought forth a velvet pouch, and carefully

shook from it two golden rings, plain and unadorned, but

of a brightness that almost pulsed. "These rings, also,

Veran made from the gold of the Eagle Valley, and with

them he and my daughter Claefe plighted their troth."



Once more Adaoun stooped, and he removed from the

chest a leather-bound tome of parchment pages, ancient,

but with golden fastenings and tooled scarlet designs still

glowing. Adaoun held it aloft, and the light flashed on

strange golden runes for all to see. "And this," he said

vibrantly, "is The Book of Suns. In the time of our despair,
THE SILVER SUN



274



the One offered us words of prophecy and comfort. They

are written in this book, by Veran's hand, and almost

all are now come to pass."



Each of these statements Hal had relayed to the awed

multitude that had gathered around. But now Adaoun

said something he kept to himself. "If you have read this,"

he remarked with mindful pity, "you know many things."



"I have read it." Hal turned to Rosemary. "And so

shall you, my love, and know everything that is in it:



the secrets of the elves, and of the elfin part of me. But

not yet. Not for a few days." He turned and locked the

crowns, the rings and the Book once again in their chest.



The following days were spent in feasting, merriment

and much talk. Hal was able to check on the welfare of

his entire kingdom, and the news was good. Most of the

spring planting had been done before Iscovar's death,

and Hal's throne bad been secured so swiftly that the

rhythm of work was scarcely interrupted. Famine, the
specter that so often stalks in the wake of war, was not

likely to be seen—especially since half of each lord's

holding of land had been divided among the peasants.

The same had been done with the enormous stockpiles

of grain and other supplies, and with each lord's hoard

of treasure and gold. Such a spirit of peace lay upon the

land that there had been no quarreling over fair shares;



the countryfolk rejoiced in their unexpected prosperity.

In most of the manors a man who had been a leader

among the people was elevated to the position of re-

sponsibility, with the assurance of help and advice from

the King and his liegemen. Hal offered Ket the manor

of Lee, but he refused it, saying he would rather stay by

Hal as one of his officers. So Rafe was prevailed upon

to accept Lee, and Craig took management of White-

water, since Margerie said she was too old for such non-

sense.



As the wedding day drew near, neither Lysse nor Alan

had been seen. From time to time, Hal raised the hope

that they were together, but in his heart he knew they

would have come to him if it were so. In his mind's eye

he envisioned Lysse as indeed she was: a patient figure

waiting and watching the road by a lonely campfire. But
try as he might, Hal could not envision Alan. By the eve of



Laueroc              275



the Midsummer festival, the Feast of Bowers, Hal's low

spirits had influenced the entire camp. Rosemary could

have wept at the despair in his eyes, and only her gener-

ous heart kept her from cursing Alan as a graceless, selfish,

thick-skulled mule, he who had spoiled what ought to

be the happiest time of Hal's life.



For two full weeks Alan lay in the sun on the upland

hills, waiting for some unknown succor, foraging for food

when he felt the need, seeing no living being except the

birds and the furry beasts. After the first few days he

gave up consciously struggling with his problem. Its dull

ache rose with him in the morning, lived with him through

the day, went to bed with him at night. His dreams were

colored cruelly with pain and sorrow, leaving him as

fatigued as if he had fought a long and losing battle.



On the last day when he could leave and hope to reach

Laueroc in time, he rose and saddled Alfie, scarcely

knowing how or when he had decided to go. Then the

dull ache in his heart was replaced by sharper pangs of

fear that he might miss Hal's great day. He set his course
as straight as an arrow toward Laueroc, and Alfie ran

with all the urgency his master felt. At least there was no

longer any fear of lordsmen. Alan sped through the days,

rested only a few hours each night, and ate as he rode.



As the afternoon before the Midsummer festival drew

on, Alan sighed thankfully and slackened his pace some-

what at last. Laueroc was only a few miles away. / shall

be there in time for the late meal, he thought, and that

will give me the evening to set things to rights. Under the

golden light of a low sun, he was cantering up the last

slope outside of town, smiling with relief, when he looked

up and saw the one person who was the cause of all his

heart's commotion.



Lysse sat still upon a filly of the elwedeyn breed, and

she wore a dress of the same dark, sun-fiecked green as

her eyes- Golden sunset rays made a halo of her golden

hair. No amount of resolve could have prepared Alan

for this moment. His eyes fastened upon her, and slowly,

scarcely knowing what he was doing, he took her hand

and held it pressed to his cheek.



"Wherever have you been!" she asked in her sweet,

melodious voice. "I have awaited you these many days."
276 THE SILVER SUN



The sound of the Ancient Tongue shocked him out

of his trance, and he dropped her hand. "I have come

to see my brother, Lysee," he declared hoarsely, "to bring

him something that belongs to him and to wish him joy

on his wedding day. I must go to him now." Dazed, he

lifted the reins, but for the first time in years Alfie balked.

The horse rolled his eyes until the whites showed, and

flapped his ears, ogling impudently. But Alan did not

notice; his gaze was caught on Lysse. The pain in her eyes

was pitiful. Yet she was an elf, and should not know such

heartfelt pain.,..



"Alan," she whispered, "by the mighty Wheel, tell

me now, truly: do you love me still, or not?"



The cruel lie, rehearsed a thousand times, came to

Alan's mind, but wrestle with it as he might, it would

not leave his tongue. For a breathless moment he strug-

gled, shaken to the roots of his being; then the answer

exploded from him. "Ay!" he shouted, and the hills of

his native land rang with it. "Sweet Lysse, I do!" Shaking,

his voice subsided to a whisper. "Oh, Lysse, I am so

sorry. ..."
"Why?" She placed gentle hands upon his bowed shoul-

ders. "For you know I love you, too, Alan of Laueroc."



"Because I cannot have you." He spoke decidedly,

with the perfect calm of longstanding pain. "I will not

doom you to death, you whom I love, or tear you from

your people. Go, Lysse, sail to fair Elwestrand which is

your birthright, you and your brothers and sisters. Live

there long after I am dead and turned to dust. I cannot

kill you, Lysse 1"



"I will not go," she told him with dogged patience, as

if she must explain to him the clearest facts of his life,

even the rising and setting of the sun. "Nor will my father

ask me to; he knows I must be with you. If you ride

away from me I will follow, and if my horse fails me I

will walk, winter or summer, to be by your side. I love

you. Is so simple a thing so difficult for you to accept?"

In her eyes, to the deepest reaches of her soul, there was

no hint of faltering or sorrow.



Alan gazed into those incredible eyes, and saw there

a love as marvelous to him as it was incomprehensible,

for be scarcely felt deserving. Breathlessly, he sensed the
deepest strength of his soul stirring within him, surren-



Lauerws               277



dering foolish pride and false honor to the love that rules

the heart. With tears of relief flowing freely down his

cheeks, Alan took Lysse's chin in his hand and kissed her

deeply on the Ups. All the jagged pieces of bis life fell into

place, and he was finally at peace with himself and with

his world.



Chapter Five



On that last night before the fateful day, the strong stone

walls of Laueroc Castle seemed to choke Hal, so that he

felt he must move out of doors, under the stars and the

full moon. With Arundel for company, he built a little

fire in a copse of trees on the town common. Sitting be-

side it, he bowed his head and thought of Alan, wishing

that his thoughts could draw him there.



Lysse and Alan were still deep in talk. "Silly," she was

chiding him fondly. "To think that any good could come

to me, without you! My immortal life would have become

a curse, for the Ages of the elves are at an end. My

brothers and sisters, like me, will find mortal love in
Biwestrand, and will die happy that their ancient loneli-

ness is ended. And perhaps a finer race will come out

of it all."



"Why did you not tell me!" he cried. "You or Hal. . ."



"The choice had to be yours, without telling. Though

I know Hal has suffered with you."



"Dear Hal," he murmured, holding her close against

him. "For months I have been longing to speak to him."



"Come, let us go to him. The night moves on apace."

He still held her and sighed, but she laughed at him

tenderly. "You shall have me the rest of your lifel"



278



Laueroc



279



They found Hal with his head on his knees beside

a dwindling campfire, keeping a dozing vigil, as Alan

had often known him to do in times of wounds or sick-
ness. The silver circlet on his head had slipped rakishly

over one ear, and Alan knelt to gently straighten it. Hal

looked up, scarcely daring to believe be was in the world

of the waking, whispering, "Alan!" He reached out to

embrace him, but his arms stopped in midair as he re-

membered that, lately, Alan did not care to be touched.



Alan groaned to himself with aching heart, realizing

what distance he had put between them. Lysse kissed Hal

on the cheek, then kissed Alan squarely on the lips. "I

shall see you on the morrow," she said, and disappeared

into the night. Alan still knelt before Hal, meeting his

eyes. He reached into his tunic.



"I have something that belongs to you," Alan said,

"that I have been longing to give you." He drew out the

silver ring he had taken from his father's skeletal hand.

He had not worn it since returning to Celydon from

Laueroc almost a year before, but evidently he had

often polished it; the tiny circle shone brightly even in

the moonlight. Alan handed it to Hal, warm from his

body heat, and looked at the ground, searching for

words.



"I know," Hal whispered, saying for him the unspeak-

able. "I know, my brother. I watched my father die in
torment on my account, in the Dark Tower."



Alan's head snapped up. "How long have you known?"

he gasped.



"Since two days before we left. It was written in The

Book of Suns, which my old nurse showed to me that

afternoon in the garret. But you have known since you

went to Laueroc, that first time."



"Ay. My father left a letter for me."



"Then it is that which has been hidden in your eyes

since then?"



"Ay."



"Nothing more?"



"Nay. At least, not at first."



Hal was impatient, and his voice echoed the pain of

ten months of needless misery. "Oh, Alan, Alan, why did

you not tell me?"
"Because of the seven generations," Alan explained



280



THE SILVER SUN



earnestly. "Because of—of that by which I made you

swear. You have often told me that, if you were not the

son of that fiendish King, no power on earth could make

you seek the throne—that you wanted nothing from life

but peace and a little love. For the sake of all the poor

folk m this oppressed land, I could not tell you, Hal!

You were the only one who could save theml"



Hal shook his head. "No power on earth, nay. But an

even heavier burden found me after I said that, Alan—

heavier, but somehow easier to bear: the burden of

prophecy." A tiny smile played around the comers of his

lips. "It was not only your mighty oath that saved my

life. Xt was a song Rosemary sang to me that reminded

me of the other burden that came with my birth, 'Bear-

ing balm of Veran's flower, Man born blest with elfin

do-wer.' Adaoun's image came to my mind, and his eyes

upon me compelled me to live until you came with

Veran's comfort."
"You mean," asked Alan with a dry mouth, "that I

could have told you?"



"By my wounds, 1 wish you hadi" declared Hal with a

bitterness that struck Alan to the heart.



"May I die for it, Hal, I didn't know," Alan choked,

and then he broke and wept like a child with the frustra-

tion of almost a year of estrangement. "I didn't know,"

he moaned.



Hal's arms went around his shoulders; the brothers

clutched each other tightly. "Of course you didn't know,"

Hal said fiercely, hating himself. "You did what you felt

you must Oh, Alan, I am sorry. Why did I tell you that!"



"Small blame to you," Alan gulped, still struggling for

breath. "The way I've been acting, 111 warrant you

had forgotten I could care." He flung his head up and

faced Hal with a tear-streaked face in which the whole

of his soul showed plain and unashamed. "Hal, I love

you so- ... I had to put some distance between us, or the

secret in my heart would have driven me mad." His

head dropped wearily to Hal's shoulder, and Hal held

him in silence, swallowing at the lump in his throat.
"I knew my father was unfaithful," said Alan at last,

sitting up and wiping his face with his sleeve. "We quar-

reled about it. He had married my mother in policy, not

in passion, but she was a good, gentle woman, and I loved

her deeply. Now I know that your mother was his



Laueroc



281



mendor, and he was fated to love her, despite loss of

honor—despite the shadow of death. . . . But then I

blamed him bitterly. Still, when I first knew you, I

hoped—I wished like a boy—that you might be my

brother. When you told me you were the King's son, it

nearly broke my heart, for who could have dreamed that

Leuin's lover, all those years, had been the Queen her-

self? And then to find that my dream had come true,

and not to be able to tell you!"



"Did Iscovar know, I wonder?" murmured Hal, chang-

ing the subject, for Alan was still close to tears.



"He knew. My father—our father—says in his letter

that Iscovar was unable to beget children, due to the same
disease of lust by which he died. He knew you were

Laueroc's son, but his need of an heir constrained him

to keep the secret. For a long time, my father's—our

father's—power was great enough to protect himself, the

Queen, and you. But little by little, by means too foul to

be answered in kind, the King weakened Laueroc, until

at long last he had his horrible revenge."



"Horrible, indeed. But no wonder he hated me," Hal

muttered. "The more so because he could not do away

with me. . . . Did you tell anyone else, Alan? Cory per-

haps?"



"Nay, no one. I kept my peace most obstinately. But

if I had known the needless pain it would cost you, I

would never have done it. Dear Hal, I wish you would

kick mel It would make me feel so much better."



Hal threw back his head and laughed. The two of them

were walking at random now, arms around each other's

shoulders, as they had at other happy times. "Poor Alan!

I believe I begin to understand. All that crustiness. ..."



"Was the only way I could hide the longing in my

heart from you. If I had let myself show love for you, my
secret would have popped out in an instant. Then I was

vexed that I could manage it no better, and being vexed

with myself I grew vexed with you and the whole world.

But even that is not the worst of it."



"Nay," agreed Hal wryly, "on top of all that, your eyes

caught the glitter of this pretty bauble I wear on my

head."



Alan winced as if he had been struck. "By my troth,



2S2 THE SILVER SUN



you know me better than I knew myself," he whispered.



"But why, Alan? You were not really planning to seize

the throne from me."



"Nay, of course not! But in spite of my best intentions,

the thought would nag at the back of my mind, and it

nearly drove me mad with shame and frustration. To add

to my shame, I knew that I had only to ask you, and you

would have given me your crown as freely as you give

your lovel But of course I could not ask any such thing.

If only I could have come to you, talked to you—but to

explain my malady would have been to explain the
cause."



"That, by birth, you have as much right to the throne

as I do."



"Ay. Such nonsense. Your right to the throne has al-

ways gone far beyond the right of birth, and I have al-

ways known it."



"Do you still desire it?" asked Hal quietly.



"Nayl Mothers, nay. Blain cured me of that."



"Then you shall have it, Alan." Hal faced him, smiling,

with warm affection in his voice. "You fought for me, I

know.... But I fought, in large measure, for you."



"You are babbling nonsense, Hal!'* Alan exclaimed.

"You know I can't take your crown!"



"Who said anything about my crown!" Hal teased.

"Think more of your crownt" He took Alan by the shoul-

ders, his eyes bright with joy and mischief. "What, Sun-

rise King, do you not yet know yourself? Just as I am

the last of the line of Veran, the sunset of the Age, so are
you the sunrise of the new Age, the first of the Liege

Kings of Laueroc! Do you not think that two brothers

such as we can rule together? Our capital is to be in

Laueroc, centered between east and west—though you

know I shall look most often to Welas. After my death,

the two peoples shall be united under you and your heirs,

as they ought to be. And the blood of the elves shall en-

rich your line, as it did the Blessed Kings before you. By

all that is lovely, you shall be a bright dawning for this

land after a long, dark night."



"You are serious!" Alan whispered.



"Quite serious. It is written in The Book of Suns,

though I knew it long ago. Torre let it slip, and you,

modest soul that you are, soon forgot it."



Laueroc               S83



"But how can I rule? You are Mireldeyn."



"And you alone are EIwyndas. Your power is equal to

mine—remember? Is it so hard to accept?"



Alan shook his head, stunned. "But Hal, what of your

heirs?"
"I shall have none." The joy went out of his voice. "I

am to be the last of the line of Veran, the last of those

Very Kings—though there will be others, Alan, mark it.

But Rosemary and I will have no children. That is the

prophecy."



"Oh, Hal, I am sorry." Alan gently touched his shoul-

der.



"That is the advantage of prophecy, you see, Alan."

Hal tried to smile. "If I had not known this, your crown

would have been obliged to wait until my death. But now

we can both be crowned and wed to our ladies together,

on the morrow." He faced Alan whimsically, brushing the

ever-unruly hair from his brother's brow. "Have children,

Alan—my second self—and I shall love them as my own.

It is for Rosemary that I mind it roost. I do not know

what comfort to give her."



"You yourself are her best comfort. So you plan to tell

her?"



"Ay. If there is one thing I have learned in the past

year, it is not to keep a secret from a loved one. Secrecy
breeds fresh sorrow, but sharing is Joy in itself. Still, I

have not told her yet. I did not wish to mar her wedding

day."



For an hour Hal and Alan walked together, voicing

random thoughts, reluctant to give up then- rediscovered

companionship on this last night of their single lives. "It

is past midnight," Hal finally said. "Let us get some

sleep. It will not do for us to be tired, not tomorrow."



They returned to Hal's fire, in embers now, and laid

out their blankets. Nearby, Alfie and Arundel peacefully

grazed.



"We could go inside, you know," Hal remarked. "There

is no need to sleep out."



Alan laughed quietly into the darkness. "Strange. So

many times we camped together, each longing for a warm

room and a soft bed; and now ..."



"Ay. One last time.... Well, good night."



"Good night."



284
THE SILVER SUN



In her castle chamber, Rosemary lay still and miserable

on her canopied bed. There was scarcely a rustle, but like

a green-and-golden spirit of summer Lysse stood beside

her.



"Sleep, my sister," she said. "Be content Alan is here,

and all will be well."



Rosemary sat bolt upright. "Oh, has he come at lasti"

she cried.



"Ay, that he has." Lysse smiled a secret smile.



"And—are we to be sisters, truly?" asked Rosemary

more calmly.



"Indeed, we are."



"Oh, Lysse, I am so happy," said Rosemary softly.

Lysse looked into her eyes for just an instant; then with

all her heart she embraced this generous mortal woman,
her first and lifelong friend in the strange race she was

fated to join.



The next morning, Cory slept late, for even in his

dreams some dejected part of his brain told him there was



little use in waking up. A rough shaking roused him at

last.



"Alan!" he cried, dazed with joy and surprise.

"Come on, you sleepyhead!" shouted Alan, grinning

with delight- "This is my wedding day, and you must be



my best man. Aren't you going to help me make myself

presentable?"



"Your wedding day!" Corin sat up, squeezing his head

in disbelief. "But who?"

"Lysse,"



Corin thrashed his way out of bed, shaking his head.

"Lysse!" he sputtered. "You lucky dog! You lucky, lucky

dog!" Hastily he dressed, muttering to himself in bemused

happiness. "Confound it, is that what you and Hal were

quarreling about?" he finally demanded.
"Well, after a fashion, ay."



"It was! But why?"



"Because I was a dolt, forsooth!" Alan retorted cheer-

fully. "But come on, we have lots to do. I'll tell you about



it later." He strode out, and Corin trotted after him, still

shaking his head.



A few hours later, Robin and Cory stood waiting in the

castle courtyard, smiling at each other from time to time.



Laueroc



283



Already their eyes were glazed from the events of the

day. They wore tunics of finest fawn-colored wool, gifts

from Adaoun, and they held the reins of his other gifts:



steeds of the elwedeyn breed, Cory's was creamy gold in

color, and Robin's a gray so dark as to be almost black.

These had never known saddle or bridle, but at Adaoun's

gentle command they now bore intricately woven blan-
kets. The youths led them by soft hackamores, such as

were worn by Alfie and Arundel beside them.



As the sun reached its height, Hal and Alan came out

and mounted. They carried no weapons or warlike gear,

except their swords, suspended from the chain-link belts

Roran had given them years before. They wore shirts of

pure-white wool, delicately embroidered in multicolor

designs of every living thing. Bright cloaks fell back from

their shoulders. Their heads were bare and high. On his

right hand, Hal wore a large, dark gem set in silver, with

a strange glow emanating from its heart. Alan no longer

tucked the green Elfstone beneath his shirt, but proudly

centered it on his chest. From time to time, he and Hal

glanced at each other in silent, sober affection—men with

the look of eagles, great in stature beyond their physical

size, regarded with awe by poor and prosperous alike,

each other's equal in power and valor. They waited to-

gether for their destiny.



Soon, Rosemary and Lysse rode out with glowing eyes,

in gowns of a simplicity which set off their beauty as no

jewels and laces ever could: long, sweeping dresses of

purest white, somehow made without a seam. Their hair

swung long and free, crowned and intertwined with roses

of soft pink, yellow and creamy white. Flowers of the
same hues adorned pretty little Asfala and Lysse's darkly

golden Faen. They sat sideways on blankets of summer

green, and their white skirts trailed down below their feet.

Hal took Rosemary by the hand, and Alan clasped hands

with Lysse, and they rode four abreast through the town,

with the rest of the company following. The townsfolk,

and countryfolk from miles around, watched them pass

with quiet joy, then fell in line and followed after.



On a green, tree-crowned hill outside of town, a hill

Alan remembered from his earliest years, Adaoun waited

for them. He was to perform the ceremonies by greater

right than any priest of any god, for he, sung in the First



286



THE SILVER SUN



Song, had not forgotten Aene. He needed no temple

except the blue sky above, which had always been his

roof.



The weddings were simple and eloquent. Each loved

one and each lover stated their devotion in the words

which best came to mind; then they vowed troth, honor,
and duty until death. Hal and Rosemary exchanged the

rings that had been worn by Torre and Megolyn, sent to

him at Torre's dying request. Alan and Lysse exchanged

the rings that had wed Veran and Claefe. Each couple

joined hands to seal their promises, and the crowd stirred

and murmured in pleasure.



From the little chest at his feet, Adaoun reverently

took up The Book of Suns. From this be read in the An-

cient Tongue, the only language he knew. Rafe trans-

lated for the sake of the witnesses: "And it shall come to

pass that a truly great lord of the land of Isle shall have

two sons. One shall be by his mendor, a daughter of the

house of Veran. and the other by a gentle lady to whom

he shall be wed by chance of custom. And these two

brothers shall not know each other, but shall grow in

courage and goodness, each in his own way. Manhood

shall be thrust early upon them, and great misfortune,

and they shall meet strong enemies. In the course of their

struggle they shall find and aid each other, and love one

another as if they had been raised together from birth,

though they shall not know of their bond. And the goals

of their two lives shall become one."



Hal glanced at his bride and, seeing that she under-

stood, smiled and pressed her hand.
"The son of Veran's line shall be he to whom all your

dreams should turn. People of Peace. He shall be the

means of your leaving to the land I have promised you;



he shall be the savior of Isle and Welas, and the consum-

mation of the Age. The blood of elves shall flow strong in

him, giving him knowledge, power, and vision beyond

those of other mortals; yet he shall know the love and

pain of a mortal heart. Men shall stand in awe of him,

and call him Healer, Ruler, Welandais Prince, and Sunset

King. But your name for him shall be Mireldeyn—'Elf-

Man.' And these shall be the signs: that he shall come to

you, unbidden, on a steed of the elfin blood, with the

marks of suffering on his body, and the Old Language on



taueroe



287



his tongue, and the vision of the legends in his e,yes. His

only magic and his only power shall reside in himself.



"But men's dreams shall find fulfillment in his brother,

for he shall begin a new Age of peace for mortal men. A
great-hearted man, like Veran before him, he also shall

win the love of an elf maiden—"



Alan stood, scarcely listening, with his arm around

Lysse.



"—so that his heirs may be blessed with elfin wisdom

and vision. The knowledge of the Old Language, and of

many mysteries, shall be his. Men shall love and honor

him, calling him Elfstone, the Golden One, and Sunrise

King. But your name for him shall be Elwyndas—'Elf-

Friend.' And these shall be the signs to you: that the ash

maiden shall find tove for him in her heart, and intervene

for his sake, and lead him to you; and he shall fearlessly

find the knowledge of the Old Language and its secrets in

her eyes."



Adaoun closed the Book, speaking now more slowly

and thoughtfully. "This is called The Book of Suns. It

tells of the rising and setting of many kinds of suns—the

suns of all men's days, the suns of many men's lives, the

suns of all the ages of history for both men and elves. But

all of these are bound up and reach their culmination in

the two sons who stand before you, sons of a truly noble

man. From their first meeting, though they did not know

each other, they loved each other as brothers, and now
they find that they are brothers in truth. They were born

on the same day, in the same hour; there is no thought of

younger or elder between them. They are at one with each

other, just as the sun which sets at night is the same sun

which rises in the morning. In Mireldeyn, you see the

splendid setting of the sun that rose with Veran. In

Elwyndas, you see the splendid rising of the sun of a new

Age, dawning, like the Age of Veran before him, in peace

and love. Whether peace and love shall endure, mortal

men, depends on each of you....



"This is a moment of great weight in your history, folk

of the Second Song. The One has said that, if you will it,

the sun can set forever on the wreakers of war and op-

pression. The tide of their onslaught can be turned for all

time, if this land of Isle stands strong in its path. Aene has

given you two men, the likes of which you will never see



288



THE SILVER SUN



again, for this, your time of need- He has given you two

who are something more than men, who face the specters

of pride and greed and dare them to do their worst. They
have shared the chances of life and death. They have ful-

filled all the prophecies of The Book of Suns, except this

last one, and they shall fulfill that one also: that greed

and pride shall have no dominion, but all men shall live



in harmony. Long, prosperous, and peaceful shall be the

reign of Laueroct"



The people cheered. Hal smiled a tiny smile, thanking

Adaoun for what he had oot said.



"Therefore," continued Adaoun, and his voice was sud-

denly awesome in its maj'esty, "I say to you, mortal men,

that it is meet that these two sons who have shared their

peril and yours should also share the reward which means

so much less to them than their love. For the first time in

your annals or ours, I show to you Kings equal in power,

goodness, stature and love—I show to you the Sons of

Laueroc. I show to you the final Chapter of The Book of

Suns—I show to you the Sun Kings!"



At the beckoning of Adaoun's imperious eyes, Hal and

Alan stepped forward and stood before him. A roar went

up from the crowd, echoing to the sky, and fell off all at



once to a waiting silence, Hal and Alan dropped to one
knee.



Adaoun placed the silver crown on Hal's head. "I

crown you first, Mireldeyn,'* he murmured, "only because



you are the child of the old Age, which came before the

new."



He next placed on Alan's head the crown of gold. "All



the blessings of Aene be on you both," he whispered, and

raised them.



They stood before the multitudes of their people, their

friends- They were crowned in rays of glory like the suns

from which they took their titles. Thousands knelt before

them with faces uplifted in glowing joy, with hands raised

in greeting, with voices raised in shouts of praise. Hal and

Alan stood, and their knees weakened before the adula-

tion as they never had before hostile armies, and they

turned to each other for support, only to see tears shining

in each other's eyes. Almost laughing, they embraced in

their grip of brotherhood, pummeling each other, and then

they stretched out hands to their brides, holding them tight
Laueroc              389



as the shouts of their people blended into a mighty chant

of triumph.



Robin and Cory brought them their horses. As they

rode toward their hilltop bowers, the crowd pressed

around them, and flowers filled the air. Somewhere, music

started, and feasting began. Their whole world rejoiced,

for their happiness was the happiness of their people.



A week's gentle journeying brought them to the Bay of

the Blessed. It was just the four of them—Hal, Rosemary,

Alan and Lysse—with the entire race of elves. They had

experienced one last whiff of eternity. The days of pleas-

ant riding melted together in memory, leaving only an

image of glowing days and balmy nights. The Kings did

not wear the heavy crowns of Verao; Hal wore his plain

circlet, and Alan a similar one of gold that Hal had given

him. They rode with heads held high, and their wives

regarded them with proud, loving eyes. In all those days,

Rosemary did not ask the question reposing at the back

of her mind. She knew, as simply as a mother with child

knows, that the time was not yet.



They arrived in midmoming of the eighth day. For the
past two days they had seen no one but themselves, for

this was a forbidden place, protected by the spirits of the

legendary gods. The Bay of the Blessed shimmered silver-

gray between shale shores and shadowy evergreens. At

the mouth of the Gleaming River rode three gray ships

at anchor, silent as ghosts.



"Veran prepared them for us," Adaoun explained,

"when the prophecies became known to him."



290



Laueroc              291



They have stayed whole all these years?" Rosemary

gasped.



"They have stayed whole. There is power in living

wood, and there was great power in his hands."



There were no supplies needed for the voyage to El-

westrand, nor any sails, for that is a singular journey.

The elves lingered a while, talking with their friends, and

ate a last meal before they embarked. The horses, all

except Wynnda, had been given as gifts to Hal and Alan
and the House of Laueroc.



"We closed the valley," Adaoun explained. "We

blocked the entry with great rocks, and Wynnda flew us

out. It comforts us to know that the creatures will always

live there, the great eagles and the shy deer, without

fear of men. We know you would have done what you

could, Mireldeyn and Elwyndas, but a mortal's span is



but short.. .."



"We understand," Hal replied quietly.



After a while there was nothing more to say, and the

elves slowly boarded. The four stood silently on the shore

as, swimming like swans, the gray ships slid away with a

lapping of ripples against their wooden flanks. Everyone

waved. Hal held Rosemary's hand. Alan put an arm

around Lysse's waist as she watched her brothers, sisters

and loving father slip away from her, bound for El-

westrand across the Western Sea. Her eyes held a strange,



sad joy.



"Farewell—farewell!" cried the elves, until their cries

became one with the salt cries of the sea birds. Adaoun,
at the prow of the largest ship, was soon only a dark



post against the silver sea.



They watched until the ships became birdlike shapes

against the setting sun, disappearing into its embrace.

Then the sun sank, and they could see the ships no more.

Rosemary broke silence at last, for she felt the trembling

of Hal's hand and heard the straining of his heart.



"You wish you were going with them," she said gently,



"do you not?"



He turned to her, his gray eyes awash with the mystery

of the gray sea. "Ay," he whispered. "Ay. But there is so

much healing to be done, in Isle. ... I am fated to be left



behind to carry on."



Hal and Rosemary, Alan and Lysse camped on the

shore that night, with the lapping of the waves and the



292         THE SILVER SUN
crying of the sea birds in their ears. When the new day

dawned, they turned their faces to the rising sun and rode

back toward the world of green meadows and mortal men.



So the battle's won, the consummation

Now at hand, the living sweet;



And still the Wheel is every turning,

Year fey year the hill fires burning;



Vision flits upon the moonlit waters.

So if ever I should lose the, love of men

And choose to walk again

My own fey, lonely way,

Do not grieve. Love, but say

That once, a summer day,

You held me in the meadow sunlight,

Kissed me in the meadow sun,

And in that sunlit meadow closed my eyes,



—a song of Hervoyel