Jaspin only sought to hasten the appointed meeting. And, since as the object of the meeting he would not be allowed to attend the Council himself, he thought that by simply moving the designated meeting place to his own castle he would then know the result that much sooner, and save himself a ride to Paget, a journey of several days.

His idea, however, was a solidly unpopular one. And, if not for Lord Naylor’s challenge, Jaspin would have been persuaded by a cooler head such as Ontescue’s to abandon his scheme. But the matter had proceeded too far. Jaspin would have it no other way.

A hasty conference proceeded between Holben and the chief regent. “I will do as you bid, my Lord,” said Naylor, his teeth set on edge. “But you may regret having pressed your way in this matter.” He turned and crossed the room under Jaspin’s dark look. “By your leave,” he said and walked out of the hall.

The captives heard nothing but the occasional curses of their captors going about their business on the deck above and the wash of waves against the hull of the ship. In four days at sea they had been fed twice-a ration of coarse bread-but as they had access to all the water aboard ship they lacked nothing for their thirst.

Queen Alinea had been able to nurse Ronsard back to his senses. With her kind ministrations and the help of Durwin’s healing power, the knight swore he felt better by the hour. Alinea insisted he remain reposed on his bed, although, cheered by the nearness of his friends, Ronsard largely ignored her pleas. They had much to talk about, and he much to tell.

“It gives me no pleasure to say it, my Lady,” said Ronsard, leaning upon his elbow, “but I fear for the King. Nimrood is a crafty snake; his plots are beyond reckoning. However, we may be certain there is mortal danger for any within his grasp.”

“He has induced Prince Jaspin to join his schemes of treachery-though little enough encouragement was needed there,” said Theido.

“And I have heard it voiced far and wide that Nimrood raises an army; though who-or what-would fight for him, I cannot but wonder. In Elsendor there are rumors of a Legion of the Dead.”

“No! It cannot be true,” gasped Alinea. “Oh, it is too horrible to contemplate.”

“Has he the power to do such things?” asked Trenn.

“He has,” said Durwin, “and we have not the means to stop him… of ourselves.”

“We will find a way,” said Theido. His eyes kindled fire against the wicked necromancer. “Nimrood will be stopped. My life is my pledge.”

“Would that my arm had the strength to hold my sword,” moaned Ronsard. His stony features fought against the pain which his companions could see hovering there; he sought to rise.

“Please, good Ronsard, you must rest while you may,” said Alinea, pressing him back down with her hands gently on his shoulders.

“Alas,” wailed Ronsard, “though I could wield ten swords I have none in this time of need.”

“Soon-too soon I fear-there will be no lack of blades, but of hands to hold them. You will have your chance, Ronsard. Only content yourself till then, and pray your strength recovers.” Durwin spoke softly and peered deeply into Ronsard’s clouded eyes. The knight shook his head and his eyelids fluttered weakly. He lay his head back and slipped off to sleep moments later. “Would that I had such power over our enemies, as I have over the wounds of brave knights,” sighed Durwin.

Trenn looked at the hermit with wide eyes full of awe. “There is power enough, I’ll warrant, for many purposes. Perhaps you could charm this Nimrood to sleep as you did Ronsard just now.”

“Would that I could. But no, the power that remains in me is of a healing kind-though it may be turned for other purposes in time of need. Were I to think of harming someone, even the evil Nimrood, this last remnant of my power would desert me instantly. It is a law of this healing power to be used ever thus.” He paused, deep in thought, and then continued excitedly, “But what may be done with draughts and potions and the mixing of rare earths-that I may still do! Oh, I have been so slow. Gather round quickly! I have a plan!”

In a little while the captives heard the tick of a key in a lock, and the sound of rusty bolts thrown back. There was a rattle as chains dropped free and a blinding glare as the cargo door was opened wide, sending a shaft of light flooding into the hold.

“Get back! Get back! Ah, I trust my passengers are enjoying their fine quarters?” The voice was that of Captain Pyggin, whose portly form could now be discerned descending the steep stairs followed by two of his ruffians. “Give them their food,” he ordered one of the men. The other stood guard.

“By Zoar! I’ll…” swore Trenn, jumping to his feet. The guard’s long knife flashed in his hand in an instant.

“Make no threats you care not to die by,” warned Pyggin. “My men are less civilized than I. They kill to pass the time.”

Trenn backed away slowly. “What do you want, pirate?” asked Theido carelessly.

“Only to wish you well, my fine friends.” He cast a lustful eye over Alinea’s comely form. “We reach our destination in two days’ time.” He waved his hand and the sailor carrying the food set down an iron pot and tossed a couple of loaves onto the filthy floor of the hold.

Pyggin turned to leave. “Enjoy your meal!” He laughed perversely and climbed the steps. The guard watched them with hooded eyes, daring anyone to try to rush upon him.

Then he was gone and darkness returned as the door slammed shut. The locks and chains were replaced and they heard the derisive call of Captain Pyggin through the lattice, “Two days-mark them well. They’ll be your last.”

“To think I paid him for our passage,” muttered Trenn when Pyggin had gone.

“He but takes us where we want to go,” observed Durwin.

“Yes, though not in the fashion we desired,” replied Theido. “But much can happen in two days’ time.”

TWENTY-SIX

THE LAST light of day splashed crimson into the sky and tinted the edges of lingering clouds violet and blue. Quentin walked easily, though nervously, between Mollena and Toli. Ahead of them loomed the graceful silhouette of the Ariga temple.

Mollena was dressed in a long flowing robe of white, edged in silver, and her gray hair was pulled back straight to hang down her back. Quentin gazed upon her as he walked, thinking that something of the woman she must have been was revived in her this night. She appeared much younger than her years, her skin smoothed, the wrinkles eased with a radiance he had never seen in her countenance.

“Yes, it is Mollena and no other,” she replied to his wondering glance. Her eyes twinkled brightly as they approached an avenue of torches leading to the temple entrance.

Quentin, embarrassed and enjoying it at the same time, said, “You are beautiful tonight, Mollena.”

She laughed, “You say that now because you have not met our young women.”

Quentin realized with a wince that he would not be meeting any young women at all-he and Toli had made plans to leave in the morning. His gaze slid from Mollena’s laughing mouth to Toli’s deep-set, dark eyes. He, like Quentin, was dressed in a sky-blue mantle which covered a white tunic embroidered with silver at the neck. Toli looked like a Pelagian prince with his brown skin and gleaming black hair. For all the trouble they had faced in getting him to give up his rough skins, Toli appeared quite used to such finery.

Quentin, though, was too nervous to enjoy himself-except in fleeting moments when he forgot what was about to happen. For he was to be presented in a special temple service given in his honor. Quentin was to receive a special gift, as Yeseph had explained it; he was to receive the Blessing of the Ariga.