“Was that it?” Quentin remembered being struck many times as he fell to the ground. “We did not hear you either, coming up behind us on the trail.”

“It bodes ill to let anyone know you are astir on this island. It is a strange place, and far from safe.”

Quentin nodded. “What about the others?” He had been aching to ask that question all night, but had not dared to. The thought shocked him back to the present and the task at hand.

“We will discuss that tomorrow in the clear light of day.” With that Ronsard yawned and lay himself down to rest.

“Good night.” Quentin paused and added softly, “I am very glad to have found you again.”

“No more than I. Sleep well.”

It was obvious as soon as Quentin opened his eyes that Toli had been up with the dawn, and probably before. Arranged around the campfire were leaf baskets full of berries, and several kinds of edible roots which had been washed and neatly stacked. Over the fire two scrawny rabbits, skinned and spitted, roasted merrily away, nearly done. And, wonder of wonders, oozing out its golden nectar upon a fresh mat of leaves: a honeycomb.

“It seems your friend has made us a breakfast,” observed Ronsard.

Quentin rubbed his eyes sleepily and sat up. “So I see. Where is he?”

Just then Toli, balancing three oblong green objects in one hand, and three apples in another, stepped into the camp.

“Here is water,” he said, handing round cupfuls of clear, sparkling water in vessels he had made of large leaves, folded. He then swiftly attended to the rabbits.

They ate as if they had never seen food before, cramming their mouths full and savoring every bite. The honey, saved for last, drew the utmost commendation for Toli’s woodcraft. “Never have I feasted in the wild this well,” said Ronsard. “My strength returns on eagle’s wings. And well may I need it. Today we must go up to Nimrood’s nest.”

Quentin had forgotten all about Nimrood, or had shut the black wizard out of his mind. The mention of the black lord’s name sent an icy chill through his heart.

“Is the castle far from here?”

“It is of a distance, yes-though not more than a league or two as the crow flies. It is on the top of a mountain, and there will be much climbing to reach it. The way is well marked, however. I have seen that much.”

“Then let us be off,” said Quentin. Toli was already on his feet, having dowsed the fire and scattered the ashes, removing any sign that they had been there.

They struck out again along the path Quentin and Toli had followed the night before. In a short while it descended again and joined a wider way. This road bore the signs of recent use: footprints of soldiers going both ways, wheel marks of wagons, hoof-prints.

“I will send Toli ahead,” Quentin offered, “to watch for anyone coming this way. The trees are so close here that we would run smack into them before he could see them coming.”

“A good idea. I will keep a watch behind, though I do not think we will have to worry much for being chased.”

In this way they covered the distance quickly, reaching the mountain summit as the sun climbed toward midday. Then, as they rounded a last upward curve, Kazakh, the sorcerer’s castle, swung into view.

“There it is.” Ronsard shaded his eyes with his hand and took in the sight. “And a more miserable pile I never want to see.”

Quentin gazed upon it with the same dread fascination he would have felt in watching a deadly snake wreathe itself on a nearby rock. “It is awful,” he said at length.

Toli ducked back around the corner of a bluff covered with a heavy tangle of vines. “The evil one’s warriors come from the castle,” he told Quentin. Quentin translated for Ronsard.

“Let us get off the road and see what they are up to.” Ronsard leaped into the undergrowth beside the road, and Quentin found a well-covered place beside him which afforded a perfect view of the road.

There was a rustle beside him and then a rip, as of a branch being torn away. Quentin turned just in time to see Toli hopping back onto the road with a woody fern branch in his hand. He was wiping out the tracks where they had stood talking together in the trail. “Your friend leaves nothing to chance,” whispered Ronsard. “He is both cunning and quick. I like him.”

“The soldiers must be very close by now.” Quentin fought down the impulse to yell at Toli, to warn him, but resisted for fear that the soldiers would hear. He bit his lip as he heard the tramp of many feet in the dust and the jingle of a horse’s tack.

Then Toli was beside him again, and a second later the first soldier appeared on the road. He was riding a black spotted horse, and as he turned in the saddle to call a command back over his shoulder to his men, Quentin saw a raking scar which seemed to divide his face in two.

“Him I have seen before,” whispered Ronsard. “On the beach.”

Following the horseman came a horse-drawn wagon with high sides, and behind that a small force of perhaps forty men. The whole procession shuffled along carelessly. Two soldiers rode in the back of the wagon with their feet hanging out the back.

“Undisciplined,” breathed Ronsard. “Cocky.”

“They are looking for us.” Quentin watched the company pass and remembered his fear of the day before.

“How do you know?”

“We were discovered on the beach last night and escaped into the woods.”

The soldiers moved off down the road at a leisurely pace. When they had gone Ronsard waited a few minutes, and when no one else appeared, took the road again.

They came quickly to the long, winding road across the ridge. Ronsard, standing in the last of the protection offered by the trees said, “I don’t like this at all. We will be seen the moment we set foot on the road.”

Ronsard studied the terrain carefully, measuring and appraising the distance to the foul lord’s den. “There is no other approach to the castle that I can detect.” He turned to Quentin and Toli. “We have two choices-wait until darkness can hide us, or go now boldly in daylight and take the chance.”

“If we wait the soldiers may come back. I would not like to be discovered in there creeping about by night.” Quentin shivered at the thought.

“Well said. And I would not wish to wait a moment longer to be free of that place if I were captive there.” Ronsard himself spoke up. “That settles it then. We go at once.”

Quentin’s hand sought the golden dagger at his belt. He clutched it as he hurried off to catch Ronsard, who was already striding toward the ridge.

“Well, so far, so good. Not a guard or watchman in sight,” observed the knight.

They were crouched in the shadow of one of the mighty drawbridge’s stone pylons at the end of the road where the bridge spanned the gulf between the castle and the ridge. There were two pylons, one at either side of the road, like the posts of a huge gate. Stone griffins smirked atop each pylon.

Sliding his head cautiously around the corner of the post, Quentin could see the black tunnel of the gatehouse across the bridge. It was, as near as he could tell, quite empty.

“No guards inside, either,” he reported.

“Then let us begin!” said Ronsard. “We may not have a better chance.”

Quentin wanted to protest. They should, after all, have a plan of some sort, he thought. That was the way to do it, not rushing in like this, unprepared. Who knew what they might encounter. Nimrood himself might be waiting for them as soon as they crossed the bridge.

But Ronsard was already away and dashing across the drawbridge. Toli, like a shadow, flew right behind. Quentin, in order to keep from being left behind, scrambled across, too.

They inched their way through the gatehouse tunnel and peered into the courtyard beyond when they had reached the end. “No one about,” said Ronsard. “Strange.” He wrinkled his nose. “What is that smell?”