The warlord listened intently, interrupting the discourse to ask a question at one point. Quentin then thought he saw a spark of interest light the savage countenance. He spoke a quick command, and two soldiers rushed forward and untied his legs. Then Quentin was hauled to his feet and marched away. The warlord watched him go, then spurred his horse and rode off down the ravine.

Quentin was pulled up the steep bank of the dry stream bed. In the smoke blowing across the field he saw soldiers, all wearing the same coarse dark clothing, and carrying brutal-looking double-bladed battle-axes, clustered around several great wagons. At one the soldiers gave up their weapons, which were collected and placed in the wagon. At another they were given large baskets. They then hurried back into the smoldering remains of Illem.

Quentin was taken to one of the nearer wagons and placed up against one of the huge wheels-so large that it was fully as tall as he was. He was untied and then lashed to the wheel by his wrists and ankles. He had no choice but to watch the strange activity taking place in the ruins.

A line of soldiers emerged from the curtain of smoke carrying sacks of grain and casks of wine. These and other foodstuffs, the provisions of the entire town, were heaped up into a great pile and then loaded into hand-drawn barrows which carted the provisions away.

Then soldiers with baskets began filing past two by two, moving off into the hills. Quentin could not see where they were going, but knew the general direction to be north. The men carried the baskets on their shoulders, some bent low by the weight of what they carried. Quentin wondered what the baskets contained.

But as he watched the activity around him, his mind returned again and again to the one thing he feared most. More than his own safety, he wondered what had become of Toli. His friend, companion and servant was gone. There were two possible explanations, he knew. Either Toli had been killed in the attack, in which case his body lay unattended back down in the ravine; or the crafty Jher had managed to somehow escape in the confusion of the battle. Quentin prayed Toli had escaped.

He heard a signal-a long blast on a horn-and a rank of men on horses moved past the wagons. Each carried an axe and a shield as well as the peculiar curved sword. The horses, too, were armored. Large discs of hardened leather attached with rings of iron and woven into strips were slung over the animals’ withers and rump, trailing almost to the ground. Upon their hooves were bands of sharpened spikes; and two long, cruel spikes sprouted from each horse’s headplate as well.

Whoever they were, thought Quentin, they had come prepared for war.

When the riders had passed he heard another blast on the horn and, to his horror, the wagons began roiling. Quentin, thinking they had forgotten about him, cried out as the wheel on which he was tied rolled forward. His cries brought nothing but laughter from soldiers passing nearby. He knew then that they had not forgotten him. He was intended to travel with them in this torturous manner, battered slowly to death on the turning wheel.

FOURTEEN

YESEPH SAT on a bench in his courtyard, head nodding on his breast. All around him the gentle sounds of evening crept into the air. The sun had slipped behind the hills of Dekra and though the sky was still a brilliant blue, streaked with orange clouds, long evening shadows cast the clean-swept courtyard of the esteemed Elder into deep gloaming.

Beside him a young laurel tree rattled its fragrant leaves in the fitful breeze. The feathery notes of a lilting melody drifted over the wall and fell into the courtyard like delicate petals of a flower. His cup sat untasted near his hand. He sighed heavily.

There was a slight pit-a-pat and the rustle of clothing and Karyll, his wife, was beside him. Yeseph could feel the warmth of her presence as she stood looking down on him.

“My husband is tired from his day’s work,” she said. “Dear one, awaken; our evening meal is ready.” Her voice was as light and soothing as the breeze that played in the tree.

Yeseph raised his head, and she saw his eyes gradually take in his surroundings as awareness returned. She saw the deeply-etched lines of concern furrow his brow and crinkle around his eyes. He smiled when he saw her, and she noticed that it was a sad smile with no light in it.

“Husband, what is wrong?” She waited for him to tell her.

“I have had a dream,” Yeseph explained simply.

“And your dream has troubled you, for it was a dream of darkness instead of light.”

“How much you women see. Yes, it was a dream of darkness-a vision. I saw…” he began, and then stopped. “No, I must not tell what I have seen just yet. I must ponder it in my heart for a time.”

“Then you may eat while you ponder. Come, your supper will be getting cold.”

She turned and padded back into their dwelling. Yeseph watched her go, thinking how lucky he had been to find one so wise and understanding to share his old age. He breathed a prayer of thanksgiving to Whist Orren for his good fortune. Then he raised himself slowly and followed her in.

As they lingered over their meal, Karyll watched her mate closely. He did not eat with his usual fresh appetite, but dawdled over his plate. In the lambent glow of the candles on the tow table Yeseph sank further into pensive reflection. Twice he brought a morsel of food to his mouth only to return it to the plate absently.

“Yeseph,” Karyll murmured gently, “you have not eaten well tonight. Your dream has upset you. If you will not tell me, perhaps you will tell the Elders instead.”

“Yes, that is what I must do.” He got up from his stool at once and went to the door where he paused and turned toward her, his form a dark silhouette against the evening sky. He seemed suddenly to come to himself once more. “I am going to call together the other Elders. We will meet tonight. Do not wait for me, my love. It may be very late.”

“I do not mind. I have some work with which to occupy myself while you are gone. Now, away with you. The quicker you go, the quicker I will have my Yeseph back.”

In an inner chamber of the great Ariga temple Yeseph waited for the Elders to join him. It would not be long, for he had sent runners, three of the young men who served in the temple, to fetch the other Curatak leaders. He had merely to wait for their arrival and the meeting could begin. Yeseph busied himself with lighting the many candles which stood on their long holders around the bare room.

In the center of the room four straight, high-backed chairs sat in a circle facing each other. When the candles had been lit Yeseph took his place, folding his hands in his lap in quiet meditation. In a few moments the curtains which overhung the chamber’s entrance parted and the familiar form of Jollen entered, smoothing his council robes.

“Good evening, Elder Yeseph. Your summons saved me from quite a distasteful chore-I had promised to begin translating a song for some of the children.”

“That distasteful? Surely, you do not mean it. If you do, perhaps it were better you went back and got right to work.”

“Oh, do not misunderstand. I love the children and would give them anything. But the song they have chosen is of the old Ariga dialect. A very dreary piece about an unhappy youngster who is changed into a willow because of his complaining. I tried to persuade them to choose something happier, but their hearts were set on this one and none other.”

“You will be the better for it in the end, I am sure,” laughed Yeseph. “An excursion into the old dialect will sharpen your wits.”

Jollen made a wry face. “If I did not know better, I would suspect you of having put them up to it. It would be just like you.”