Durwin bowed, and the beautiful Alinea hurried away with a rustle of her silken skirts. He turned and saw that all eyes had been upon the Queen in the moments following Eskevar’s strange address. Durwin smiled as broadly as he knew how, held up his hands and shouted, with as much cheer as he could command, “Friends, let us enjoy our celebration! There may be trouble enough to come-so be it! But it is a good day, and we may have need of such joy ere long. So let us fill our hearts with happiness and let care belong to the morrow!”

His hand flourished in the air and, as if waiting for his cue, the music swelled and filled the garden as the minstrels began to play once more. The children, sensing the momentary ban on their fun had been lifted, burst forth with pent-up high spirits, and their laughter sounded from every corner. In a short while the garden was transformed into a scene of mirth and merriment. The ominous cloud, so sudden and unexpected in its appearance, had just as suddenly passed.

Night came on like a dream. Quentin had some vague recollection of a day that seemed to stretch out forever without end. He and Toli had been thrown into the back of one of the wagons to wonder at their fate. There was not a heartbeat throughout the interminable day that he did not relive the horror of their sunrise ordeal.

He had been pulled across the execution ring at the signal of the warlord. Halfway to the bloody spot he had seen the death-man turn away. He looked around as the warlord was riding through the scattering throng of his soldiers; the ring was melting away. Suddenly he understood that the warlord’s order had been one of dismissal. The executions were over. For some reason, which he would not know until later, he and Toli had been spared. Relief, however, was slow in coming as he watched the giant axe-man walk away rubbing the cruel head of his broadaxe with shreds of the dead man’s clothes.

Shortly after the wagon had begun to rumble and jostle away Quentin had slumped into a deep sleep, broken only by Toli’s persistent nudging and admonitions to eat. They had, by some chance, been bundled into a wagon bearing provisions taken from Diem. Toli, after managing to loosen his bonds somewhat, had gathered a few foods for them. He was adamant that Quentin eat and regain some small part of his strength for whatever lay ahead.

After a meal of dry grain, strong goat cheese, and hard bread, Quentin had fallen asleep again. It was nearly sunset on Midsummer's Day before he stirred.

“You have decided to remain a little longer in this world?” Toli asked as his eyes opened. They were now sitting amidst a careless jumble of food stores in the half-light of the covered wagon.

“We have stopped!” Quentin struggled to sit up, but hot knives rubbed into his shoulder and arm. He ached all over. “Ow!”

“Rest while you may, Kenta. Yes, we stopped some time ago. I think they are making camp for the night. Soon they will come for provisions.”

“What will happen to us then, I wonder?” He shook his head as he looked across at his ever-resourceful servant. “I thought you were dead. You should have escaped while you could.”

Toli smiled brightly back at him. “You know that was impossible. There could be no escape without my Kenta. It is fiyansh-unthinkable.”

“Well, we may both pay with our lives tomorrow, but I am glad you are here with me, Toli. At least Esme escaped.”

“Yes,” Toli said flatly, and Quentin felt as if he had touched an open wound.

“I thought-ahh!” Quentin’s face contorted into a grimace.

“Is there much pain?”

“It comes and goes. I feel as if my bones had been taken out, tumbled together and replaced one at a time whichever came to hand.”

“I feared you dead when I saw you lashed to the wagon wheel.” He smiled again, and Quentin wondered how he could be cheerful at such a time. “But you were displaying more wisdom and restraint than you usually do. I should have had us free and away from here if not for that wretch of a guard.”

“His life was forfeit for his error.” Quentin paused, thinking again of the hideous spectacle he had witnessed, and only narrowly avoided taking part in. “Perhaps it was only meant to be a warning to us; perhaps he did not intend to put us to death-just yet anyway.”

“What is important now is that we have time to try again to escape. Tonight will be an excellent opportunity.”

“Tonight?”

Toli nodded. “Midsummer-they will occupy themselves with their revelry. The watch will be relaxed and inattentive. We may have a chance.”

Quentin’s head ached remembering their previous attempt at escape. He seemed to remember something else about Midsummer, something which stirred a brief flutter of pleasure, but it faded even as he struggled to grasp it. “Midsummer. Do you think these…”-he did not know what to call them-”these barbarians mark such occasions?”

“There is a fair chance, I would say. Even the Jher observe the Day of the Long Sun. It is so with most peoples; these would be no different.”

“Who are they? Why have they come to Mensandor?”

Before they could ponder the question further, two soldiers appeared at the back of the wagon and pulled out the gateboard. The prisoners were yanked out of their nest and each one dragged to a wheel and there lashed securely in place, arms outstretched, legs straight out in front of them and bound to the knee. They could not move, except to turn their heads and look at one another helplessly.

The two guards then took up a position close by to enable a tight watch to be kept on their charges. The guards sat a little way off upon a log and stared at them with cool malevolence. It was plain that neither of the guards relished the duty; possibly it was too risky, considering what had happened to one of their own that very morning.

With both soldiers watching them so closely, Quentin decided that no movements to free themselves could take place; so he ignored the guards and tried to make sense out of the frantic activity taking place around them.

The army had chosen a flat lea overlooked by a long, low bluff of poplars and beeches on which to camp. Soldiers were busily dragging fallen trees down from the bluff and pitching them into a great heap in the center of the meadow. Small fires for cooking had already been lit, and the silvery smoke hung in the unmoving evening air. Other soldiers led horses away to a stream somewhere out of sight. Twice Quentin caught a glimpse of the warlord as he rode through the camp directing the work of his men. He did not so much as glance toward his prisoners.

Soon the bustle throughout the camp decreased as the smell of cooking food wafted from the fires. Soldiers grouped around the fires in tight knots which slowly broke apart into smaller groups. The men sat on the ground with trenchers of wood and dipped their hands into their meal Quentin and Toli could hear their smacking lips and noisy slurping as they licked their platters.

Quentin decided to try to count the number of soldiers in the party. There were twenty cooking fires scattered across the lea, and by his best estimation each served a hundred or more men. There were more moving about the perimeter, employed in tending horses, gathering firewood and various other chores. In this body there were at least two thousand soldiers, possibly many more.

He also noted that the warlord maintained a special bodyguard of fifty or so men who occupied themselves near his circular, dome-shaped tent. They ate apart from the others and did none of the menial duties of the rest of the soldiers.

As Quentin watched, a man emerged from the tunnel-like opening of the tent and came toward them. Even from a distance Quentin could see that there was something different about the man; he was vaguely unlike the other soldiers thronging the wide meadow. There was something in his bearing, something in his appearance which set him apart.