“Will he identify himself?” asked the King.

“He is Biorkis, as he says,” offered the sentry.

“The High Priest? Here?” Quentin looked at Toli, who only nodded mysteriously.

“Allow the High Priest to enter. We will admit him.”

The door was thrown wide and an instant later Biorkis, dressed in his coarse brown robes, swept in to stand before them, a rueful smile upon his wrinkled, white face.

“I see Ariel has not deserted his servant. All is as I would have wished.” Durwin leapt up from the table, his stool crashing to the floor. “Biorkis! Have you given up your vows at last?” The hermit dashed to his old friend’s side and clasped him by the arms.

The priest shook his head sadly; his white braided beard wagged from side to side. “It seems as if I have been released from my vows whether I would or no.” Durwin’s eyebrows arched upward. “I mean,” said the priest, “that I have been expelled from the temple.”

“But why? Certainly it cannot be for any but a most serious offense-and what that would be from you I cannot imagine.”

The former High Priest turned to the others as Durwin drew him to the table, giving Quentin a special greeting. “It was for the most serious offense, my lords. I have been guilty of standing in the way of gross ambition. The charges were but trifling ones; I persisted in seeing danger where none could be seen, in reading omens in the stars which threatened the security of the temple.”

Durwin nodded knowingly. “We have been cast out this day for roughly the same reasons. But more of that later. I know that what you have come to tell us has not been watered down by your troubles. High Priest or no, your heart will remain steadfast once it has decided on a course.”

“Well you remember me, Durwin. You were ever one who could read a man’s inmost soul. Yes, I have come with a message, but seeing you all here leads me to believe that I have come too late for my message to be of any great service to you.”

“Say it, by all means,” said Eskevar, “and let us judge its worth. That it has cost you your place in the temple is no small thing, but we will speak of that later. What would you say to us?”

Biorkis bowed to them all; Durwin righted his stool, offered it to the priest and went himself in search of another. When he had been seated, Biorkis spread his hands on the table and began.

“My lords, in my position of High Priest I worked tirelessly in the sifting of elements to discover the destinies of men and nations. It is my belief that religion should serve man in this way.

“When an omen presents itself, it is studied most carefully to determine its import and consequence. I say that to say this: an omen has arisen the like of which has never been seen in our time. It is a star, known to all by its common name-the Wolf Star. Unchanged since time began, it has recently begun to wax with unaccustomed brilliance. It has grown so quickly as not to be believed by any who have not followed its course as closely as have I.”

“This is the star you spoke of, is it not?” Eskevar turned toward Myrmior, who merely dipped his head in assent.

“I see you know of it. Then I need not tell you how curious a thing it is. I have searched through the records of the temple. Back and back-as far back as records have been kept-thousands of years and more.” Biorkis smiled and inclined his white head toward Quentin.

“This I did after your visit to me that night. Your curiosity about the star proved to me that there was something beyond its novelty that study might reveal.”

Quentin answered, “As I remember, you were very gloomy in your predictions even then. It was evil, you said, and more.”

“Ah, that I was. Now I know I was right to believe as I did. The sacred records of the temple reveal that such a sign is not unknown. Twice before, long ages ago, such stars have been seen to grow in the sky. And though the old writing is hard to discern and the meanings of the words is now unclear, it may be said with certainty that such omens betokened the very worst catastrophes for mankind.”

“The end of the age!” said Durwin.

“The end of the age,” agreed Biorkis, “In chaos and death. Destruction such as no man nor beast can survive. Nations are swept away, kingdoms vanish in a single hour, never to return. The face of the earth is changed forever. Lands rise up out of the sea, and continents submerge. All that was shall be changed in the mighty roar of the heavens rending apart. The stars fall from their courses, and the seas rise-up. The rivers burn, and the earth crumbles away.

“Thus is the end of the age, and it is at hand.”

The midnight conversation which he and Toli had had in Durwin’s chamber when they had first come to Askelon leapt vividly to Quentin’s mind, inspired by Biorkis’ pronouncement. Conversation continued around the table; the voices of Ronsard, Theido, Eskevar and Durwin sounded in his ears, but Quentin did not attend to them. They receded further and further from him, and he heard them no more.

It seemed to him that he now entered a waking dream.

A dark limitless horizon stretched before him, the darkness brooding and seething as a beast hungering and lying in wait for its prey. Quentin saw a small bright figure laboring up a rocky slope to stand at last on the top of a hill.

It was a knight in armor, and as he looked more closely he saw that the armor shone with a cold fire as if made from a single diamond; he carried a shield which shone with a cool radiance, scattering light like a prism. The knight faced the brooding darkness and placed his hand to the hilt of his sword. He drew forth his sword, and it flashed with a burning white fire.

The knight raised his sword, and the darkness retreated before him. Then, with a mighty heave, the knight flung the sword into the air where it spun, throwing off tongues of fire which filled the sky. As he did so, the knight shouted in a resounding voice, which seemed to echo in Quentin’s ears,

“The sword shall burn with flames of fire.

Darkness shall die: conquered, it flees on falcon’s wings.”

The talking at the table ceased. All eyes turned toward Quentin who stood before them, shaking his head and blinking as one awaking from a dream. The surprise in their faces, their open mouths, let Quentin know that be had not heard those words only; he had spoken them aloud before everyone there. The voice echoing in his ears was his own.

“What was that he said?” someone whispered in the awestruck silence that had fallen upon the room.

“I-I am sorry, good sirs.” stammered Quentin. Toli peered at him through squinted eyes. There were stares all around.

“Where did you hear that?” demanded Durwin, jumping up.

“I do not know, sir, I heard it just now… in a dream. I seem to have had a dream while everyone was talking. I do not know why.”

“I do!” Biorkis fairly shouted. “It is from the Chronicles of the Northern Kings.”

“Yes, it is. The Prophecy of the Priest King.” Durwin towered over Quentin, staring down upon him, eyes sparking with a fierceness Quentin had never seen. He squirmed uncomfortably on his stool, feeling foolish and light-headed.

“Tell me that you have never read that anywhere, nor heard it spoken in your presence and I shall believe you.”

“I tell you the truth, Durwin, I never have. The words mean nothing to me, wherever you say they be from. I know them not.”

“It is possible that you may have heard them in Dekra,” mused Durwin. “But I think not. You would remember if you had.”

“What is this?” asked Eskevar, his voice brittle with amazement.

Theido and Ronsard merely gazed in surprise at what was happening before them; Myrmior rubbed his hand absently over his bearded chin, eyes narrowed to slits.

“My Lord, it is a wonder! A most powerful sign.” Biorkis closed his eyes. His head began to weave with the cadence, and the old priest’s voice swelled to fill the room as he began to recite the ancient prophecy.