Quentin threw himself out of his chair and grabbed Ronsard by the arm with his good hand. “I will always think about you! Both of you have been more than comrades to me. I wish I could go with you and share your portion. It would make my heart glad to stand on the field with you once again.”

“And so you shall. There will be enough of battle for all of us, I’ll wager.” Theido came to stand beside a tearful Quentin.

“I shall miss you very much. Both of you.” Quentin threw his arm around Ronsard and clapped him on the back. Then he hugged Theido, burying his face in the knight’s shoulder. His tears now streamed down his face, but they were manly tears and he was not ashamed.

“The blow that keeps me here was more hurtful than first I imagined. Go, then, and the Most High grant you his protection.”

“And you,” the two knights said in unison.

They moved reluctantly toward the door. Toli, coming up behind Quentin, shook both their hands and wished them, in his native tongue, singing blades and shields that never fall. And turning to Durwin he said, “Good hermit, will you say a prayer to the Most High for our brothers?”

“Of course-I was about to suggest it myself.” The hermit of Pelgrin came forward and raised his hands before the two knights. Ronsard sank to one knee, and Theido knelt down beside him.

“God Most High, who ever guides our steps and hears our prayers,” he said softly, “hear us now. Be to these our stout companions the sharp edge of their blade, the strength of their arm and the protection of their shield. Show them mighty among the enemy; show them dauntless and unafraid Go before them into battle as a lance to drive the evil from our shores. Be to them a comfort and a guide; refresh them when they are weary, and bear them up when they can stand no more.

“Banish fear from their hearts, and give them wisdom to lead their men to victory. Be to them the glory which will shine through the darkness, and bring them home to us once more.”

The knights rose slowly. “This god of yours, Durwin, can he do so much?” asked Ronsard softly.

“He can do all things, my friend. Do not fear to call upon him in any need. He is ever quick to aid his servants.”

“Then from now on I will serve him-this God Most High.” He grinned at Quentin. “See, you are not the only one who listens to this prattling hermit. I have a care for my spirit, too.”

“Then have a care to keep it intact until we meet again, brave knight.” Quentin advanced and offered his hand to them. “Farewell, my friends.”

“Farewell, Quentin. Farewell”

THIRTY

As TEARFUL as the parting with Theido and Ronsard had been, it was a poor showing compared to the sorrow of Quentin and Toli’s leavetaking from Askelon. They had spent two days following the departure of the knights in gathering supplies and making ready. Then early, before the sun had risen above the long dark line of Pelgrin, Toli led the horses and pack animals out across the inner ward, through the inner curtain and into the outer ward where Durwin and Quentin waited.

There they had been met by Alinea, Bria and Esme. The women pressed gifts of food into their hands and exchanged kisses all around.

“Eskevar wished me to bid you farewell,” Alinea said. “He would have come to see you away, but a King does not say goodbye. So, for him and for myself, farewell. Travel swiftly and return safely. Our hearts go with you.”

Then Bria and Quentin had removed a little apart to speak the special feelings between them. Esme, with flowers in her hair, took one and gave it to Toli, who carried it over his heart beneath his baldric.

The three women had accompanied them across the drawbridge and stood there, tears splashing to the ground in a gentle rain, waving them good-bye until the narrow streets of Askelon had taken them from view.

The sadness of that parting settled heavy on Quentin’s spirit. It brooded over his waking hours for the better part of three days following. He spoke but little and moved about as one asleep. He did not notice that Toli, and to some extent Durwin, behaved in exactly the same way.

In his lonely meditation Quentin turned again and again to the events of the hurried last days in Askelon, and especially the meeting in Durwin’s chambers that had lasted far into the night. It now seemed shadowy and indistinct, as if he were watching smoke trails curling and rising in the night air. But it seemed real enough then, and it was that particular event which was now speeding them on their way.

As they moved through the darkened pathways of Pelgrin Forest, now heavy with verdure, summer sitting full on every bough, Quentin rehearsed once more the happenings of that night.

After Theido and Ronsard left Durwin’s apartment, almost before their footsteps had diminished in the corridor, Biorkis had swept in with an armful of scrolls and parchments and mapskins. Since the private council with Eskevar the day before, he had disappeared; Quentin had not seen him since he heard the old priest recite the ancient prophecy which still rang in his ears.

Biorkis, they were soon to discover, had busily buried himself in the castle’s atheneum and there, stopping neither to eat nor sleep, scratched together the odd assemblage of material he now carried with him.

“I have found what we need, Durwin. It was not easy-the King’s library is not at all as orderly as the temple’s, but that is to be expected. Some of these writings are barely discernible-even to a knowing eye-and quite incomplete. But my memory, and yours of course, Durwin, will serve where the parchments fail us.”

The old priest bustled and fretted so prodigiously in getting his texts arranged that Quentin laughed out loud. “Do not tell me we are about to endure one of your interminable lessons! Spare us!”

Biorkis cocked his head to one side. “Do not think that it would harm you, sir. You have probably forgotten all I ever taught you.”

“Biorkis and I put our heads together upon leaving the King’s council,” Durwin explained. “I think you will be interested to bear what we have learned.” Although Durwin did not say it, Quentin knew by the glint of the hermit’s eye and the mood of high excitement that suddenly bristled in the room that the subject of the meeting had something to do with the prophecy and his strange utterance of it the day previous.

“Yes, it is all here. Enough at any rate to allow us to act, I think, though I wish I had access to my books at the temple.” Biorkis sighed sadly.

“And I my own at the cottage,” agreed Durwin. “Still, I have read them enough to know them from memory, I dare say.”

“Are we to understand,” said Quentin indicating Toli and himself, “that you believe this… Prophecy of the Priest King, or whatever-this has something to do with us?”

“Not us, sir,” said Biorkis blithely. “You!” Quentin had almost succeeded in putting off the feeling of awesome responsibility that went along with the thought that he might be chosen for some great task. He had almost settled into feeling his normal self again-almost, but not entirely. For the inexpressible notion that he was caught up in the swiftly running stream of history, that he was moved by an unseen hand toward an unknown destiny, and that all this had something to do with his vision of the flaming sword-this notion haunted him, lurking behind his thoughts like a shadow, or the lingering presence of a dream.

“There are many signs by which these things can be judged, as you well know,” the priest burbled on. “Let us just say that I have spent a day and a night in sifting through all that is known about the prophecy and the events surrounding it, and that I have no good reason to doubt that the signs point to you.”

“There are also very good reasons to believe that now is the time in which this prophecy will be fulfilled,” added Durwin.