The next day had been a blur of maps and scrolls-so dusty and brittle with age one scarcely dared breathe on them-and dizzying conversation. Toli, sensing that the time for riding was drawing swiftly nearer, had begun selecting animals and provisions for the journey. Several times he saw Durwin and Toli head to head in a corner as Toli checked some detail of his plan with Durwin.

Quentin wondered why he was not consulted about the preparations, but at the same time he was glad not have to think about them. His mind had more than enough with which to occupy itself; his head fairly throbbed with the things he was taking in. Also, he missed Bria. He had not seen her but for fleeting moments over hurried meals.

He could tell that she knew he was going away soon. Her silent gazes, her bittersweet smiles and furtive gestures told him she knew. But she did not mention it to him; she did not cling. It was a mark of her high character that she, as much as was humanly possible, put her own feelings aside and tried to make his last days easier. And Quentin loved her for it.

When he had finally mustered enough courage to face breaking the awful announcement of their departure, Bria had placed her fingers to his lips saying, “Do not say it. I know you must leave me now. I knew the moment I saw you emerge from the council chamber. You have much to do, great deeds to perform, and I will not bind your heart with promises.

“Go, my love. And when you return you will find me waiting at the gate. The women of my kindred are accustomed to waiting. Do not worry after me, my darling. I will pass the time the better knowing your mind is settled.”

Despite his broken arm, Quentin had hugged her to him for a long time, wondering whether he would ever see her again.

In the haste which overtook them there was little time for brooding or sadness-that would come later. There was simply too much to be done. In two days they accomplished what would normally have taken a week.

Long hours had been spent in consultation with the King. Their plan had won his approval outright, although not without certain misgivings. With the hills and countryside becoming harborage for the Ningaal-no one knew precisely where they were-Eskevar was loath to allow the party to leave without an armed escort.

They had at last convinced him that such would only make their errand more difficult. It would be better to pass unheralded through the world and unencumbered by the chores of moving many men and horses overland in secret.

Quentin, Toli and Durwin would go. Biorkis, too old to withstand the rigors of such a journey, would stay behind in Askelon to give aid and counsel where he could. If battle drew near, he would be needed to attend as physician to any wounded. Also in Durwin’s mind, though he did not voice it aloud to anyone, was his apprehension that Eskevar, not wholly recovered from his mysterious malady, would require competent care in his absence. Were it not for that, Durwin would have taken his leave of the castle with a lighter heart.

The dark cool pathways of Pelgrin, overhung with leafy boughs which blotted out all but the most determined of the sun’s rays, soothed Quentin’s mind as he rode along. His sorrow gradually left him, and he became filled with the excitement of the quest. Though it was still hard for him to accept the fact that he seemed to have a central part in it-he felt the same old Quentin, after all-he allowed himself to linger long in a kind of rapture over the tale of the mighty Zhaligkeer, the Sword of Holy Fire.

THIRTY-ONE

“WHERE WILL we find a master armorer to help in forging the sword? I do not recall your having mentioned that. Surely, you do not contemplate that we shall undertake that task without guidance?” Quentin rested with his back against a mossy log in a green clearing deep in Pelgrin’s wooded heart. Toli was busily poking among the bundles of the pack ponies to assemble a bite for them to eat. They had been riding since sunrise, and this was the first time they had stopped.

“I have an idea where we may find someone suited to the task,” said Durwin. His hands were clasped behind his head, and his eyes were gazing skyward faraway. “Does the name Inchkeith mean anything to you?”

“Inchkeith! Why he is said to be the most skilled armorer who ever lived. He fashioned the armor for the first Dragon King, and he it was who designed Eskevar’s battle dress which he wore in the wars against Goliah. Everyone knows that name! But is he still alive?”

“Oh, very much alive, though you make him older than he really is. It was his father, Inchkeith the Red, who made the armor for the first Dragon King, and for several kings before that. He is many long years in his grave.

“But his son has continued the work begun by his fathers, and has increased the renown of the name. It is no wonder legends abound wherever men strap on greaves and gorget. The armor of Inchkeith is known as the finest made by human hands.”

Durwin smiled and winked at Quentin’s look of unalloyed amazement. “Well, what say you? Will he do to make us a sword?”

“A slingshot fashioned by master Inchkeith would do as well. Of course he will do!”

They ate their meal and talked of the trail. Toli said little, and Quentin guessed his servant was concentrating upon reviving his dormant trailcraft-it had been a long time since the wily Jher had had an opportunity to practice the storied skills of his people. The little journeys back and forth from Askelon hardly counted, for there was a good road. But where they were going they would have need of his animal-like cunning, for there were no roads, no pathways, nor even trails. Man had not set foot in those high places in a thousand years.

Quentin was thinking on these things, realizing that, just as he did not know how they would fashion the sword, he did not now know exactly where they were going.

“These mines, Durwin-where are they? How will we find them?”

“I have brought along maps, such as they are, taken from the old scrolls. This is as good a time as any to show you. Here.” The hermit moved to one of the ponies and withdrew a long roll of leather.

“This is the way we shall go,” he said, unrolling the map. “It is very old, this map. And the land is much changed; rivers have slipped from their courses and hills have worn away, forests have vanished and cities have come and gone. But it shall serve to guide us nonetheless.”

Quentin fingered the skin on which the map was painted. “This does not appear as old as you say, Durwin. It looks as if it were made only yesterday.”

“It was!” laughed Durwin. “We did not dare bring the original, or originals, I should say, for this map is made from scraps Biorkis and I have found over the years. The very age of the scraps made bringing them out of the question. They would have blown away on the first breath of a breeze.

“No, this map was made by the combined resources of Biorkis and myself, and it is a better map for it. He had information which I did not. It is a lucky thing he came when he did. If he does nothing else, he has already helped greatly.”

“Durwin,” Quentin clucked, “do you not know that where the servants of the Most High are concerned there is no such thing as luck and coincidence?”

The hermit laughed and raised his hands before him. “So it is! Give me quarter! I submit. The pupil has instructed the master.”

“Just to show you that I am not always so dull,” he said, looking again to the map, which seemed little more than a bare sketch. “Be it as you say, there is still precious little here to follow. I do not even see any mines indicated on it.”

“Very rough. But it is all we have-besides the riddle.”

“Riddle?” Toli spoke up. He stood over them looking down at the map.