“How far from here are the lost mines?” asked Quentin after they had ridden for some time in silence. Durwin rode just ahead; he cast a backward look over his shoulder and laughed. “If anyone knew that, my friend, there would be no need of going. The lanthanil would be long gone by now.”

“You know what I mean, you old sorcerer!” shouted Quentin back.

“So it is! How impatient you are. I think that before ten suns have set we will look upon the entrance to the lost mines of the Ariga. That is, if the mountains are not greatly altered since those maps were made. Just the same, it will be no easy task to find them.”

“We have the riddle,” reminded Quentin.

“Yes, there is that. But you know as well as I that riddles are meant to conceal as much as they reveal. We will have a time of it, I think. The Most High will have to show us very plainly.”

Inchkeith had been listening and now turned toward them and said, “You know, Durwin, the first time we met you were gabbling about these lost mines of yours. You were full of questions about the lanthanil; you wanted to know if I had ever seen it or worked with it. Do you remember?”

“I remember it well. And I also remember your answer, though you may not. You looked at me with the greatest pity and said, ‘If I had ever touched the metal of the gods, do you think I would still wear the cloak of a hunchback?’

“Mine was a foolish question, I admit. But you must remember I had only discovered the existence of lanthanil and knew nothing of its full properties.”

Inchkeith smiled strangely. “Craftsmen like myself have our own tales of lanthanil, though how much truth is in them I cannot tell.”

“I have on rare occasions heard the Elders speak of the lanthanil,” said Quentin. “To the Ariga, it was prized more highly than gold or silver. The craftsmen who worked it were almost treated as priests. But I never heard it referred to as a healing agent.”

“Khoen Navish,” Toli reminded him. Quentin turned to see that Toli had dropped back and was now riding beside him, intent upon the conversation.

“Yes, the Healing Stones.”

Durwin looked quizzical and said, “Can you not guess the answer?” Quentin frowned and thought and at last shrugged. “Well, think but a moment,” replied the hermit. “The Ariga had no need of healing from any ailment. They lived in perfect health and never fell to disease, and none were ever reported to have been injured in any way. Healing is not mentioned as a property of the stone, although they probably knew about it if Toli’s story is true. Its healing properties were seldom mentioned because they had no need of it for themselves.

“As for the craftsmen being priests, they were-of a sort. The Ariga craftsmen were skilled in every art; they were poets, you might say. They worked in metal, wood and stone as our poets work with words. And to the Ariga it was reckoned as almost the same thing. I say almost because the Ariga rejoiced in a thing well-made, for even in the smallest utensils of everyday life they saw the face of the Most High. So craftsmen were priests in that they allowed the people to see something of their god in the objects around them. And they were greatly respected.”

No more was spoken for a long time. Quentin rode along and thought about Dekra and realized he missed his friends there; he wondered what they were doing and whether they missed him as well. He also wondered what Yeseph would say if he knew that his protйgй was now embarked upon a quest for the lost mines of the Ariga. What would Yeseph say if he knew Quentin was to play a role in the forging of the Zhaligkeer?

Eskevar slouched in his thronelike chair. His gaunt visage showed his displeasure quite openly. The lords of Mensandor, now gathered before him, clenched their fists at their sides and scowled determinedly.

“What of the others, my lords?” asked Eskevar, making no attempt to moderate the malice in his voice. “Do they propose to sit round the field and join in the slaughter with whichever side carries the day?”

“We know not what other lords propose to do, Sire,” said Lord Benniot in measured tones. “But we have come to offer you our swords and those of our knights. We will ride with the Dragon King.”

“To the death, if need be,” added Lord Rudd. “By Azrael, I win not see my King do battle alone while I have a blade beside me. My men are yours, Sire.”

“And mine!” said another. The others declared their loyalty also.

“Well done, my lords,” said Eskevar at last. Though he did well appreciate the decision of these, his loyal nobles, the King was inflamed against those-a sizable party lead by Ameronis and Lupollen-who had, after two days of heated contention, remained unmoved in their decision to withhold support for what they considered the King’s war.

“We will go at once to muster and arm our troops. We will march hence as soon as may be.” Lord Fincher placed his hand to the hilt of his short sword as he spoke. “It will be a pleasure to ride beside the Dragon King again.”

“It will be no pleasure, my lords. Make no mistake!” said Eskevar slowly and carefully. “I believe this will be the utmost test of our might and endurance. If we fail, the world will grow dark. Freedom will die.”

“Then let us fly, Your Majesty. We will return in three days,” said Lord Rudd. “And we will march out with you to meet Theido and Ronsard and Wertwin’s men in the field.”

“Yes, fly at once. And remember, my lords, spare nothing. If we fail there will be nothing left worth claiming in the end. I will speak again to the others to see if my words may yet prevail upon them to change their decision. We will need every strong arm before this war is over, I fear.

“Be on your way. I will await you here, ready to march at once.”

There was a rustle of fine brocaded clothing as the nobles bowed as one and went out, each to ride with his train to his lands and there to prepare for war.

When they had gone Eskevar called for Oswald and said, “Fetch me the armorer. I will speak with him at once.”

Oswald appeared doubtful and frowned deeply, his old features crinkling up into a web of lines and creases.

“Do not look at me so! Fetch the armorer at once, I say!”

Without reply the chamberlain bowed and went out. In a little while there was a knock on the King’s chamber door. Oswald came in, followed by a swarthy man with muscles that bulged and rippled as he moved.

“Tilbert, Sire.” Oswald presented the man and left without looking at the King.

“Tilbert,” the King said. The man nodded and remained at attention, his face stern and alert. “Ready my armor and my weapons. I will need both soon-within three days. Ready yourself and any tools you think best; you will be needing them.”

At that moment the chamber door swung open without a knock, and Queen Alinea came into the room. Tilbert bowed to the Queen.

“My Lord,” said the Queen with a curtsy. She was slightly out of breath. “Why is this man here?” She indicated Tilbert, who looked puzzled.

“I am speaking with him.”

“And about what I can guess. My husband, certainly you do not entertain any false notions of going into battle!”

The King moved to dismiss Tilbert with a quick wave of his hand. The armorer bowed from the waist and started out.

“Wait!” said the Queen. She turned once more to the King and fixed him with a smoldering stare. “Durwin is gone and so you think that you may now do as you please, is that it? You are still very weak, Eskevar. Think of your health.”

“You may go now, Tilbert,” said Eskevar. The man left the chamber quietly. Alinea crossed to the King’s chair and fell to her knees beside Eskevar, seizing his right hand in both of hers.

“I pray you, my King. Do not go! It will be the death of you!”

Eskevar scowled furiously at his wife; her actions offended him. “That rascal Oswald told you.”