It was a tearful farewell with which Alinea sent Eskevar to meet the assembled armies of his lords. As much as she wanted to show him a brave front, she could not. In all her life as Queen she had never sent him off with tears in her eyes; no matter how much she might have cried for fear and loneliness later when he had gone, she did not want his last memory of her to be one of sorrow.

This time she could not contain her feelings. The tears welled up from her heart and overflowed to splash down her white cheeks and glisten in the morning light.

Eskevar, so used to the bold face his wife had always before maintained, seemed bewildered by what he considered a sudden change.

“My Lady, be not forlorn. I shall return as soon as I may. It is nothing we have not faced before, my love.”

“I fear it is, my Lord.” She dabbed at the corners of her emerald eyes with a bit of lace. The King took the handkerchief from her and poked it down inside his breastplate.

“I will keep this near my heart so that I will not forget the tears you shed in my absence. It shall remind me to hurry hence and dry your eyes as soon as may be.” He lifted a gauntleted hand to smooth her auburn hair and looked deeply into her eyes. “This will be the last time, Alinea. I promise you I will never leave you again.”

She looked at him, standing in the small courtyard of the inner ward just before the postern gate, and through her tears it seemed as if the years had been rolled back once more and the young Dragon King was looking down on her with brightly blazing eyes, eager to be off to defend his realm.

“Go, my Lord. But do not say it is the last. For I know that you must ever be where harm threatens your kingdom. But go and with no regret for me. Only promise that you will hasten back when your labors have restored peace to the land.”

When she had finished speaking, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He held her stiffly, her soft flesh pressed against his steely armor. “Farewell, my Queen.”

She turned and hurried away through the small arched door in the wall. Eskevar watched her go and then turned to the warder who stood with averted eyes, holding the reins of his mount. The King ascended the three stone steps and swung himself into the saddle. The warder dashed to the iron-clad gate and pushed it open. Outside, the armorer and the King’s squires were waiting.

Without a word the King led them through the postern gatehouse, over the plank and down the long, winding walled ramp which formed the rear approach to Askelon. They crossed the dry moat and rode out across the plain to meet the Lords of Mensandor and their assembled armies where they stood amidst fluttering pennons and glinting steel, waiting for their King.

“Yonder comes the Dragon King!” shouted Lord Rudd as he scanned the plain, eyes squinting in the sun. “Sound the call!”

A trumpeter raised his battle horn to his lips and blew a long, clear note. At once a shout went up. “The Dragon King! He is coming! The Dragon King rides with us!” The knights gathered on the plain rattled their swords upon their shields in noisy salute and shouted with joy.

“It is good he comes,” said Lord Benniot, bending close to Rudd. “The rumors that he was dying had near taken the fighting heart out of my men.”

“And mine,” said Lord Fincher riding up. “But now they will see that he does not hide in his high tower, nor lie wasting abed. By the gods, it is good to see him astride a horse once more.”

The three nobles watched their King galloping toward them across the plain. Behind him his squires carried the billowing standard with the King’s unmistakable device: the terrible, twisting red dragon. On the crest of his helm he wore a crown of gold which shone in the sun like a band of light around his head.

Eskevar rode into the midst of his army to the cheers of all the knights and men-at-arms. Such was the clamor of his reception that it was some time before he could quiet them enough to make himself heard. But at last the army-more than two thousand in all-grew silent, waiting expectantly for what he would say.

“Loyal subjects, men of Mensandor!” More cheers. “Today we march to meet a great and deadly foe. Messages from those already engaged against the enemy indicate that he has reached the borders of Pelgrin Forest but ten leagues to the east.” Murmurs of shock and disbelief rippled through the throng. “In his wake the enemy has destroyed our towns and villages and has slain the innocent.” Cries of anger and revenge.

Eskevar looked out over the upturned faces of the host before him, many kneeling, their right hands clutching the hilts of their swords. He drew his own sword and raised it high.

“For Mensandor!” he called in a bold voice.

“For Mensandor!” came the clamorous reply.

“For honor! For glory!” the Dragon King cried.

“For King and kingdom!” the soldiers answered.

With his sword pointed to the east Eskevar spurred his horse through the assembled armies. A way parted before him, bristling with raised swords and spears, and walled with shields and colorful snapping pennons. Along this panoply the Dragon King passed to the wild hurrahs of the soldiers. Behind him the way closed as the knights and footmen took up their weapons and followed their King into battle.

FORTY

“THIS MAKES the task of getting here worth every step,” said Quentin happily. He sat on a grassy knob dabbling his bare feet in the cold, clean water of Shennydd Vellyn. “This is a most fitting reward.” He felt the weariness of the harsh trail and the fatigue of the seemingly endless days in the saddle, and then lastly on foot leading the horses, drift away in the soothing waters. He felt revived.

“So it is! But we have not yet found the mines, though I believe we are at last at a place to begin looking.” The hermit was bent once more over his maps and scribbles, searching for a clue to a sign which might spark the discovery.

Toli strode up, buoyant and brimming with good cheer, fairly intoxicated with the beauty around him. “I have set the horses free to graze. Look at them run!”

Indeed, the horses were gamboling like colts in the balmy air of the great bowl of a valley. They galloped and bucked and pranced over soft, thick turf as green as the first delicate blades of spring.

“We shall have a time of it trying to catch them again,” mumbled Inchkeith. Quentin and Toli looked at each other. He had been mumbling darkly ever since they discovered the enchanted valley. While their spirits had risen on wings of joy, his seemed to have fallen lower by equal degrees. He was now quite sour.

“Do not worry on it, master Inchkeith. They will come running to Toli’s whistle without fail. He has a power over them, you will see.” Inchkeith said nothing, turning his face away.

“Now, then,” said Durwin, “listen to me. Here is the riddle once more. Think, now!

“Over tooth and under claw

mend your way with care.

When mountains sleep, sharp vigil keep,

you shall see the way most dear.

When you hear laughter among the clouds

and see a curtain made of glass

Take no care for hand nor hair,

or you shall surely never pass.

Part the curtain, divide the thunder

and seek the narrow way;

Give day for night and withhold the light

And you have won the day.”

Durwin looked at all of them, blinking back at them dumbly. “Well,” he sighed with exasperation. “As I thought. It is not so simple now, is it? Now that the time has come to solve the mystery-”

“Past time, if you ask me!” said Inchkeith sharply. “It is folly to roam these wasted rocks chasing a dream. Look at us! We are up here babbling like children over riddles and nonsense. Down there”-his hand flung wide in a gesture of anger and frustration- “down there men are dying. The blood of good men runs hot upon the ground while we putter among the clouds.”