The silence wore on to a breaking point, but it did not break. There was no sound, no movement. Not even a leaf was rustling. Conrad had disappeared among the rocks. The afternoon wore on.

Daniel flicked his ears, again rubbed his muzzle against Duncan's shoulder. This time he did not whicker.

Conrad reappeared, stretched out full length, slithering, snakelike, over the rocks. Once he was clear of the ridge, he came swiftly down the slope.

"Two things I saw," he said.

Duncan waited, saying nothing. Sometimes one had to wait for Conrad.

"There is a village down below us," Conrad finally said. "Black and burned. Except for the church. It is stone and could not burn. No one stirring. Nothing there."

He stopped and then said, "I do not like it. I think we should go around."

"You said you saw two things."

"Down the valley. There were men on horses going down the valley, far beyond the village."

"Men?"

"I think I saw the Reaver at the head of them. Far off, but I think I recognized him. There were thirty men or more."

"You think they're after us?" asked Duncan.

"Why else should they be here?"

"At least we know where they are," said Duncan, "and they don't know where we are. They're ahead of us. I'm surprised. I hadn't thought they'd follow. Revenge can get expensive in a place like this."

"Not revenge," said Conrad. "They want Daniel and Tiny."

"You think that's why they're here?"

"A war-horse and a war-dog would be very good to have."

"I suppose so. They might have trouble getting them. Those two would not change masters willingly."

"Now what do we do?"

"Damned if I know," said Duncan. "They were heading south?"

"South, and west, too. A little west. The way the valley runs."

"We'd better swing east, then. Go around the village and widen the distance from them."

"They are some distance off. Still more distance would be better." Tiny rose to his feet, swinging around to the left, a growl deep in his throat.

"The dog has something," Duncan said.

"A man," said Conrad. "That's his man growl."

"How can you know?"

"I know all his talk," said Conrad.

Duncan swiveled around to stare in the direction Tiny was looking. He could see nothing. No sign anything was there.

"My friend," Duncan said, conversationally, "I'd come out if I were you. I'd hate to have to send the dog in after you."

Nothing happened for a moment. Then some bushes stirred and a man came out of them. Tiny started forward.

"Leave him be," said Conrad to the dog.

The man was tall and cadaverous. He wore a shabby brown robe that reached to his ankles. A cowl was bunched about his shoulders. In his right hand he carried a long and knobby staff, in his left he clutched a fistful of plants. The skin clung so tightly to his skull that the bones showed through. His beard was skimpy.

He said to them, "I'm Andrew, the hermit. I had meant not to interfere with you. So, catching sight of you, I hid from sight of you. I was out to hunt for greens, a mess of pottage for my supper. You wouldn't have some cheese, perchance, would you?"

"We have cheese," growled Conrad.

"I dream of cheese," said Andrew, the hermit. "I wake up at night and find I am thinking of a bit of cheese. It has been a long time since I have had the taste of cheese."

"In that case," said Duncan, "we'll be glad to give you some. Why don't you, Conrad, take that sack off Beauty."

"Nay, wait a moment," objected Andrew. "No need to do it now. You be travelers, are you not?"

"You can see we are," said Conrad, not too pleasantly.

"In that case," said Andrew, "why not spend the night with me. I'm fair famished for the sight of human faces and the sound of human tongue. There's Ghost, of course, but talking with him is little like talking with someone in the flesh."

"Ghost?" asked Duncan.

"Aye, a ghost. A very honest ghost. And quite a decent one. Not given to the rattling of chains or moaning in the night. He's shared my cell with me since the day that he was hanged. The Harriers done it to him."

"The Harriers, of course," said Duncan. "Would you tell us how you escaped the Harriers."

"I hid in my cell," said Andrew. "It really is a cave and it's not as small and cramped and miserable as a proper cell should be. I fear I am not a proper hermit. I do not go in for the mortifications of the flesh as the more successful hermits do. I dug the cave first to cell-like proportions, as I understood I was supposed to, but over the years I have enlarged it until it's spacious and fairly comfortable. There's plenty of room for you. It's hidden quite away. You'll be secure from all observation, as I would imagine most travelers in a place like this naturally would want to be. The evening's coming on and you must soon seek camp and you can't find a better place than this cell of mine."

Duncan looked at Conrad. "What are your thoughts," he asked, "upon the matter?"

"Little sleep you got last night," said Conrad, "I got even less. This one seems an honest yokel."

"There's the ghost," warned Duncan.

Conrad shrugged elaborately. "Ghosts I do not mind."

"All right, then," said Duncan. "Friar Andrew, if you will lead the way."

The cave was located a mile or so outside the village, and to reach it they passed through a cemetery which, from the variety and condition of the stones, must have been in continuous use for centuries. Near the center of it stood a small tomb built of native stone. Sometime in the past, perhaps in a storm, the heavy trunk of a large oak tree nearby had fallen across the tomb, shattering the small statuary fixed atop it and pushing the covering slab askew.

A short distance beyond the cemetery they came to the hermit's cave, which was excavated from a steep hillside, its entrance well masked by a growth of trees and heavy underbrush and a chattering brook hurrying down a steep ravine directly in front.

"You go on in," Conrad said to Duncan. "I'll unsaddle Daniel, bring in Beauty's pack."

The cave was dark, but even in the darkness it had a spacious sense. A small fire burned on the hearth. Fumbling in the darkness, the hermit found a large candle, lit it at the fire, and placed it on a table. The candle, flaring up, showed the thick carpet of rushes on the floor, the crude table with benches that could be pulled up to it, a badly constructed chair, bins against the earthen walls, the pallet in one corner. A cabinet in another corner held a few parchment rolls.

Noting Duncan looking at them, the hermit said, "Yes, I can read, but barely. In idle moments I sit here by candlelight, spelling out the words and striving at the meanings of the ancient Fathers of the Church. I doubt that I arrive at meaning, for I am a simple soul and at times a stupid one to boot. And those ancient Fathers, it seems to me, ofttimes were much more involved in words than they were in meaning. As I told you, I'm not really a good hermit, but I keep on trying, although at times I find myself awonder at the true profession of a hermit. I have thought off and on that a hermit must be the silliest and most useless member of society."

"It is, however," said Duncan, "a calling that is thought of very highly."

"It has occurred to me, when I've thought deeply on it," said the hermit, "that men may be hermits for no other reason than to escape the labors of another kind of life. Surely hermiting is easier on the back and muscles than grubbing in the soil or performing other menial tasks by which one may win his bread. I have asked myself if I am this kind of hermit and, truthfully, I must answer that I do not know."

"You say you hid here when the Harriers came and that they did not find you. That seems not exactly right. In all our journey we have seen no one who survived. Except one group of ruffians and bandits who had taken over a manor house and had been skillful enough or lucky enough to have been able to defend it."