"I don't know how you managed it," said Diane. "I got there as quickly as I could, but…"

"Our arms were strong," said Conrad sanctimoniously, "because our cause was just."

The doctoring over, they explored the larder and found a haunch of beef, well roasted, a large loaf of wheaten bread, a wheel of cheese, a platter of fried fowl left over from the day before, a small pigeon pie, a keg half full of pickled herring, and a basket of juicy pears.

"Cuthbert, when he does not forget to eat," said Diane, "is a trencherman of note. He likes good food and, too often, far too much of it. He is no stranger to the gout."

Now they sat around the table in the kitchen, where Diane had done her doctoring, the medications pushed to one end of the table, the food set on the other.

"I must beg your pardon," Diane said, "for serving you in such a lowly place, but the dining room is far too splendid. It makes me a bit self-conscious. It is too splendid a room for my taste and, I would suppose, for yours as well. Also, once the meal is done, there is much china and silver to be washed and dried and put away again. It is too much work."

"Cuthbert?" asked Duncan. "You have spoken of him often. When will we be able to talk with him? Or will we?"

"Most certainly," said Diane, "but not tonight. There was a time when he would sit up half the night, working at his desk, but of late years he has taken to going to his bed at the coming of first dusk. The man is old and needs his rest. And now suppose you tell me all that's happened since the day I first met you in the orchard. There have been rumors, of course, of the things that you have done, but you know how rumors are. Not to be relied upon."

"Nothing great," said Duncan. "We have, it seems, stumbled from one disaster to another, but each time have managed to escape by the skin of our teeth."

They told her, chiming in on the story by turns, while she sat listening intently, her head bent forward, the flare of the candles making another flame of her shining hair. One thing Duncan did not tell her, and the others did not think to, or noticing that he had omitted it, made no mention of it—and that was about the finding of the amulet in Wulfert's tomb.

Watching her as she listened, Duncan debated whether he should go back along the story's trail and tell her of the amulet, but in the end he refrained from doing so. Certainly, he knew, it was a thing that would greatly interest her, and perhaps she had a right to know—most surely had the right to know if Wulfert truly had been kin of hers, as she had said.

Finally, when the story was all done, she asked of Wulfert. "You remember that I was seeking him," she said, "or rather, some word of him, for he must have long since been dead. You, Sir Hermit, before we were interrupted by the hairless ones, seemed to indicate that you knew of him. For some reason you did not explain, you appeared to be greatly distressed."

Andrew lifted his head, looking across the table at the sternness of Duncan's face.

"Only, milady," he said smoothly, "that I had heard of him, knew that he was buried in the village cemetery. My distress was that the village had regarded him as a saintly man. It was a shock to learn that he had been, instead, a wizard."

"You were outraged to learn that he was a wizard and no holy man?"

"Milady," said Andrew, "I and the people of my village were only simple folk. Perhaps even ignorant folk. We did not know of wizards. We had thought…"

"I can guess what you had thought," said Diane. "And it seems that I remember you saying that he was placed in a tomb, that the village built a tomb for him because he was thought a saintly man."

"That is right," said Andrew, "but an oak fell and shattered it. In some great storm, perhaps."

"There is a story, perhaps no more than a legend, that he carried with him a piece of wondrous magic. Had you ever heard of that?"

"No ma" am, I don't recall I ever had."

"I imagine not," said Diane. "He would have kept it secret. I suppose it now is lost. Oh, the pity of it!"

"Why the pity, ma" am?" asked Conrad.

"The legend says that it was designed as a weird against the Horde of Evil, known in these parts as the Harriers."

"And," said Duncan, "you hoped to recover it."

"Yes," she said, "that had been my hope. There now is need of it."

Duncan felt the others looking at him.

"Even had you found it," he said, "it might be of little value. One would have to know how to put it to most effective use."

"No, I think not. I think the mere possession of it would be quite sufficient. The magic rests in the talisman itself, not in the user of it."

"Perhaps you should search the tomb," said Conrad, skating on thin ice.

"Perhaps," said Diane. "I had thought of that. I had meant to go back again. But after the incident in the garden plot with the hairless ones, I had the frantic feeling that Cuthbert needed me, so I flew directly here. I found that he did indeed have need of me. I have nursed him ever since."

She made a motion with her hands. "Although I doubt the searching of the tomb would be of any use. Even had the talisman been buried with him, which it might not have been, when the oak fell upon the tomb its contents would have been revealed to anyone who might want to investigate. Certainly there would have been in the village those with a ghoulish twist of mind. Undoubtedly, had it been there, it would have been filched long since."

"What you say may well be true," said Andrew, "but of this talisman you speak of I have never heard."

"A tomb robber," said Diane, "would not reveal himself."

"I suppose not," Andrew said.

No one was watching him any more, Duncan saw. The deed had been done. Rightly or wrongly, the lie had been told. To the man, they had backed him in his secrecy. Of them all, only Meg had said nothing and she, he knew, would not go against the rest of them. His fingers itched to go to the pouch at his side, touch the slight bulge of the amulet to assure himself that it still was there. But he fought successfully against doing it.

Tiny, who had gulped down a generous helping from the roast, earlier had been lying, asleep or half-asleep, in one corner of the kitchen, but now, Duncan noted, he was gone. More than likely he had gone out exploring. The castle had a lot of nooks and crannies that he could snoop in.

"There is one thing that intrigues me," Duncan said to Diane. "I asked you earlier, but you had no chance to answer. It concerns the Huntsman. Why should he get himself involved?"

"He hates the Evil," Diane told him. "As do many of the others of us. The Little Folk—you'll find few of them who have any liking for the Evil. Basically they themselves are not evil; only different. There are certain naturally evil beings, of course, like the werewolves, the ghouls, the vampires, and others who would willingly align themselves with the Harriers, holding them in high regard and believing that they may be one with them. But the Little Folk are decent people and so is the Huntsman."

"I have wondered," Duncan said, "if he could have been watching us all the time. We saw him a few nights ago and I am certain, at an earlier time, I heard him in the sky."

"He could have been."

"But why should he bother with us?"

"He is a free spirit, the Huntsman. I know very little about him, although I met him briefly a few years ago. He originated, I believe, in the Germanies, but I can't be sure of that. Maybe sometime in the past he may have witnessed some of the ravages brought about by the Harriers and has been watching them ever since."

"A crusader for the right?"

"No, I'd scarcely call him that."

"In any case," said Andrew, "we are appreciative of the part he played today."

"This Evil," said Duncan. "I wonder what it really is."