"During this venture, I am your master. Accept this fact, or go your own way."
"If all the others agree, I will abide by your regulations."
"Este?"
"I accept the conditions. After all, someone must lead."
"Exactly so. Izmael?"
"I will abide by the rule."
"Kegan?"
"Ha! If I must, I must, though the ghosts of my ancestors cry out at the indignity."
"Galgus?"
"I submit to your leadership."
"Travec the Dacian: once more to you?"
"You shall be the leader. I will not dispute your rule."
"That is still ambiguous. Once and for all, will you or will you not obey my command?"
Travec said stonily: "I will obey."
III
An hour after daybreak Cory of Falonges and his dreadful company departed the Inn of the Dancing Pig. Tern, the landlord's oldest son, served as their guide and led a pair of pack-horses. He had stated that the journey would require two days only, barring untoward incident and provided that the Atlantic gales held off the full force of their blowing.
The column rode north, past the defile which led under Tac Tor into the Vale of Evander and beyond, then turned into a trail that led up a steep gulch. Back and forth wound the trail, among tumbled rocks, alder thickets, brambles and brakes of thistle, with a small river gushing and gurgling always near at hand. After a mile, the trail left the river to climb the hillside, traversing back, forth, back, forth, to emerge at last on the upper face of a spur.
The company rested for a space, then continued: up the hump of the spur, across barrens of scree, through dells shaded under cedars and pines, along ridges with windy spaces to either side, then once more back against the base mass of the Teach tac Teach, to climb by laborious slants and switchbacks, to come out at last upon the high moors, to find the sun already behind the western cloud banks. In the shelter of thirteen tall dolmens, the company made camp for the night.
In the morning, the sun rose red in the east, while a wind from the west sent low clouds streaming across the moor. The company of adventurers huddled close around the fire, each thinking his own thoughts and toasting bacon on a spit, while porridge bubbled in the pot. The horses were brought up and saddled; the party, bending low to the chill wind, set off across the moor. Crags of the Teach tac Teach, rearing high, one after the other in lonely isolation, dwindled away to right and left. Ahead rose Mount Sobh.
The trail had now disappeared; the company rode across the open moor, around the flanks of Mount Sobh, down through a stand of stunted pines to where a sudden panorama burst open before them: ridges and slopes, dark valleys choked with conifers, then the low moors and a nondescript murk, where vision could no longer penetrate the distance. From somewhere a trail had once again appeared, slanting down the slope and into a forest of pines and cedars.
Something white glimmered ahead. The company, approaching, discovered the skull of an elk nailed to the trunk of a pine tree. At this point Tern pulled up his horse. Cory rode up beside him. "What now?"
"I go no farther," said Tern. "Behind the tree hangs a brass horn; blow three blasts and wait."
Cory paid him in silver coins. "You have guided us well; good luck to you."
Tern turned about and departed, leading his two pack-horses. Cory surveyed his company. "Este of Rome! You are ac counted a musician of sorts! Find the horn and send three good blasts ringing down the valley!"
Este dismounted and approached the tree, where he found a brass horn of three coils hanging on a peg. He put it to his lips and blew three sweet strong tones which seemed to echo on and on.
Ten minutes passed. Travec sat his dun hammer-headed horse to the side, apart from the others. He muttered: "Voner! Skel! Do you hear me?"
"Naturally we hear you, quite as well as need be."
"Are you aware of this place?"
"It is a great up-fold in the mother-stuff of the world. A scurf of vegetation shades the sky. Three furtive scoundrels peer at us from the shadows."
"What of the green seep from Xabiste?"
"Nothing of consequence," said Voner. "A wisp from yonder declivity, no more."
"Not enough to excite our interest," said Skel.
Travec said: "Still, after this, alert me to any green taint whatever, since it might indicate a node of green."
"Just as you say. Should we make ourselves known and destroy yonder stuff?"
"Not yet. We must learn more of where and how it arises."
"As you like."
Behind Travec spoke a rasping voice; turning, Travec looked into the face of Kegan the Celt. "How gratifying must be the comfort of these intimate conversations with yourself!"
"I repeat my lucky slogans; what of that?"
"Nothing whatever," said Kegan. "I have foolish quirks of my own. I can never kill a woman without first uttering a prayer to the goddess Quincubile."
"That is only sensible. I see that Este's blasts have brought response."
From the forest came a yellow-haired yellow-bearded man, tall and massive, wearing a tricorn iron helmet, a chain shirt and black leather trousers. At his girdle hung three swords, of varying length. He called out to Cory in a great windy voice:
"Name your names and explain why you have sounded the horn."
"I am Cory of Falonges; I have been sent by a person of high rank to take counsel with Torqual. This is my company; the names will mean nothing to you."
"Does Torqual know of your coming?"
"I cannot say. It is possible."
"Follow behind me. Do not stray off the trail by so much as two yards measurement."
The company rode single file along a narrow track which led first through a dense forest, then along a barren mountainside, then up a gorge to a small stony flat, thence up a narrow spine of rock, with a steep declivity at either side, to come out at last upon a small meadow hard under a cliff. An ancient fortress, half in ruins, commanded the approach. "You stand on Neep Meadow, and there is High Coram Keep," said the blond outlaw. "You may dismount and either stand to wait, or rest upon yonder benches. I will tell Torqual of your coming." He disappeared into the tumbled recesses of the old castle.
Travec dismounted with the others and looked about the meadow. Under the cliff several dozen rude huts had been laid up of stone and sod: here, presumably, were housed Torqual's followers. Within the huts Travec glimpsed a number of bedraggled women and several children playing in the dirt. To the side an oven for the baking of bread had been built of rough bricks, which apparently had been formed of meadow clay fired on the spot in open fires.
Travec went to look down Glen Dagach, which dropped steeply to open at last upon the lower moors. He spoke under his breath: "Voner! Skel! What of the green?"
"I notice a suffusion centered in the castle," said Voner. Skel added: "A tendril leads elsewhere."
"Can you see its source?"
‘No.
"Are there other nodes of green?"
"There is such a node in Swer Smod; no others are obvious."
From the castle came Torqual, wearing the black garments of a Ska nobleman. He approached the newcomers. Cory stepped forward. "Torqual, I am Cory of Falonges."
"I know your reputation. You have scoured the Troagh like a ravening wolf, or so it is said. Who are these others?"
Cory made an indifferent gesture. "They are talented villains, and each is unique. That one, is Kegan the Celt. That is Este the Sweet, who might be the Roman he claims to be. There stands Travec the Dacian; there Galgus the Daut, and that misshapen wad of pure evil yonder is Izmael the Hun. They know two motivations only: fear and avarice."
"That is all they need to know," said Torqual. "Any other I distrust. What is your errand?"
Cory took Torqual aside. Travec went to sit on the bench. He whispered: "Voner! Skel! Torqual and Cory speak together; bring me their conversation, but to my ears alone, so that no one will know that I listen."