“No, it was dark. And they blindfolded me. It seems we walked for days. Then I was shoved in here. Days ago. That is the blindfold you are holding.” Gerin indicated the damp rag.
“I see. How many days?” Toli studied the Prince carefully, searching for any signs of mistreatment.
“Three, I think-maybe four. Yes, four. Two before you came.”
“I have been here two days?” It did not seem possible.
“This is the second. How do you feel?”
“I will live.” Toli reached out a hand and patted the young Prince on the shoulder. “You have done well, young sir. I am glad to see you alive. How have they treated you?”
“Well enough. I am fed from their table and have good water.” Gerin looked eagerly at his friend, glad to have someone he knew with him, though both were prisoners. “Toli, what has happened?”
“I scarcely know.” He shook his head slowly. How do I tell him? he wondered.
“I know about Durwin. I have been worried for Father.”
“He is well. He is searching for you-for us. Ronsard and Theido, too.”
“Poor Durwin,” said Gerin. Tears came to his eyes. “Oh, poor Durwin.”
“Your father was with him when he died. He died at peace.”
Gerin sniffed, trying to hold back his sorrow. But he had been brave so long; now that a friend was here, he could let down. The sobs came, and the tears washed down his face.
Toli put an arm around the boy’s slim shoulders. “It is good to cry. He was your friend. There is no shame in tears of mourning.”
When Prince Gerin could cry no more, Toli gathered him close, speaking softly. “I do not know why this has happened, but there is some evil behind it, you may be certain. Priests do not leave the temple to murder and kidnap the innocent-that is, they have never done so before. Why they should start now, I cannot say.” He looked at Gerin closely. “But we must find out what it is they plan. Think now, what did you see?”
The Prince was silent for some moments, then raised his eyes to Toli and said, “There were six of them, five of them swordsmen and one other-the leader. I heard them talking about him.”
“What did they say?”
“They do not like him much. That is all.” He thought for a moment, and added, “And the one who told about Durwin-he said that the King had killed one of them in the road.” He looked at Toli questioningly.
“It is true. In his grief and rage your father struck down one of the kidnappers on the road. That is on his heart, too.” Toli was silent for a moment, then added, “Well, it is done. Perhaps there is yet some better purpose behind it. We must hope so.”
The two talked and comforted each other. The day, measured by the slanting band of light as it moved across the floor and up the opposite wall of the cell, stretched on. Toward evening a priest came with two bowls of water and a large trencher of food. The door was opened, the food slipped in, and the door closed and bolt thrown-all in an instant.
“This is how the food is brought?” Toli asked.
“Yes, every day. I think they are afraid I will try to escape.”
“Have you tried to escape?”
The Prince nodded. “Once-on the road.” Tarky reared and I fell, or was grabbed. That is when he ran away. It was not far from here.”
“A horse with Tarky’s sense can find his way back home, or someone will catch him and take him to the King. Either way I believe someone will soon think to look for us in this direction; the King will find us, you will see.”
Gerin nodded, but said nothing.
Toli patted his shoulder, saying, “Never fear, young sir. I will not let anything happen to you.” The words almost stuck in his throat. Though it cost my life, he thought, I will not fail you again.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“WHAT FOR you, my good fellow?” Milcher rubbed his pudgy hands on his sopping apron, and grinned good-naturedly at the stranger. “Are you new to Askelon?”
The sandy-haired man, dressed in the clothes of a common laborer-leather jerkin over a brown tunic and baggy brown trousers-leaned against the bar. “A jar of your dark, if you please, sir,” he replied. “Are you the inn-master?”
“Aye,” said Milcher. “I am the keeper. But my wife is the master.” He gave the man a great wink. “Dark it is, and the best in all Mensandor, some say. I myself prefer it.”
The innkeeper turned away for a moment to fill the jar, and the man took advantage of the lapse to study the interior of the inn. The Gray Goose was filled tonight. There was a hubbub of conversation, which was normal, but this overlaid a churning current of excitement. An atmosphere of expectancy thickened in the place as dense as the smoke from the pipes of the patrons, which curled toward the low-beamed ceiling. Ale jars clinked, and men drank and talked in strained, nervous voices.
Ronsard had felt it the moment he walked in-this tingly, anxious suspense. It was as if they were all gathered there waiting for something to happen, knowing that something would happen, wanting it to happen.
Secure now in his disguise as a peasant, there was little chance of discovery; he was not a frequenter of inns and did not live in Askelon any longer, so it was unlikely he would meet anyone he knew. Ronsard turned back to Milcher, who was laying the pewter jar on the board. “Strange mood tonight, eh?”
“Aye-for the last two nights.” Milcher nodded slyly.
“How so?”
“Have you been out of the country, man? The kidnapping! The King’s sword lost!” Milcher rolled his eyes and leaned close. “There is wickedness about, my friend. Folks do well to look to themselves, if you know what I mean.”
“I heard about the kidnapping,” said Ronsard, sipping from his jar, “but what is this about the King’s sword? I know nothing of that.”
“Oh!” cried Milcher. He leaned close again in the air of a man discharging a secret it burned him to keep. “The King’s sword is gone. No one knows where. It is said the King will fall. Without the sword he cannot stand.”
“You cannot mean the Shining One-”
“One and the same! Yes, that’s the one. What other sword would it be?” He turned to the other man working at the bar. “Otho! Come here.”
Otho lumbered up and fixed Ronsard with a look of benign appraisal. “Yes?”
“Otho, tell this fellow about the King’s enchanted sword.”
Otho was not tired of relating his knowledge, though he had done little else since he heard it. With enthusiasm he embroidered on the scant details he possessed, embellishing them to lend his tale extra color.
“Aye, I see what you mean.” Ronsard nodded solemnly when Otho had finished. “This could be bad. Very bad indeed. I am glad I am not the King.”
“His fish is flayed, as they say. I do not think he will be King for long. There is much talk against him now.”
“I have not heard such talk.”
“It is just beginning. There was a man in here last night, a white-bearded fellow from the north, out of Obrey. He said that people there are afraid of the Dragon King’s new god-this Most High of his. They are arming to protect their temples.”
“Protect their temples? From what?”
“From the King! The Dragon King has sent men to pull down the temples.” Otho nodded knowingly, his round face glowing with pleasure at having such a dull-witted and uninformed listener.
“Aye, I have been hearing the same,” put in Milcher.
“Who is this man-this one who is saying these things?”
“He was in here last night. Told us all about it. If you wait a bit he may be back. I think he said he would come back tonight if he was still in Askelon.” Milcher swept his eyes over the crowds lining the benches and hunched over the tables of his establishment. “I do not see him now, but he may come later.”