The man stood and smiled again. “The boat will take you back across the water.”
Quentin jumped up. “Do not go! Please-”
“I must. My time here is finished. I wanted to see you just once more, and to say farewell.”
“No!” cried Quentin, throwing himself to his knees. “Stay with me. I would hear more!”
“It is not to be. But never fear, we will be together again. I am certain of it.” The man smiled his gentle smile and laid a hand on Quentin’s head.
Quentin felt a rush of warmth flood through him at the touch. The panic that had come upon him ceased.
“Before, I did not get the chance to say good-bye as I would have wished.” The man raised Quentin to his feet and wrapped him in a hug. After a moment, clasping his friend’s shoulders with both hands, he held the King back at arm’s length and said, “Good-bye, my friend.”
“Good-bye,” said Quentin. He stood and watched as the man turned and walked toward the wood, passing between two great slabs of stone as through a doorway.
The mist rolled up and removed him from Quentin’s sight, and he was gone.
NINETEEN
THE FUNERAL procession left at dawn and rode through the quiet streets of Askelon bearing the body of the beloved hermit on a black-draped bier drawn by two of Toli’s finest white horses. It went to the north where Pelgrin Forest met the plain at its closest point to the castle, a distance of about a league.
The day was fair and warm, the sun rosy-gold in the treetops as it climbed into heaven’s great bowl of cloud-scrubbed blue. The air, soft and still, held the sweetness of wildflowers that grew in haphazard clusters across the tableland-pink and yellow sunlilies, buttercups and bluebuttons, white laceleaves and tiny purple lady’s slippers.
Toli rode Riv and led the bier; Esme and Bria followed, and Alinea came in a coach with Princess Brianna on one side of her and Princess Elena on the other. Nearly three score mourners made up the cortege-lords and ladies, knights, squires, household servants, and townspeople-all friends of the hermit, for he welcomed every man, whether of high position or of meaner birth, as friend.
And though their errand was a sad one, the day was so bright and the feeling of life so intense that it was not possible for any of the mourners to remain genuinely sorrowful.
“How strange it is,” remarked Bria, thinking about this very thing. “Today I feel newly cleansed. As if the past days have been an unhappy dream that vanished with the dawn.”
“Yes,” agreed Esme. “I feel the same way. And yet, I have not changed-the whole world seems to be newborn.”
They continued to talk this way, and behind them in the coach the little Princesses plied their grandmother with questions. Princess Elena had never attended a funeral, and Princess Brianna only one-that of Yeseph; but she had been a baby less than a year old and did not remember it.
“Grandmother, what will happen to Durwin?”
“Nothing bad, my child. His body will rest now in the earth,” Alinea answered.
“But won’t he get cold?” piped Elena.
“No, never again.”
“I know what will happen,” said Brianna importantly. “He will turn into bones!”
“How awful!” cried little Elena, her eyes sparkling at the mystery of it. “Will I turn into bones, too?”
“Not for a very long time, my dear one. But someday, yes. Everyone dies, and their bodies turn into bones and dust.”
“I do not think I shall like it,” said Elena, growing pensive.
“I will!” announced Brianna, determined to make the best of any situation.
“I do not believe you will even know what has happened, nor will you care. You will begin a wonderful new life somewhere else.”
“Where? Oh, tell us about it, Grandmother,” they said.
“Very well. There is a great kingdom far away-the kingdom of the Most High. When you die you will go there and live with him. It is a wondrous place and more beautiful than anything you have ever seen. You will leave your body-you will not need it anymore, because you will have a new body-and go live in happiness forever.”
“Is that where Durwin has gone?”
“Yes, that is where he has gone. He has gone to be with the Most High.”
“Will we see Durwin again when we get there?” asked Elena.
“Of course. He will be waiting for us.”
“And Grandfather Eskevar, too?” Brianna wanted to know.
“Yes, Eskevar too.” Alinea smiled. The children were so trusting, so innocent and unsuspicious. They believed what she told them without needing proofs or assurances. Theirs was a most simple and indulgent faith, with room for many questions but little doubt
“Oh,” said Brianna matter-of-factly, “I shall go at once then. I should love to see Grandfather.”
“It would make us sad if you went right away, dear one,” replied Alinea, smoothing the girl’s hair. “For then we would not see you anymore. Stay with us a little while longer, please.”
“Very well,” agreed Brianna, “I will. I would not like to leave you, Grandmother.” She snuggled in closer.
Of all who traveled in that party only Toli did not feel the wonder of the day. He rode silently, eyes ahead, unseeing, his mind concentrating on affairs that ripped at his heart and made him want to cry out in agony, I have failed my master. I have disgraced myself and brought ruin upon the King. He was right; it was all my fault. My fault alone. Yes, Durwin’s blood is on my head. I am responsible-I should never have left them alone. If I had been there, Durwin would still be alive, and the Prince would be safe. None of this would ever have happened. I failed in my duty and am no longer worthy to be called a servant. I must make it right. I must make it right, though it cost my life. My life-what good is it to me now?
They reached the site and brought the bier to the grave that had been prepared the day before. It was just a little way inside the forest, on the bank overlooking a shaded pool-the pool in which Durwin had waded many times gathering his healing plants.
Alinea had chosen the spot, remembering how he had loved to come here to wade, or just to sit and contemplate. Many times she had found him stretched out on the bank and sat with him as he talked about this or that herb, or traced his musing about the Most High.
“Quentin should be here,” said Bria, “and Gerin. How they both loved Durwin. I wish they were here.” She was quite over her trauma of the night before; in fact, she did not really remember it as having happened to her. It belonged to the dream, the bad dream she left behind with the new day.
“They will come here soon, I am certain.” Esme watched her friend closely, looking for any sign of the malady that had stricken Bria.
Bria caught her scrutiny and said, “I am much better now.” She paused and then glanced toward the grave. “It is just that it does not seem right without Quentin here.”
“He would be here if he could, you know that. Quentin’s first duty is to find the Prince and bring him back safely. The King cannot rest until his son and heir is safe.”
“You are right.” She paused and added, “But look at Toli. It tears at my heart to see him like this.”
Esme observed the glum, silent Jher and nodded sadly. It touched her deeply, too. She wished nothing more than to be able to go to Toli and comfort him; and she would have, but for fear of Toli’s rejection.
For his part, Toli had told no one but Theido of Quentin’s harsh words. Those had been his due; he had deserved them. He signaled to several of the lords and knights in attendance, and they moved to the bier. Laying hold of the long plank on which the body rested, they lifted it to their shoulders. Bria and Esme went to the litter too, and Alinea; they took up bouquets of flowers that had been placed on the funeral wain early that morning and followed the body to the grave.
The men lowered the hermit’s body into the hole dug in the rich black dirt. Sunlight filled the hole and fell on the pallid face. He seemed to be at rest, content. But he wa
s not now the same Durwin they had known; he had changed. In death he appeared so much less himself that it was impossible for any of the mourners to look upon him now and say, “This is the man we knew in life.” Durwin-the true essence of the man they had loved-was gone. He had left only a worthless husk behind.
Alinea went to the graveside and knelt to place her flowers by him in the ground. Bria joined her, and Esme. Toli stood silently over the open pit and watched, his eyes hard as polished stone.
Others came to the grave, too, and paused briefly to pay final honor to the man. Here and there a tear sparkled in an eye, but there was no sobbing, no wailing, no evidence of unendurable grief common at so many funerals. All who had come knew that this interment was different: this was the burial of one of the Most High’s trusted servants. And no one who looked upon the body in the grave felt that the man had ceased. The presence of his spirit was strong among them. It would be wrong to regard the Holy Hermit of Pelgrin Forest as having fallen into shadowy non-existence in the underworld of the gods. Even those who had never heard of the Most High or his great and wonderful kingdom believed that Durwin had gone to a far different, far better place.
Inwardly, all who saw him in his grave wished that their own deaths could be so: assured, dignified, and peaceful. And many believed from that day forth that Durwin was right about the Most High, for they too wanted to go where he had gone.
When at last all had paid their respects to the body-Princess Brianna and Princess Elena being the last to lay flowers in the grave-Toli and five knights shoveled dirt into the hole and then, one by one, the mourners took up stones and placed them on the tomb.
“Quentin would have wanted him buried in the King of the Kings,” observed Bria as she watched the stones being placed over the grave. “But this is better, more fitting.”
“I agree,” replied Alinea. “Here among the trees he loved, where wild things lived… this is where he belongs.”
They turned then and made their way back to the castle, leaving any lingering sadness behind-all except Toli. He stayed when everyone else had gone and stood unmoving over the grave for a long time. Then at last he mounted Riv and left. But he did not ride back to Askelon Castle with the others.
“Where is Toli?” asked Esme as she swiveled in the saddle taking for him. But he was not among those who followed.
“Strange,” said Bria. She craned her neck around too. “I do not see him anywhere. I thought he had come with the others.”
Esme turned her eyes back toward the grave site, but there was nothing to be seen. Toli had vanished.
TWENTY
“THE PRINCE… here? By the gods’ beards! It is a mistake. A terrible mistake. You have implicated the High Temple in your schemes. I will not have it! Do you hear? I will not have it!”
High Priest Pluell raved and tore at his hair as he paced back and forth in his chamber. Nimrood sat with hooded eyes, watching Pluell vent his anger, but saying nothing.
The High Priest came to stand in front of the white-bearded old man, hands on hips. “The temple is in danger now because of you. This was not in our agreement. You never said anything about kidnapping. I will not have it!”
At last Nimrood had enough. He stood, shot a withering glance at the High Priest, and stalked to the door.
“Wait! What are you going to do? Where are you going?”
“I am leaving. It is plain you have lost your nerve for our little diversion. I have no use for you. Good-bye.”
“No!” shouted Pluell. “You cannot do that! What about the Prince? What am I to do with him?”
“Do anything you like with him. What do I care? He might make a serviceable acolyte, though I think his father might have something to say about that.”
“Stop! Come back. You cannot leave me like this. This was never my affair!”
Nimrood stopped with his hand on the latch. “Never your affair? Ha!” He turned suddenly, his eyes darting flames. Pluell saw the change and dropped back, his mouth gaping. Nimrood advanced on him, seeming to grow in height.
“Was it my idea?”
“Who else? You are not suggesting it was mine!”
“None other’s. I merely indicated to you the danger to the temple if you did not act at once. It was your men who took the boy. It was their mistake. You are High Priest-you are responsible.”
“No! You tricked me! I told you to… to-”
“Exactly! You told me to do what needed to be done. We would not be here now if your stupid men had done their duty. I certainly never wanted it this way.”
“You must help me!” wailed Pluell. The shock and rage at what Nimrood had done to him subsided in the new horror of perhaps facing the outraged King alone. Why, the Dragon King would hew him limb from limb for the attack on his son! “I am sorry. I apologize. I was not thinking clearly. Stay and help me think what to do.”
Nimrood pulled on his beard. He appeared to be contemplating what should be done. Ah! he thought to himself. So easy! This pigeon is so deftly caught. He has no nerve, no backbone. He deserves his fate. But I can use him; therefore I will save him. Oh, this is working much better than I could have hoped.
“Very well, I will stay. But you must stop whimpering and do as I say. I have a plan. A very simple plan. And if all goes well, in a short while you, my pigeon priest, will hold the King in the palm of your plump hand.”
Working outward from the place where the Prince was last seen, Theido and Ronsard and their search party of knights combed the forest, fanning out from that central point, probing deeper into the heart of Pelgrin. The knights rode the shaded pathways and dimly lit trails; Theido and Ronsard rode with them, meeting at prearranged spots to confer and share any news.
There was precious little news to share. No one had turned up any sign of the abductors.
“They appear to have vanished from the face of the earth,” said Ronsard when they met for their final conference of the day.
“We should have seen some sign of them by now.” Theido gazed at the sky overhead. The clouds held an orange tint as the sun spun lower in the trees. “It will be dusk soon, and too dark to search any further.”
Ronsard scanned the sky through the open patches in the leafy canopy overhead. “Blast their bones! By the god, I had hoped to strike their trail today.” He looked at Theido, whose eyes held a faraway look. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing-it was nothing.”
Ronsard shook his head. “I know that look of yours. Out with it, Theido.”
Theido nodded slowly. “I was thinking about what Toli said regarding Quentin’s sword.”
“Now there is a puzzle. I wonder what is behind it.”
“Nothing good, you may be sure. I was thinking just now that it portends a greater evil than the Prince’s disappearance, and that is bad enough.”
Ronsard stared at his friend knowingly. “Aye, the Shining One is not to be parted with lightly. I should have thought Quentin would fight to the death before giving it up.”
“You speak my thoughts to a word. And yet, when Toli met him in the road he did not speak of it at all. Why, I wonder.” Theido glanced at the sky once more and said, “One problem at a time, eh? We will start again at daybreak.”
“Yes, tomorrow-and that is the last good day. The signs, if they are out there, are already disappearing.”
Theido turned his horse and made to move away. “Farewell, Ronsard. I will meet you tomorrow at the same time. If we have not found the trail by then, well-just pray that we find it.”
Ronsard raised his hand in farewell and watched the tall, lean knight ride away, back along the way he had come. Theido is right, he thought. Something is at work here that bodes ill for all of us. What it is we shall find out soon enough, I’ll warrant.
He sighed and moved off through the deepening shadows to meet with his men once more before he rolled himself in his cloak to sleep. All around, the wood lay still and silent, as if contemplating the coming of the night.
Ronsard felt a chill creeping out with the shadows, and with it a sinister foreboding such as he had not felt in many years. He shuddered inwardly and rode on.
“If you think it unwise, mother, or if you would advise a better plan, please tell me.” Bria watched her mother carefully, almost breathlessly. Hers had been a sudden thought, and she had gone immediately to her mother’s apartments to share her idea.
“I do not say it is unwise,” said Alinea slowly and with great concentration. “But I do have misgivings.”
Bria frowned at the word. But her mother continued. “However, I remember another time, years ago, when Durwin counseled the same plan. Then, too, it seemed a chancy enterprise. But it was the right course, as it turned out-though even Durwin could never have guessed the outcome.” She smiled at her daughter, and Bria saw the light in her green eyes. “It seems that the destinies of Askelon and Dekra are ever intertwined. Yes, my dear, go to Dekra. I will go too.”
“Mother, do you mean it? You would go?”
“Why not? I am fit for a journey. And now that the King’s road is complete to Malmarby the trip will be an easy one most of the way. But we must leave at once.” She glanced at her daughter quickly. “What is wrong?”
“You spoke of misgivings. What are they?”
“Just that word may come to Askelon about the Prince. If you were not here to receive it…” Her voice trailed off.
“I see. What should I do?”
“That I cannot tell you. You must do what any mother does; you must listen to your heart.”
“Then I will go to Dekra and speak to the Elders there. We have often had reason to seek their wisdom, and their prayers may be most effective.” Her eyes held her mother’s. “I do so wish that Quentin were here, though.”
“Quentin will return soon. We will leave behind a letter telling him what we propose. He would wish to stay here in any case to aid in the search.”
“What about Brianna and Elena-I fear leaving them.”
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