leaning against the tree trunks, facing away from each other so as to watch the largest portion of ground. The afternoon crept slowly by, and the sun grew low.

Alan broke the long silence. "What will they do when dark comes?"

Hal shook his head. "They cannot afford to wait. They might surprise us, but we might also slip away from them. They will make their move soon."

Even as he spoke the distant brush stirred. The two vaulted to their saddles. But instead of rushing away as Alan expected him to, Hal tarried, dancing Arundel slowly northward, until the last of the hunters had broken cover. Then he grunted in satisfaction. "All ten of them,"

he said. "Let's go."

They sprang into a gallop. But the foremost men were now within bowshot, and stopped to take aim. Alan whistled and cursed Hal's boldness as an arrow grazed his ear with its honed metal head; warm blood trickled down his neck. They were almost out of range when Hal gave a moan. A lucky shot had hit Arundel in the fore- leg. The arrow passed neatly between the bones, then stuck.

Even though wounded, Arundel still ran faster than the ponylike beasts behind them. But Hal knew that every step added to his injury. They burst into the wall of thickets at the edge of the clearing, and plunged through a labyrinth of rocks, copses and undergrowth, Hal sighed with relief when they came to another clearing. A gentle rise faced them. Halfway up was a long outcropping of rock screened with hushes and stunted trees. At the crown of the rise was one of the ancient barrows or cairns, a large one, ringed by upright stones.

"This will do," called Ha! as they pulled up behind the natural stone barrier. "Keep the horses behind the tallest cover, Alan, and see what you can do for Arun."

He grabbed his bow and arrows from his blanketroll, and ran to a position behind the stone ledge just as their pursuers broke into the open and sent a shower of arrows into their cover. Hal aimed his first arrow at the apparent leader, and the man yelped as his arm was pinned to his side. Hal's next shot tumbled a man from his horse, shot through the heart, and his next arrow parted one's hair.

The hunters stopped abruptly and looked at each other.

They had not known that their quarry possessed a bow,

The Forest 51

and especially not such a powerful and accurate one.

Though they were nine bows against one, he had shelter and they had none, and they were being picked off in the open like birds on a branch. Even as they paused, an- other of their number fell from his mount with a scream. They retreated hastily to the thickets from which they had come.

"Two down," sighed Hal. "How is Arundel, Alan?"

Alan had not enjoyed working while arrows whistled overhead, landed underfoot and rattled in the branches of the copse that sheltered him. Nevertheless, he had re- moved the arrow from Arundel's leg and dressed the wound. He brought Hal a bunch of arrows he had gath- ered from the outlaw assault.

'The wound is not bad," he reported. "The shaft passed between muscle and bone, hurting little but the skin. Still, he should not run on it, or carry weight."

Hal nodded, frowning. "Have I ever so many arrows,"

he muttered, "I can only shoot them one at a time. It will soon be dark. They must rush us, and we have noth- ing to set our backs against. They are four against one.

We need some help."

Alan snorted at the understatement. "There is nothing to help us on this Waste except the crying birds and the little rabbits. I fear we must trust in our own luck, which has been a bit overstrained, lately."

The bounty hunters left their cover and ranged them- selves in me open, just out of bowshot. Each one carried a freshly cut staff, long and stout, usable either as a blunt- headed lance or as a cudgel. The leader's arm was band- aged, and his face did not look friendly.

Hal looked at them and swallowed, as if he were swal- lowing his pride. Then he raised his head at an angle and called out in a clear, carrying voice: "0 lian dos elys Uedendes, on dalyn Veran de rangr'm priende than shalder." ["Oh spirits of those who once lived, a son of Veran from peril prays your aid."]

As if from very far away, as if from the heart of the earth, a low voice replied: "Al hoime, Mireldeyn." ["We come, Mireldeyn."] As if from the dome of the sky, and very far away, a gray voice called, "Al hoime, Mireldeyn."

"What is it, Hal?" Alan whispered, frozen. His hair prickled.

52 THE SILVER SUN.

"Friends," Hal replied.

"HolmS a ein!" ["Come to us'"] spoke the low voice.

Alan could not tell from what direction it came. It seemed to fill the world. But Hal started walking up the gentle slope, toward the barrow and the ring of standing stones.

Alan and the horses followed him. From behind them came terrified screams. Alan stopped in spite of himself.

"They are not being harmed," Hal said. "Look."

Alan forced himself to turn. In the failing light he could see the men running, stumbling, falling in blind terror, getting up to run again. From what they ran he could not tell, unless it was the same nameless fear which he felt choking his own miod, so that his eyes saw black and his legs felt numb. The cries of the bounty hunters faded into the distance.

Hal turned and continued up the rise. Arundel and Alfie followed him. As he was calmly passed by his own horse, Alan's pride was stung, and somehow he willed his reluctant legs to move. He drew abreast of Hal and felt the focus of the fear, ahead of them, at the barrow. They walked closer; Alan moved like a blind man, step by slow step. Then his legs stopped. They wanted to turn and run. He kept them still, but he could not force them to go on. He could not see. His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth. With great difficulty, he moved it,

"Hal," he whispered, "help me."

He felt Hal take his hand, and with that touch warmth moved through the frozen blood in his veins. Come on, brother," Hal said gently, and Alan walked on. He met the fear; he walked through it; and it melted away before him. Then a feeling of comfort and friendliness filled his heart, and the darkness left his eyes, and he found that he was within the circle of standing stones. That which had been a forbidding fear was now a protecting embrace which welcomed him in. Hal hugged him.

"I doubt if there is another man in all of Isle who could have done that?" he exclaimed proudly.

"Except present company," Alan retorted wryly. "You walked in here as if you were going to market. What was it that frightened me so?"

A low chuckle sounded close by Alan's ear; he jumped.

A gentle voice spoke rapidly in a language he did not un- derstand. Hal nodded and turned to Alan. "He says he is sony he startled you. He did not mean to."

The Forest 53

'Tell him no harm," Alan gasped politely. "But who, or what, is he?"

Hal sat down and leaned against the stone wall of the barrow. "They," he corrected. 'They are the spirits of the men buried here."

"Ghosts?" Alan asked weakly, sitting also.

"I dare say you could call them ghosts," Hal answered doubtfully. "But most of what is said of ghosts is false.

They do not clank chains, or rattle bones, or wander in the night, or in any way interfere with human affairs. In- deed, they are powerless to speak or move from their barrow unless someone calls on them for help, as I did."

Alan felt faint. "Are they all around us?" he asked un- easily.

"Ay. This ring of standing stones is their fortress. No mortal can enter it without withstanding the fear. The amount of fear depends in part on the amount of evil in his heart. I do not think the bounty hunters will disturb us again."

"You must be perfect in goodness, then, for you did not fear."

"Nayl I said *in part,'" Hal protested, "Pear also arises from that which is unknown. I understood, and you did not."

"In very truth." Alan muttered, holding his head in be- wilderment, "I never believed such things existed, and I always laughed at the tales the countryfolk told of them."

"You may continue to do so," Hal smiled, "for they are mostly nonsense. Yet they remind us that there are great mysteries in earth and sky, dwellers far beyond our com- prehension. But always, in the peasants' tales, the denizens of Otherness come to work men woe. It is not so. Remem- ber this, Alan, and you will walk beneath the dark of the moon like the Gypsies, without fear: no creature, neither flesh nor spirit, mortal nor immortal, will do you any rea- sonless harm, except one-and that is your fellow man."

They spent the night within the barrow ring, nestled against the lee side of the central mound. Alan felt warm and comfortable in spite of the cold, damp stone. He was full of wonder and questions. He learned that not all the dead became shades like those he had met; these spirits must have died in rage or hatred, Hal thought. Perhaps they had been warriors. But whether in life they had been good men or evil was of no concern. Their passing had

54 THE SILVER SUN.

purged them; good and evil had gone from them with their mortality, and they were now only bodiless reflec- tions of the fears and loves of those who encountered them.

And they could be summoned, Alan knew. "What is the language that you speak to the spirits, Hal?" he asked.

**Is it the same that you speak to the Gypsies?"