He spoke, knowing quite well that what he asked was pre- posterous. "At the beginning of this Age, there was a small flowering plant in the south and west of Isle, called by some folk Elfin Gold, by others Veran's Crown. It is said that since Heme first sailed up the Black River it is no longer to be found. Have you ever heard of it?"

Lord Roran's face was blank, but Bleys showed interest.

"I have heard of it. We have a room here full of quaint things collected by the third lord, Rob Roy. It seems to

70.

THE SILVER SUN.

me that I have seen a small jar in there, full of dried plants. 'Bloome of Veraa's Crowyn,' it said."

Hal leaped to his feet. "A single plant will save Corin's life. I swear it!"

In a moment they were all in the crowded, dusty room, frantically searching every comer, shelf and case for the little jar which said "Bloome of Veran's Crowyn." It was Robin who found it at last, triumphantly emerging from under a cobwebby table. They hurried with it back to Conn's room. The servants had followed Hal's directions;

a brazier burned by Corin's bed, and on it a small pot of water boiled. Hal carefully removed from the jar a single brittle plant-root. stem, leaf and flower. Whispering what might have been a prayer, he crushed the little thing and dropped it into the boiling water.

Slowly a faint, clear aroma filled the room, essence of springtime, youth, birdsong and May sunshine. Without knowing it, everyone relaxed, their minds wandering back to the time when they were happy and young. Roran straightened in his seat, and spoke in wonder. "What magic is this? I thought I was a lad again, and my father still alive."

Alan thought of riding the green hills of his native Laueroc on his first pony. Hal remembered his mother's eyes. And Corin stirred in the sickbed and spoke.

"Father," he said dreamily, "hear the larks, how they sing." He sighed and smiled, turning his face to the imag- ined sunlight

Bleys tiptoed to his side, and spoke in a hushed whis- per. "His forehead is cool. He sleeps peacefully."

"The gods be thanked," Alan breathed, and started to weep again. But he was not ashamed. Except Corin's, not an eye in the room was dry.

Before they went to bed, Hal and Alan took one more walk to the stables, Alfie still lay in his straw, but fast asleep, breathing deeply and contentedly.

"Hal," Alan asked gratefully, "what manner of wiz- ard are you?" But Hal shook his head- "There is no magic here," he said, "except that which you yourself have wrought.'*

Chapter Seven.

Though Hal and Alan slept soundly, they awoke early and ran at once to Corin's room. The sun was just rising, and all was calm and still. Corin lay sleeping, very pale, but with a peaceful face. By his side sat Lord Roran. He smiled at the two as they entered,

"I sent Bleys to bed," he whispered. "He is an old man, and needs his rest."

The keep faced to the south and east. Hal and Alan sat in a deep niche in the stone walls and looked out the window, now and then speaking to each other in whispers.

Below them spread the shops and houses of the town.

They could see the streets they had ridden so hastily the day before, and the town gates they had entered. To the east was the waterfront, where stood the masts of tall ships, for the Firthola were a seafaring folk; they wor- shiped brother and sister gods, Durm of the islands and Dana of the tides. They had small interest in crops or herds, so they had built their stronghold on the Great North Cove, an arm of the sea which penetrated far into the barren northland.

The landscape was bleak enough, and the few small trees in view were dropping their brown leaves. But the rising sun which was finding its way through the haze

71.

72.

THE SILVER SUN.

turned everything to a golden shine, and gleamed on the gray sea water. Bven these barren northern lands could be lovely. Hal and Alan felt a sense of peace and be- longing which had not been theirs for many days.

As the last of the morning mist vanished and the sun shone clear and strong. Corin stirred and woke. They

went to him. He looked into their still-tired faces, first puzzled, then dismayed.

"Ay," said Alan gently, "it is true; your father is dead." He sat on the bed and took the boy into his arms.

Corin lay very still, but he did not weep. At last he said, "Is your father alive, Alan?"

"Nay, Cory," said Alan softly. "He died a year ago."

"How?"

"He was killed, even as yours was."

"And your mother?"

"She died of fever when I was ten years old."

Corin thought for a moment, then turned to Hal. His face was firm. "And you, Hal? Is your father dead, too?"

"Nay, Corin, I have no father."

The boy was perplexed. "Then he is dead."

"Nay, he is alive. But he hates me, and would kill me if he could."

Corin was astonished, but then pity came into his eyes, as he realized that the only thing worse than the death

of a loving father was to have no loving father at alL He searched for comfort for Hal.

"But your mother, does she not love you?**

Hal smiled, and his eyes focused on the past. "Ay, Cory, she loved me well."

"She is dead, then." The boy was discouraged, "Ay, she is dead." Hal's eyes darkened, then glim- mered with a brighter sheen as he looked away into the deeps of time. "But much that is sad can also be lovely,

Corin. Let me tell you a tale." He settled himself at the boy's feet.

"Very long ago, when the enchantment of the Begin- nings was still strong, the silver-crowned star-son Bevan fought the mantled god Pel BIagden and vanquished him into the dark reaches of inner earth. But the golden caul- dron of eternal youth was shattered by that contest of wills, so that those who had called themselves immortal faced their long-delayed death. Bevan, who was still young, would not accept his doom, and look ship to seek

The Forest 73

life across the western sea in Elwestrand. And his mother, Celonwy of the Argent Moon, died when her time came at the Blessed Bay, the estuary of the Gleaming River, where he had left.

"Then her brethren came out of the hollow hills where they had lived since the Mothers of Men took charge of Isle. In all their ancient glory they came, and in daylight, as men had not seen them for ten hundreds of years, and they took a last long ride to the Bay to join their sister.

They went in cloaks of green samite with golden fringes that touched the ground; jewels dropped like dew from the foreheads of the maidens. From every rath there rode a gold-torqued king and a golden-girdled queen with all their court, and sleek spotted hounds paced at their sides.

The men wore tunics of pearly white and wine-red, and some carried silver harps; columbine twined their heads.

They were named Pollen the Stag-son, and Geryon the Western King, and Fearn of the Seven Stones, and many, many more. Among the maidens was one who went in midnight hue, Menwy of the Sable Moon; her black horse was all trapped in tiny silver bells. And all of those riders were fair and young at the start of that processional, and old and yet fair at the end.

"They rode on steeds of white and wheat-color and barley-red and musteline and gray. The horses' hooves were tipped in gold, and wherever one stepped there sprang up a flower in the form of the crown that Bevan had renounced. For the gods loved Bevan, though he had cost them their immortality, because he had avenged the dishonor done when Pel turned his power to evil. So as they rode they left Bevan this legacy, and it bloomed and remained long after they had gone to dust around the Blessed Bay.