'Tut, tut, Rosie," he said, touching her hair. "Out with it. What ails you?"

"Oh, Father," she burst out, "why did he not speak?

Why did he go? Was I mistaken, and does he not love me at all?" She buried her face in her hands.

"Whoa, lass," said the old man, gently placing his hand on her trembling shoulder. "One thing at a time. First of ail, do you love him or not?"

She glared at him in astonished annoyance. "Of course I love him!" she shouted.

"Good!" smiled Pelys. "Fine spirit!" He grew more se- rious. "Never be ashamed to say it, Rosemary, and never regret it, no matter what may chance. But does he love you? What do you think?"

She was almost ready to burst with irritation, but sens- ing that he was testing her, she replied quietly, "I have thought so."

"Then think so still," Pelys said. "Trust your feelings, daughter. And, for what my opinion is worth," he added, "I think so too."

A wave of relief swept over her. "Father, do you re- ally?"

"By my beard, girl, would I say it if I did not? I thought so before Winterfest. Indeed, I will even declare that if he is not very much in love with you, then I am a suckling babe, for I am as sure of it as I was of your mother's love for me,"

Some color came back into Rosemary's pale cheeks at her father's tender words. She no longer spoke in despera- tion, but only in weary puzzlement. "Then why did he go? Or, if go he must, why did he not speak?"

"Well, well, is it not obvious, Rosie, that there is some- thing he must do? And that being so, would he speak to you before he had done it? He is above all a man of honor. And what has he to offer you? Only a wandering life full of danger and heartbreak. Nay, nay, do not mis- take me," he continued as she started to protest. "There

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is not a better man in Isle, and I warrant you he will make his mark before long."

"But why did he not trust us?" Rosemary insisted.

**Why did he not tell us where he must go, and why?"

"I dare say he has his reasons." Pelys fixed his daugh- ter with a faintly humorous gaze. "Do you not have faith in him, Rosie?"

"Oh, Father!" she exclaimed in exasperation.

"So, I take it that you do- Then do you not think he will keep his promise, and return?"

She smiled slowly. "I dare say he will." Then she sighed. "But it is likely to be a long time."

"Well, then I shall say one more thing. Even if he had home and fortune waiting for you, and no barrier between you two except his own honor and wisdom, I think still he would not yet have spoken, for one reason: you are not yet ready. You are only newly awakened to love, daughter. Savor it, and let it season. Your life is yet very young, and though you are but two years younger than him in fact, you are many years younger in wisdom. He has known many a sorrow, if I mistake not, and this is your first. Do not pout at me, miss, for I speak simple truth, and it is hardly your fault. Indeed, you have made me proud of you, these months past."

"Proud of me!"

"Ay." He put his arm around her once again. "You have become a woman and a lady. He will think of you with pleasure while he is absent."

"Indeed, Father, it is a marvel that he thinks of me at all." She was dreamy-eyed. "My heart knows that he loves me; yet it is hard for my mind to believe. He is such a man as I have never known. ... A warrior, yet gentle, wise and passionate, full of mystery and poetry and strange knowledge. Whatever does he see in me?"

Pelys smiled. "Always lovers wonder this. I remember how I marveled at the love of your mother, for she was a young beauty who had her choice of many, and I was a crippled thing more than twice her age." Rosemary patted him in affectionate protest.

"For the most part," Pelys mused, "we wonder thus be- cause lovers are blind to the loved one's faults. But in your case, I believe you hit not far from the mark. I have seen many fine young men in my time, Rosie, but never

128 THE SILVER SUN.

one as rare as he. There is a mystery in his eyes. . . .

I confess, I do not understand him, yet I know very well, lassie, that you could not have chosen a better man. If the gods let him live, perhaps someday we shall know him better. Till then, we can only wait for him to fulfill his quest."

book three THE WEST LAND.

Chapter One.

a.

The next day Hal and Alan turned westward, hoping that the kingsmen had been thrown off their track. They would cross the Broken Lands at the narrowest point to the Westwood, the other great Forest of Isle. Once within that shelter, they would turn southward toward Welas.

Their road to the Westwood lay across the lands of Guy of Gaunt. They were not in great danger, however, for the cover was good. The Broken Lands were criss- crossed by many streams which wound through wooded ravines, and the hills between bore crowns of trees. A hint of coming leaves cloaked their branches like a green mist, and a whisper of bloom clung to the hedgerows.

This was the heartland of Isle at the dawning of the year; the spell of its beauty was strong. Hal and Alan traveled in quiet happiness. They were well provisioned, and reached the Westwood before they felt much need of fresh supplies.

By then the beeches had put out achingly bright green buds, and deer were everywhere. Hal and Alan rode steadily southward, trading meat for bread when they felt the need- Spring had become summer before they turned the corner of Isle. Gradually the iand grew steep and precipitous, until one day the Westwood ended. They

130.

The West Land 131

found themselves on the bare, rocky shoulder of the first mountain, looking down into Welas.

Hal's eyes sparkled as he pointed out the places that had been the food and drink of his mind since he was a little boy, but which he had never seen. Below them spread the lowlands of Welas, and in the distance shone the curves of the Gleaming River. To the westward was the dark mass of Welden, ancient home of the Blessed Kings of Welas, now defiled by the presence of UIger, Iscovar's henchman. Mountains surrounded the lowlands on three sides, and in the distance one of them rose above the rest. Hal pointed to it reverently. "That is where we are going," he stated.

"Why?" Alan asked. "Do you expect to find your grandfather there?"

Hal hesitated. "It is hard to say what I expect to find there. That is Veran's Mountain." He stopped, as if that alone said all.

"Veran's Mountain?"

"Veran did what no one else has done: he ventured upon that mountain and returned unharmed."

"Indeed, is that so?" Alan gave him a wry glance, won- dering what sort of strange peril Prince Gray Eyes was planning to lead them into now. He phrased his nest question delicately. "What is so special about that moun- tain?"

"Folk of that time said it was the home of the gods, and worshiped it. Those who ventured upon its slopes came back witless. Some never returned at all. But Veran returned, and brought with him a bride so beautiful that folk called her the daughter of the gods, though she died a mortal death."

A year earlier, Alan might have laughed at this talk of gods. But now he looked at Hal sharply. "And you, Hal?

Do you believe that yonder mountain is the home of the gods, who gave Veran their daughter and their blessing?"

"I believe in the One. But I have seen. . . .*' Hal fum- bled for words to explain his dreams. "I have seen other folk, fairer than sun or moon or circling stars. That moun- tain calls me, Alan."

To get there or indeed to get anywhere in Welas, they had to travel the lowlands, which were held by the cap- tains of Iscovar's conquest of twenty years before- These were harshly oppressive lords, struggling to rule a rebel-

THE SILVER SUN.

132.

lious people. Their men patrolled the county constantly, alert and heavily armed. Hal and Alan decided to ride by night. But even so, it was not long before Alan found himself caught up in an anguished search.

One evening at dusk, as they were making ready to travel, Hal vaulted onto Arundel and trotted half a mile to a spring for water. Only a tiny village stood near the trickle of water, and Alan did not think any harm of the venture. But Hal failed to return. Uneasily, Alan rode after him, and found the torn earth where Hal had spun away from an ambush, and the straight trail where he had led his pursuers across the countryside, away from his friend. There might have been tracks of half a dozen horses, Alan thought. He felt sick. But darkness was fall- ing, and he could not follow the track.

He spent a restless night at their campsite, hoping against reason that Hal would return. The next day, scorning fear, he followed Hal's tracks until be lost them in the rocky uplands of some lord's sheep pasturage. He circled in ever wider spirals through that day without find- ing a sign of his brother. Perhaps Hal had managed to shake the lordsmen from his track, but he had most as- suredly lost Alan as well.