Galin stood a moment marveling at the perception in those gray eyes. Then he stretched out his weathered hand. "With all my heart, Welandais Prince," he vowed- "If ever a brighter dawn is to come our way, it will be through you."

170 THE SILVER SUN.

In his chamber at last, Hal flopped gratefully on his narrow cot. It had been a long, heartspoken day, and he felt drained by it. But Alan paced the floor restlessly, in- volved in some sort of inner struggle. Hal watched him askance. Were the months of silence at last to be broken?

"It is harder than I had imagined, Hal," Alan remarked haltingly, "all this destiny. I feel that a great weight of expectation is put on me. And yours is far heavier. Small wonder that you found it so difficult to bear."

"You were a greater help to me than I can say." Hal rose to pace beside him. "You are a very special, wonder- ful person, Elwyndas. Is that so hard to accept?" Then, as Alan gestured impatiently, he plunged on. "Listen to me only a moment, Alan. Why should prophecy trouble us, indeed? Does it change anything? We never intended to do less than our best."

But Alan was not to be put off. With courage born of his misery, he spoke a name they had not mentioned in months. "But the prophecy concerns me and-and Lysse, does it not?'*

"Ay," replied Hal quietly.

"What does it say?"

"Only that she is your mendor, as Rosemary is mine.**

"But-" Alan nearly choked, but once started he was far too stubborn to stop. "I do not intend to have her. I must never see her again."

"Do you not love her, Alan?"

"Ayl" Alan banged his fist so hard against the stone wall that the blood ran freely down his wrist "Mother of mercy, Hal!"

"You have told her so, have you not?**

"Ay." Spent, he spoke dully. "It was an act of great weakness. I should never have spoken to her."

"Nay, Alan, nay'" Hal seized him by the shoulders, almost shaking him. "Never regret it! Your love is your talisman. It was your brave love which taught you the Elder Speech and took you to the place where only Veran had gone before-and he a god-man, from out of the west. Never have I envisioned a man with a greater gift of love than you, Alan. Yet, all things won, would you let it go down to defeat from pride?"

Stung, Alan threw off his hands. "Would you have me deliver her over to death?"

"You are her mendor, too!" Hal cried. "Do you not

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think the choice should be hers? There are many fates worse than death, even to an eifl"

Alan threw nun a black glare and stamped across the room to stand by the narrow window. As he looked into the midnight sky, he remembered the elves' lake: serene, dark, unfathomably deep. Tumult swirled through him, and he grew short of breath.

From behind him Hal spoke wearily. "Alan, must we quarrel? This thing that turns you from me-I've been miserable these months past-I beg pardon if I've med- dled where I have no say."

"Say what you will," Alan muttered perversely, and like a string that has been tuned too tightly, he broke- For the first time in bis months of anguish, he wept. As Hal's arms steadied him, he could feel the tears dissolving the hard knot of bitter pride that filled his chest and replacing it with hope. Dimly he realized that even the impossible might happen, that Lysse's hand might yet rest once again in his. Faintly, he heard her reassuring voice: "Wear this in hope of a better dawn. Remember me!"

Hal rubbed the hardness of Alan's shoulders, feeling right muscles slowly relax and tortured gasps turn to deep, quiet breathing. But the gray-eyed Prince did not think of the ash maiden. Instead, Torre's words, already forgotten by Alan, echoed joyously in Hal's mind- ". . . and he would be called Elf-friend, the Golden One, and Sun- rise King... .**

Three days after the comrades came to Cair Indel, the eve of November was celebrated, the ancient Feast of Fires. Galin rode in for the occasion, and Hal took his plinset and sang the lays his mother had taught him. For the old King, it was the merriest holiday in many years.

But to Hal and Alan it seemed a gloomy affair compared to the previous year's feast at Celydon. Food was scarce at Cair Indel, for these mountains were not farmed. The meal was acorn cakes and dried apples. Torre's chamber was dimly illuminated by torches and rushlights. Like all of the rooms at the fortress, it was bare of hangings or decoration. The stone was cold, and the rude furnishings few.

In the weeks that followed, Hal spent many hours with Torre. The old King was a deep well of history and all kinds of lore, but it was not only his learning that drew Hal to him. It was father love such as he had never known. Torre cherished his grandson, and Hal looked to him like a boy. Alan watched the two of them with a smile. All the bad humor bad gone out of his system, and he marveled at the change in Torre. Years had dropped away from the old King since Hal's coming.

He walked strongly, without support; his hands were

172.

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steady, his voice clear and true. Torre, who did not be- stow friendship lightly, treated Alan with a friendly dis- tinction that was more than the politeness of a host. Alan justly felt honored, and he was glad of Hal's happiness- But even Alan did not know how often Hal's thoughts turned toward Ceiydon.

Winter came. The mountains put on thick cloaks of snow, and the air developed teeth. Torre came out often, even in the biting cold, to help Hal and Alan with the horses; he loved to look at Arundel. But one freezing day, Hal did not come to the exercise yard. Alan met Torre, frowning. Hal was on the battlements, he ex- plained, staring eastward in a kind of a trance, and not at all reasonable. Torre did not seem put out. "Mothers, then let us go to him," he remarked.

They climbed up the icy steps. Hal was gazing into the gray distances of winterbound Welas.

"What is it. Hal?" Torre asked. His voice caressed the name- Hal did not answer, and Torre and Alan settled them- selves to wait. Hal hardly seemed aware of their presence.

After a few minutes, words burst from him, but not, they sensed, in answer to their query.

"Rosemaryl" Hal cried. "She's in danger!"

"Where? How?" Alan demanded, but once again Hal seemed not to notice. His face was straining.

"The wolvesi" he blurted a little later. "Why doesn't she see the wolvesi Asfala sees them. . . . What can Pelys be thinking of, to let her ride out alonel"

"Thinking of you," Alan murmured.

"She flees," Hal said with immense relief. "But why into the Forest, into the trees? A horse cannot outdis- tance wolves among trees!" He grew tense again, biting his Up in consternation. "Asfala is small, she twists among the trees, but her legs are short, the snow is deep. Why did she go that way?" Hal panted; he was Asfala, and the wolves, and Rosemary, bent low over the filly's neck.

To Torre and Alan, it seemed that the chase lasted an hour. They stood rigidly, waiting.

"A haven!" Hal shouted. "A refuge, a-a sacred grove. . . ." His voice trailed away in sheer wonder, and his shoulders sagged as he went limp with ecstasy. "Of course, she went there," he murmured. "It is her natal home, which she has never seen. Did the wolves drive

174.

THE SILVER SUN.

her there, or was it she who led them?" His voice sank to

a whisper; the listeners could hardly hear him.

'The lady has ridden her steed into the circle of rowan

trees. The wolves cannot follow, for there she is mistress;

more, she is essence. The wolves circle in the sacred

dance. Now Ket and his men come, with bows and clubs, to drive them off. The wolves scud away, and the outlaws stand agape; they also cannot enter the Rowan circle.

But, in time. the lady leaves it to join them." Hal spoke in a dreamy chant, an onlooker aside from self. "Ket asks her name, though he knows it well enough, and she tells him: Rosemary, daughter of Rowana of Celydon.

She senses that she is a daughter of her mother, in this place. Ket kneels at her feet. He loves her. He nearly weeps with love; he will love her until he dies. But she is

mine; he knows she is mine. She is the Lady, and I am the Very King."

"Ay," breathed Alan, remembering a dream he had forgotten, once seen on an ancient woman's loom. "Ay.

The Lady of All Trees dwells on the Forest island of Celydon."

Hal turned to him, shocked out of his trance, shaking