at his own words, terrified. "Name of Aene, Alan, what did I say?"

"Truth." Alan put an arm around him.

"I called myself Very King!" Hal whispered, ashen.

"Merest truth, Mireldeyn," Alan told him whimsically.

"Think no more of it."

"Will the lass be all right?" Torre asked, bemused.

"Ay, Ket will see her home." Hal turned to the old

King remorsefully. "Grandfather, how long have you

stood here while I babbled nonsense?"

"I heard no nonsense," Torre retorted, "and I am not yet too old to stand for a while. Moreover, it has been said before now that the Lady of the Forest must wed the Very King, as the Forest is the soul of Isle and the

Very King its heart. But what are the rites of this Lady? What must she do?"

"She does not do; she is." Hal seemed to know the answer in spite of himself. "She lives, as the Forest lives."

"Why did she not tell us, or show us?" Alan murmured.

"How blind we were then, Hal!"

"She does not know it herself, Alan( She is more being than knowing. She is the fruit tree and the dappled deer."

The West Land 17S

Hal shook his head, blinking back tears. "Aene's power go with her! Knowing is only pain."

"Come in to the fire," said Torre gruffly.

It took Hal a few days to shake off the lethargy of his trance, and for a few nights he paced the corridors, afraid to sleep because of what his dreams might be. He hated the thought that Ket might someday kneel to him. . . .

But the warmth of Torre's love drew him away from his fears more quickly than he would have believed possible.

In the evenings he sat by the hearth and sang for the old man- The quiet winter months passed slowly for Hal and Alan, in spite of their contentment. There was much to be done in the year ahead, and they longed to be on the road once again- If Iscovar's physician reckoned rightly, this would be their last year of preparation for the war to come. Hal paced for nearly a month at the thought of it, until one day he smelted spring even in the icy mountain air. "The snow is melting and the grass is green in the lowlands," he said, "though the crags here are still white, It is time for us to go."

Torre came to watch them pack. "You roam about the land," he chided, "without shields, helms or mail? Your fighting skills are great, but it is a wonder you have not both been killed."

"We have tried to avoid fighting," Hal explained. "We could appear to be only wastrels, or farm lads, when we chose. Though truly it was not often a matter of choice."

Torre shook his head. "Two years ago, perhaps, you could do that; but no one would mistake you now for farm lads." He studied their powerful shoulders and chests, noting their purposeful movements and steady bearing.

"You are warriors, and leaders of warriors. There is no disguising it."

"Just as you say," Hal acceded cheerfully. "But what are we to do about it?"

"We have gifts," came a voice from the doorway. They turned in surprise to see Galin, but the King smiled.

Galin's voice, as always, was somber. But Alan thought he saw a flicker of emotion in his black eyes.

From the corridor came a procession of servants, bring- ing Ha! and Alan the accouterments of combat. Galin and Torre first presented tunics of fine chain mail, light- weight but very strong, crafted of the mountains' best

176 THE SILVER SUN.

metal. Then they brought half-helms with a noseguard attached; these were much less hot and heavy than full helms, and could be stored in the saddlebags until needed.

The mail could be worn under an outer garment, if Hal and Alan wished to hide it.

Last, Torre and Galin gifted the comrades with shields.

These also were lightweight yet strong, and rather small, so as not to hamper freedom of movement They were of a graceful shape, the point not too long but somewhat rounded. In the center of each was embossed a half-circle sunburst, like that on the plinset case, or like the emblem of Veran*s crown in the heart of the green Elfstone.

Hal's shield and helm shone silvery gray, like his sword and his steed. Alan's were of the same metal, but treated with an overlay which made them glow a brilliant gold, like sunlight.

The two soon gave up trying to express their thanks.

They knew that Torre understood, and beneath Galin's toughened exterior they felt his love as well as his re- luctance to show it. So in mutual silence and regard they saddled their steeds, slung on their bedrolls, and pre- pared to leave.

"I shall miss you both," said King Torre. He stood tall, and in his eyes glowed the hope of a new dawn. As they rode down the gorge they looked back at him. With his dark eyes sparkling, his thin lips pressed tight, his snow- white hair bristling in the crisp air, he seemed a roused bird of prey, poised to strike his enemies, swift and deadly. In farewell he raised the clenched fist of war.

Galin rode with the brothers as far as the lower de- fenses. From the foothills they could see the lowlands in the hazy distance. Hal was right; green patches were beginning to appear.

"Farewell," Galin said simply as they turned to leave.

Then suddenly he added, "Hal, Alan, I never told you-"

"We know." Hal assured him, smiling at the love in his thunder-dark eyes.

"Go with all blessing," he said.

They left the mountains behind them and rode toward the lowlands, Iscovar's demesne. Galin watched them go.

He was troubled by the emblem on their shields-was it the rising sun of a new dawn for his land and his people, or was it the setting of their sun forever? There was a

The Wen Land 177

mystery in Hal's eyes which he did not understand, but which caused him both hope and fear. Something in Hal, he knew, was more than man, even more than legend- but even an elf-man could be killed. With the difficulty that comes of pride, Galin bowed his head and begged the Mothers to keep his kinsman from harm.

book four THE DARK TOWER.

Chapter One.

Hal and Alan set their course straight toward Nemeton, for they needed to establish communication with the castle before they could lay their final plans. Hal hoped his old nurse was still alive. "She was always clever, and tough even in tenderness," he grumbled, to temper his concern. "Still, I wish I knew what happened to her, af- ter Rhys was killed."

Since they had to travel through the heart of the low- lands, they put the bold face to it, riding abreast of each other with jingling mail, helms on and shields at the ready. In this land of petty lords, they believed, few folk would pay them any mind. But they were mistaken.

Peasants gaped at them from the fields, and once an ancient woman scuttled into their path and seized their hands. "The Mothers be praised that I have lived to see this dayl" she cried, and kissed their hands, and wept.

Hal and Alan did not know what to think. Another time, to their surprise and discomfiture, a group of peasants knelt by their road. "Why are you kneeling?" Hal de- manded.

"Because you are the Very King," a fellow answered huskily, "who comes to rid us of the oppressors, all gods be thanked 1"

ISO.

The Dark Tower 181

"But how can you know that?" Hal exclaimed.

"Why, the old song, my lords," the man blurted, and recited: