"That smith is infected," Hal said grimly, "and not likely to live long, unless I can find him some medicine."

"Father will not die," Corin told him fiercely. "He is a smith, and he is tough."

"What kind of medicine?" Alan asked.

"Nothing that grows in these parts. I shall have to go a-bartering."

"You are the healer." Alan rose. "You stay, and I*U go."

"You wouldn't know what to get." Hal also rose.

"You can tell me what to get," Alan said in a hard voice, but Hal shook his head impatiently.

"Any of a dozen things. Some cottage wife may have some, but if not, I shall have to go to Whitewater." He hid a chunk of meat in a saddlebag, for trade. "Is it far, Corin?"

"Half a day's walk."

"So, an hour's hard ride. I can be in and out before the gates close. . . . Keep bathing that fellow, face and

The Forest 19 wounds." He vaulted onto Arundel and trotted away be- tween the trees.

Corin went for water again. Alan muttered to himself and rather viciously finished butchering the deer. He was barely done when Arundel cantered back to their camp, riderless. Hal's sword, still in its scabbard, was protruding from his blanketroll.

"He is in trouble alreadyl" Alan exclaimed. "Afoot, and weaponless. . . . Corin, good luck go with you. And you are welcome to the meat." He saddled Alfie hastily and sped away, with Arundel trailing after. In his dismay, Alan did not notice that Corin reached out a hand as Arun passed. Corin was left alone with his feverish father.

But the boy smiled triumphantly, for he was armed, at least. Hal's sword was in his grip.

After Alan left the Forest, Arundel took the lead, can- tering through the cover of scattered hedges and woodlota near the riverbank. Presently he slowed to a quieter jog, then to a walk. Alan caught glimpses of metal helmets off to bis right, and after a while he sighted Hal. Mounted lordsmen held him prisoner, and he was afoot, being jerked along by the rope that bound his arms. Even from his cautious distance, Alan could see the blood on his face. His stomach knotted; he felt as if he himself bad been struck.

He could think of no way to free Hal from that armed troop of nearly a dozen men. So he followed, aching. By late afternoon he had neared Whitewater, a walled town with three castle towers rising within. The place was heav- ily fortified and perched high above the river gorge. Be- yond were masts of ships, and the Eastern Way ran be- low the walls, south to Nemeton.

Alan halted in the last copse of trees, and watched as Hal disappeared through the dark tunnel that was the town gate. For a long time he fixed the stone walls with his gaze, as if by desperate will he could pierce them with his sight and find the place where Hal had been taken.

Finally, when darkness was falling, he dismounted and patted Arundel meditatively. He tethered Alfie, and patted him too, out of a sense of justice. Arundel did not need a tether, and Alfie was already attempting to eat his. Alan eyed his unruly beast with mingled affection and despair.

"For once in your life, Alfie," he pleaded in a low 20 THE SILVER SUN.

voice, "try to behave tonight." Then, although feeling absurd, he added softly, "I need you. And I like you. Be here when I get back." Firmly, he refused to add, ";/ I get back," He patted the horse once more, laced his sword tightly to keep it quiet under bis cloak, and trudged

down the road toward Whitewater.

The tired gatekeeper let him in without question. Alan

strode through the narrow, smelly streets, hoping only to avoid the lordsmen until full dark had fallen. Then he must try to find Hal, but how? The castle was like a giant triangle, three strong towers with walls between. The

barracks would be somewhere in the courtyard.

His thoughts were interrupted by hoofbeats. Alan

dodged between the close-set house, but he had been seen. A shout rang out. Alan fled through a maze of twisting entryways where he hoped the horses could not follow. Then he hid, panting, behind some hogsheads, He could hear the lordsmen calling to each other not far away. He startled violently when a door creaked open nearby. A wrinkled face looked out, and a clawlike hand

beckoned him into a narrow, clay-daubed house.

"Many thanksl" Alan gasped as be bolted through the

doorway.

He had no need to say anything more. His ancient

hostess had a tireless tongue. She sat him down at her smoking hearth and fed him well, gossiping all the time about hard times, high taxes and the plight of her

neighbors.

"Time was, when a tower of wood or stone was suffi- cient for the keeping of a lord," she chattered indignantly, "but Gar must have a walled stronghold, no less, and the money to pay for it, and the men to build it, for the spoils of his wars do not come near meeting the price, and after five years it is not done yetl The old stone tower, the White Tower, the one nearest the sea, has only half- done walls* though to be sure it would not need any, for what army could climb the sea clifis, I would like to

know?"

,i Alan glanced up with interest. "Do they use that tower,

''i then?"

'i "Ay, to be sure they do'. 'Tis a stronghold in its own

, ' right, and the castle guard is good. The lord uses it for i prisoners that he holds for ransom, and for his enemies, and malcontents, anyone who causes him trouble. . . .

The Forest 21

Why, that is where the lordsmen put that lad they brought in this afternoon!" The old crone's face saddened.

"I saw them go by with him. He was a right proper, spirited lad, fighting them all the way. Poor thing, he will learn better before long ... or he is likely to die for it."

The good woman gabbled on, telling about the suf- ferings of other young men she had known. Alan be- came anxious to get away from her. He managed to say that he was going to visit a relative who lived near the castle, and he received very detailed and confusing in- structions on how to get there without meeting more lordsmen. At last he succeeded in taking his leave. The gossip wished him well and charged him, on his next visit to town, to come see "old Margerie." Alan strongly hoped there would be no next time, but he promised nevertheless.

It was dark now, and the streets were quiet. Alan passed quickly through back lanes, coming at the castle from the less traveled side. He had no trouble recogniz- ing the White Tower of Whitewater; it shone in the moon- light like a shaft of ice. From the shadow of a cottage Alan studied the walls and the movements of the castle guards. There were no guards on the rubble of the half- completed walls, but atop the nearer section there were many. Alan sighed. The moon had served him well so far. Now he begged it to go behind a cloud and stay there.

To his grateful surprise, it did. Silently he ran across the dry ditch which separated him from the castle, and scrambled up the embankment beyond. He crouched under the wall and crept along until he came to the edge of the sea cliff. Twenty feet above his head, he knew, a guard was standing with his back to the sea.

Through the hazy darkness Alan made out the form of the cliff. It was rough and uneven, offering purchase enough. But the stone was loose and treacherous. The surf pounded loudly below, the first sea surf that Alan had ever seen, and he did not like its cold, angry look.

Slowly fae lowered himself over the edge of the cliff.

Once over, Alan moved as quickly as he could, but with great caution. A loosened stone could alert the guard, or send Alan crashing to the rocks below. He lowered himself for several feet, then started to work his way across the cliff face. A large stone slipped from under his foot and left him hanging momentarily by his hands.

22 THE SILVER SUN.

He scrambled for a foothold, too frightened to think of the guard. But, as he clung to the cliff, the only sounds he heard were the pounding of the surf and the pound- ing of his own heart.

After a while Alan went on, moving tensely to within a few feet of the top. He was past the guard now, and past the fortified walls, but the unfinished stonework rose smooth, and sheer from the edge of the cliff. Alan inched along, with throbbing arms and stiffened fingers, until at last he found a wooden scaffolding where masons had been working. He hauled himself up and lay pant- ing on the timbers, grateful to be alive.

Then he stiffened. Footsteps were approaching just beyond the stones. A guard was walking inside the wall; Alan could see the glint of his helmet. His head passed within feet of Alan's face. But he did not look around or shoulder any weapon. An evening stroller, Alan decided.

At first he thought only of slipping by the man, though he felt sure he would be forced to fight before the night was over. But then a desperate plan came to Alan's mind. He remembered the robber's fingers on his throat, the blackness which had quickly followed, and he felt certain that he could do as much. He crept forward on me stony rubble as his quarry wandered back in his direction. Then, when the man's face was only inches from his own, Alan struck like an eagle and gripped with all his strength. The guard gave a small, questioning sound, struggled a moment and then went limp. Alan swung himself down from the wall and sank to the ground beside his prey, thankful for the shadows and the silence of the night.

He hastily stripped the guard of his helmet, breast- plate and gloves. He slipped them on, and the man's cloak, not daring to be more elaborate. Briefly, he won- dered what to do with the guard. Slit his throat, like a downed deer? Cursing under his breath, Alan found that he could not bring himself to kill so coolly. He gagged the man with a strip of shirting, and bound him hand and foot with bootlacings-

In a few minutes a quaking guard entered the door to the White Tower, head down under his helmet and keeping well away from the torch stuck in a sconce be- side the entrance. "Ah, Joe, feeling better?" cried the