Trigg gazed for a long moment into Hal's gray eyes, and a seed of wisdom took root in the good soil of his honest soul. "I think I grasp ye,'* he murmured.

"Good. By the end of this night you shall be able to call yourself one of the dragon slayers, the true heroes of Isle."

Trigg laughed. "Pshaw!*' he exclaimed, but stopped wide-eyed when he saw that Hal was not joking.

With the coming of dusk, the bats began to issue from their crevice in the rock. Alan and Hal equipped them- selves with lantern, bread and bandages. "Have the horses in readiness, Trigg." Hal instructed. "If we succeed, we must be off quickly, before the panic subsides. If any kingsmen come this way, keep out of their path if you can; protect yourself and the steeds if you must. And re- member, fear is only fear-of itself, it cannot hurt you.

Farewell.**

"Go with all blessing," Trigg whispered.

The cave of the bats was pitch dark, and the stench terrible. Hal whispered to the remaining bats as they en- tered: "Este selle, bissel arledas, al donn tha ne riste."

["Be calm, little brothers, we mean you no harm."] So the small creatures were silent except for their usual rus- tlings and chirpings. But Hal and Alan did not dare to 190 THE SILVER SUN.

risk a light, not where eyes from the Tower might see, and their fingers grew foul and slimy as they felt their way along. Their feet slipped and squished across the un- even floor covered with dung.

After what seemed an eternity, they cautiously lighted their lantern. They moved more freely now, but Alan be- came sickeningly aware that the floor was one great writh- ing mass of maggots and insects feeding on the dung of

the bats. His stomach turned, and he tried not to look at his feet.

Abruptly the realm of the bats ended, and gratefully the comrades made their way along bare, damp stone.

The cave narrowed, turning into a crevice which de- scended at a steep angle into the depths of the earth.

The two found themselves sliding down a crooked chim- ney of stone. Presently Hal felt his feet dangling in air.

He lowered himself and dropped lightly to the floor be- low. Alan followed more slowly. These strait underground regions choked his heart. Grimly he steeled himself against whatever treacherous cavern might await him.

He landed beside Hal. But the lantern cast its light on a large domed passageway, and Alan realized at once that they stood in a work of man, not nature. The fissure through which they had entered showed as a dark flaw overhead. Alan stood gazing in amazement.

"Ancient people dug these," Hal explained. "No one knows quite why. As mines, perhaps, or retreats in time of attack. My ancestor Herne, curse his name, very sen- sibly used one of them as the deepest dungeon of his despicable Tower. Let us go."

They padded along quietly but at a good pace until they came to a halt at a wall of rubble which blocked their way. Part of the tunnel had at some time fallen in.

"Confound iti" muttered Hal, poking about, then reck- lessly climbing up the huge crumbling mass. Near the top he stuck his head into a black hole and called down ex- citedly, "This goes through, Alan, I can feel it! Bring the lightl"

Alan climbed gingerly up the sliding stones with the

lantern. "Hal," he asked in a low voice, "are you never frightened?"

Hal wheeled and looked at him sharply, then remorse- fully took his hand. It was icy cold. Hal chafed it as he spoke. "Seldom. But you're far braver than I."

The Dark Tower 191

As Alan sputtered in protest he went on, sadly but without self-pity. "I have always held loosely to life. But you, who have the heart to embrace life, must brave the fear of losing it. The old fears that strike deepest, fear of dark, and depths, and heights-these I scarcely know, and I can only imagine the courage you spend to over- come them."

"Can you not imagine what it would be like to get stuck in a hole like that?" Alan broke in.

"Imagining doom! Why, Alan, that's not like you at all!" Hal chided, smiling. Then he sobered. "Do you re- ally want to turn back?"

"Nay," answered Alan ruefully, "go on, as ever. I will follow."

The next half hour might have been the worst in Alan's life if it were not for Hal's generous words. They wormed their way through the tiny tunnel, pushing their baggage before them. Sometimes they stuck fast, making their way through only by main force. Then rock fragments would shower them till, hearts frozen in terror, they were sure they would be buried alive. When (hey got through at last, it was tricky work not to go tumbling headfirst down the other side. But they reached the bottom and sat there for a few minutes, panting.

"How long have we been in here?*' sighed Alan. "It seems like hours."

"Not so long, I hope," murmured Hal, "but long enough. We had better be moving."

They had not walked too far when Alan felt the pres- ence of the spirits of the dead, though only as a bodiless weight in the air. Within a few paces the dim lantern light began to reflect on jumbled human bones, many of them broken, intermingled with bits of hair and clothing.

Through the darkness they sensed that the pile grew into a mountain, reaching far above their heads. This was the work of seven generations of oppression, thousands upon thousands dead. The stench struck them to the core, for it was the stench of death, of rotting flesh and the creatures which feed upon it. Hal and Alan could not face each other's eyes.

"You who died in pain and hatred," Hal spoke to the waiting spirits, "we come not in idleness, but because we must."

The rustle like a breath of new air went through the

THE SILVER SUN.

192.

still place. A deep voice rumbled, as if from afar: "We know you, Mireldeyn and EIwyndas, and we have waited long for your coming."

"We must ask your help," Hal continued, "or we are not likely to live through the night."

"Wherever you move, you shall be the center of our circle of friendship and ringed with our Otherness." As the voice spoke, Alan felt the heavy chill in the air turn to warmth and comfort. He raised his head and breathed deeply; the stench of death no longer troubled him.

"Many thanks," said Hal. "But wait in this chamber until I call." Businesslike, he began to climb up the lat- ticework of skeletons. Alan's eyes widened in distress.

"Hall Must wer

"It is the only way to reach the door." But Hal paused a moment, listening once again for the spirits. "Is it not, our friends?"

**The only way," echoed the deep, distant voice. "Go, Elwyndas, with our blessing. We are proud that our shat- tered bodies can yet be of such use."

"It will cause you no pain?"

"None."

"Then, many thanks."

They toiled silently up the macabre slope. The light of their lantern fell sometimes on the half-rotted flesh of a more recent victim, or on the retreating forms of squeak- ing rats and scurrying beetles. Hal struggled along, eyes fixed on his footing, trying not to wonder whether they might find Roran and the others atop this grisly hill.

From behind he heard a half-strangled gasp, and spun around Just in time to save Alan from falling. Trembling, Alan sank to his knees, white as the bleached bones be- neath him From the tangled heap of remains protruded a skeletal hand, and on its chalky finger was a silver ring set with a deep black stone. Hal stared silently as Alan's shaky hand reached out as if to living flesh.

"Father," Alan breathed, and he searched the dark- ness around him as if for a familiar face. Hal knelt be- side him, gripped his shoulders.

"Alan," he whispered, "even if he is here, you do him no service to call him."

"The dead can have no place in the lives of those they leave behind," said the deep voice from its distance of Otherness. "Lover shall not speak to lover, nor father to

The Dark Tower 193

son, but the Wheel shall spin out its seasons. So it is written in the Book." Alan thought he heard tears in the voice.

"Alan," urged Hal gently, "think of the living-if they are yet alive."