Chapter Oase.

Hal had no intention of being trapped in Nemeton like a fox taken in his hole. Caution would not avail him against far superior force. His only hope was to out- maneuver his foes in open battle.

He marched his men into the heart of the south, the fertile and oppressed Soft Lands, trusting his friends in the north and west to keep Nemeton from attack. On the sixth day, his army crossed the sinuous southern branch of the Dark River and entered on an ancient, eerily level plain. The long, brazen horns of the town trumpeters had bellowed news of the King's death before him, so Hal sent his scouts far ahead on the watch for enemies. Wherever they came, peasants bundled together their few belongings and fled for their lives, for they knew that war was more merciless than the winds of a tempest in sweeping over a land. Hal's men told them to go toward Nemeton, where they would be fed and shel- tered. Some were unbelieving. Some scurried like mice toward this unexpected sanctuary. And a few who had heard a whisper of hope knev/ that the time had come of which the legends spoke-and turned to follow Hal.

News was that from the south Mordri of the Havens was marching, and from the west, Kai Oakmaster.

250.

Laueroc 251

Daronwy, a powerful lord, gathered strength at Bridge- water, not far away. It was no use trying to besiege him, with the other lords hastening to his aid. Hal felt his way to the south and west, watchful for the enemy. Word came that Daronwy had left his stronghold to join his allies for an attack on the new-crowned King-

A few days later, at dusk, the opposing forces met, camping on open fields, facing each other across a space as flat as a chessboard, naked to each other's eyes. The combined armies of the lords made a force almost three times the size of Hal's. Looking over at the dark, fire- flecked mass of their numbers and the glint of their weapons in the twilight, Hal inwardly winced, feeling dread tighten around him.

"Prospects dont look good," he remarked to the young captain at his side.

Rafe pulled a face at the wry understatement. "Did you expect better?"

Hal sighed, "Not much better. This was a fool's venture from the first, Rafe. Yet, what else was I to do? Nemeton is not built to withstand siege; the Easterners were too proud for that. And a King . . ." He let the sentence trail away.

"A King must show his mettle." Rafe completed it for him.

"Especially a new King," added Hal bitterly, "and no matter whose blood might be shed. . . . Well, perhaps help will find us."

"If Alan takes Laueroc with dispatch," Rafe asked carefully, "when might he come to our aid?"

"In a few days, at the earliest. More likely a week."

Rafe watched, without comment, the slight shadow that darkened Hal's face. There was some nameless trouble between Hal and Alan, he knew. And Alan seemed changed, lately. . . . Rafe wondered, briefly, guiltily, if they could expect help of Alan.

"Even longer, for Ket or Koran to get here," Hal added.

"I don't know where else to look for aid. . . . But until some comes, we must survive."

They watched the men planting pieces of sharpened lumber in the ground, angling the pointed stakes outward into a sort of Forest of spiky trees to shelter Craig's arch- ers. There was no other shelter on this featureless plain, not even a swell in the ground. Behind this makeshift

252 THE SILVER SUN.

fence, Hal and his army would have to await the enemy charge, in the morning.

He did not sleep much that night, pacing through the hours as restlessly as his sentries. Though Rafe would not say it, he knew that even survival might be impossible. He flinched away from thoughts of Laueroc, not wanting to wonder whether Alan was wounded, even dead. ... He envisioned Rosemary, safe in her tower at Celydon, and held that dream for as long as he could. Some comfort in that; nothing threatened her except his own death- . . .

Hal gulped, and stood for a moment weak as water, long- ing for her embrace, and knowing he might never see her again.

Rosemary had long since left her home to ride to Hal's side. That they expected her to idle in empty Celydon, when all the land was on the move to aid her beloved'

She had barely been able to restrain her impatience until the nightfall after Pelys left. Then she had bundled her hair into a helm, found herself a brown cloak and boyish boots, saddled Asfala and slipped out past the dozing old men who guarded her. Transformed into a cocky-looking lad, she traveled steadily southward. She met only harm- less farm folk, for the Forest was oearly emptied of its usual inhabitants. Once she was accosted by a skulking pair of ruffians. But they quickly gave way before the bright sword she drew, never guessing that she did not know how to use it.

She rode with urgency. By the sixth day, she had made the southern reaches of the Forest, She drew rein as she came to the end of the trees and looked out over open weald. The Forest, once strange to her, had become her shelter and friend. Nemeton! All her instincts told her to stay far from that place of horrors. Yet she must go there, to find Hal. Setting her jaw, Rosemary urged Asfala onto the treeless expanse, toward the distant court city.

Six days into the campaign at Laueroc, in the fields just outside the walls, Alan lounged in his tent. His tenti He smiled with amusement at the thought. As commanding officer and declared Lord of Laueroc, he had come to merit the luxury of shelter. Cory was cleaning up after the evening meal; impressed with Alan's new status, he no longer let him help with camp chores. So Alan lay at ease,

Laueroc 253

musing on the victory that was likely to be his on the morrow, when he heard footsteps outside and a voice ask- ing, "May I come in?"

"Certainly, Blain, you may," called Alan happily. The lanky scholar-outlaw had showed a keen understanding of the intricacies of their situation. His advice had prevented more than one mishap, and his strategems had been of significant help. Other men, Alan knew, were warmer of heart, finer of instinct and sympathy. But a mind like BIain's was not likely to be soon found again.

"May I speak with you alone?" Blain asked.

"Go ahead," Alan replied. The outlaw glanced mean- ingfully at Corio, and Alan frowned with annoyance.

"What ails you, Blain? You know you can speak before Corin as before myself."

"Not this time," Blain stated mysteriously.

Alan heaved himself up to protest. But Cory had a statesman's instinct for smoothing over differences. "I must go to the well," he remarked cheerfully, and left, Alan sat back, scowling, to hear what Blain had to say. But BIain's usual directness was given over to rumbling and hesita- tion.

"You are a man of great heart," he said at last. "A man of strong will and much wisdom, but chiefiy a man of great heart."

"You are not in the habit of idly paying out compli- ments, Blain," replied Alan dryly. "What is on your mind?"

"The sacredness of the Sacred Kings is a tale told by conniving priests and sorcerers, to further their own am- bitions and fatten their purses!" Blain spoke with sudden passion. "I have seen no gods, and I know you cleave to none, but put the poor, superstitious folk under the fear of such vengeance and they will never try to free them- selves. No son of Iscovar has any better right to the throne than his manhood can win him. It should go to a man of heart, such as yourself."

An icy fist seemed to grip Alan, choking his power of speech. Blain went on, intensely: "Take it, my Lord Alant You have the occasion and the power to grasp it, and are twice as worthy as he. For the good of the people who love you-"

Like the shock of a sudden blow, an inhuman noise

254 THE SILVER SUN.

overpowered the camp, a roar loud and terrible as that of an enraged lion. Cory, like the others, was paralyzed for a moment where he loitered by the well; then he dashed back toward the tent. He was in time to see Blam come stumbling out in blind panic, followed by Alan, raising his naked sword and possessed by fury. He overtook Blam in two leaps, like an attacking beast, and BIain never drew a weapon, so helpless was he in his fear. Alan pinned him to the ground with the sword at his throat, gasping out words choked with passion: "Traitor! Filthy traitor! He is the finest man that ever lived. To think that I would strike down my own brother, he who trusts and loves met"

"Mercy, my lord," BIain faltered.

Alan barked a short, hard laugh that sent chills down Corin's spine. "Ay, you shall have mercy-for a few moments. You do not deserve to die the clean death of the sword. You shall die a traitor's shameful death, hang- ing by a rope. Conn, fetch cord to tie his hands."

Cory was back in a moment, and Alan jerked the prisoner to his knees. Cory's hands shook so that he could scarcely manage the knots. Alan took Blain's blade and sheathed his own. The blood-red rage was gone from his face, replaced by a look of unswerving purpose. "Mercy,"

BIain started to plead again, but stopped at Alan's icy glance, for he saw that bis death was doomed by a force greater than that of wrath.

"Waste no breath begging for mercy," Alan told him in a low, calm voice, "but try to go out like a man, BIain.

You have no gods to aid you?" BIain lowered his bead as the question bit into him.

The whole camp stood gathered around, silent as the prisoner. Alan spoke to them. "This man has traitorously urged me to seize the throne of Isle from the one to whom I owe my love and allegiance- Though my rage has calmed, I cannot let him live. I do not require you to be present. Those who would not see, go with all honor."

No one moved,

"I need a hangman," Alan went on. "I will not appoint any man to this task. Does anyone offer?"

No one moved or spoke. "Then I must do it myself,"

said Alan, reaching for the rope. Gray-bearded Tynan stayed his hand. "I will do it," he said quietly, but then