Lweroc 255 several came forward, shamed by the old man. The rope was quickly knotted and fastened to the bough of a tree.

A stump was set beneath it, and to this Blain walked unescorted, scarcely swaying as he was helped up and the noose placed over his head. He shook his head to the makeshift hood he was offered. With clear eyes he faced Alan in unspoken request.

"Speak," Alan granted.

"You men of mine, stay with my lord Alan and serve him," he told them earnestly. "Serve him well, I charge you, for my sake. I love him well, though I love myself more, and would have overthrown him when I could.

. . . But if you serve him, perhaps my soul will gain some merit yet. And beware of pride, which has undone me."

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Alan. "I am ready,"

he said.

Alan suddenly became aware that Corin stood silently by his side. "Cory," he whispered urgently, "go to the tent." He kept his eyes on BIain.

Few grown men would have dared to cross Alan that day, but Corin had his own notions of duty. "I am staying with you," he said firmly. Alan shot him a piercing glance and saw no youthful defiance, only unflinching love.

The hangman waited for his signal.

"Let it be done quickly," Alan ordered. The fellow nodded.

"Torture me no longer, my lord," said Blain in a low voice, and Alan bit his lip to see the sweat that beaded his face. Suddenly he strode forward and showed Blain the only mercy he could: struck him hard on the forehead with the pommel of his sword. Then he jerked the stump from under his feet.

Though Blain was unconscious from the moment of Alan's sudden blow, there was no escaping the choked breath, the contorted, purple face, the convulsed body, and the Jerking heels which beat a frenzied rhythm against the trunk of the tree before they slowly stilled.

Blain's body took a long time to die. Alan wanted to turn away, to sob, to run, to crumple on the ground like a rag doll and beat his fists against the dirt. Many eyes watched him for signs of weakness; he did not care about them. But beside him stood Corin, and for the lad's sake Alan stood like stone.

When at last it was over, Aian asked for volunteers to

256 THE SILVER SUN.

tend to the burial. Only when that was done did he walk deliberately to a copse of trees darkened by the approach- ing night. There he leaned against a tree and vomited, and wept in shame, knowing that the strength of his rage had been proportionate to the strength of his secret de- sire.

Chapter Two.

By the time Rosemary reached Nemeton, Hal and his army had survived one day of war. Their shelter of pointed stakes lay splintered and buried in bodies. The troops were reeling with exhaustion. A full tithe of the foot sol- diers lay dead, and more were terribly wounded. Hal and his warriors, Rafe, Craig and the outlaw-archers under his command, all stood dazed and stumbling, en- crusted with drying sweat and drying blood. But they held their ground. Their enemy had engulfed them, broken on them like an ocean, and their flimsy line, formed along borrowed lumber, had withstood the tide.

Yet, the army they faced the next morning scarcely seemed diminished. With sinking heart, Hal called his men into line of battle behind their shattered defenses.

"Those posts are smashed to bits," Craig grumbled.

"I couldn't use the same ploy twice, anyway," Hal sighed. "Today, we attack, and hope they aren't expect- ing it. Ready, Rafe?"

The young captain only nodded. He looked strained and pale beneath his layer of grime. Hal himself was bleary-eyed after a sleepless night spent among the wounded. Now he would not be able to spare men to tend them.

2S7.

258 THE SILVER SUN.

"All right. I must go to the horses." Hal strode away, but turned back after only a few paces. "Luck, you two,"

he added quietly, and went to find Robin and Arundel.

He led his mounted warriors in charge after charge that day, and the next, and the next. Rafe hurtled along after them, shouting hoarsely, his soldiers close behind. And Craig's archers took a heavy toll of the lordsmen-but it seemed that the enemy ranks never thinned. Hal and his army were pushed back, back, through the grueling days, until he could have wept, until he was past weeping. He wouldn't have blamed the troops if they had broken ranks and fled, but their valor tore at his heart. They made the enemy pay dearly for every step gained, and they paid dearly in their turn. Wounded comrades had to be left at the mercy of those arrogant lords. . . . And Trigg, faithful Trigg, was among the missing,

On the fourth day, only the coming of darkness saved Hal's army from being trapped against the river. "Cross the water," he ordered when his dwindled forces regath- ered. "It's our only chance." So, half swimming, half fording, exhausted beyond fear of drowning, they put the river between them and their enemy. Then each man collapsed to the damp ground, unmindful of food, fire or blankets. A deathly silence spread over the camp.

"I'll take a spell at watch," said Craig gruffly. "A few of my men are still standing. . . . Hal, you look like a wraith. Go get some rest!"

"I'll try," he mumbled. "Where, where, is Alan!" But Craig had no comfort to offer him.

There was no fighting next day, for a blessing. Seeing Craig's hard-eyed archers stationed on the shore, the lordsmen chose not to risk themselves in crossing. The enemy soldiers set to knocking together covered rafts.

Grateful for their caution, Hal wandered his camp, help- ing where he could, taking stock. He used the gift of the elves to bring relief to many of his men, curing weari- ness of body and spirit. His followers regarded him with wonder, and called him the Healer King. But he had no cure to offer for death, watching his men give into mortal wounds. And he had no cure, seemingly, for his own despair.

A messenger from the north came early in the day.

He left soon after, and Hal offered the men no hint of his news. But he spoke privately to Rafe and Craig.

Lnoeroc 259

"Roran has failed. Gar of Whitewater marches on Neme- ton." They stared at him, stunned as if by a blow.

"For my own part," Hal added, anguished, "I am not reluctant to die in such loyal company. Still, I wish you were in safety."

Rate snorted. "This is unlucky talk, Hal. Help may yet come."

"Ay, it may," echoed Craig. But his face was bleak.

At sundown, Hal and Craig rode the perimeter of the camp to make sure all was secure. At the outpost farthest from the river a beardless boy stood holding a fine sorrel mare. Craig was certain that Hal had gone mad, for he spurred toward this lad and hurled himself from the sad- dle. Trembling, Hal reached out and delicately removed the helm. As Rosemary's auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders, Hal dropped the helm and kissed her, deep and unashamed, in front of all who watched. When he released her at last, she saw that his eyes were moist.

"Oh, Love," he choked, "you should not have come."

"Why not?" She stood smiling and breathless from his greeting- "I believe you are not entirely sorry to see me."

"I love you. The sight of you is like wine in my veins. But oh. Love-" The words were torn from him. "I would not have you see me die."

She caught her breath as the cold grip of fear closed in her heart, but her eyes remained steady. "Why?" she challenged him.

"The past two days we have fought against a force three times our size. We have done well." Hal spoke ironically. "They are now only twice our number. My men are weakened by wounds and exhaustion. If we fight tomorrow, that day will be our last. If we retreat, we shall be hounded like rats at the haying, for Gar of Whitewater marches on a handful of men at Nemeton.

My fighters are great of spirit. They will follow me to the end, whatever that may be. For myself I do not grieve, but it grieves me that I can find no hope for them-" Hal stopped short, suddenly recognizing his grief for Rosemary.

"Have better hope. Liege." She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Alan has taken Laueroc, and no doubt is speeding to your aid. Moreover, Gar of White- water is not marching on Nemeton. The siege of Firth was quickly overthrown, but Roran was very low on sup- 260 THE SILVER SUN.

plies; it took him a few days to stock his ships and set sail. Then he sped before the wind, and came to White- water only hours after Gar had left, after the Gypsies had harried that lord as much as they could. And news travels quickly these days. Ket heard of Gar's march, and since his business at Lee was done, he cut swiftly across the Forest to stop him. I have not heard the end of it, but I think there can be small doubt of the out- come. With Ket at his fore and Roran and the Gypsies on his heels, Gar is doomed."

"Craig!" Hal shouted. "Do you bear that? Gar am- bushed, and Alan riding to our aid!"

"I hear." He rode over, struggling to conceal the doubt in his face. "Good news, if it is true. But what are we to do until Alan gets here, if indeed he is coming?"

Hal turned on him with blazing eyes, but Rosemary touched his arm and lightly mounted Asfala. "Follow me," she ordered. "I have something to show you."

Not a word more would she say. After a few minutes they topped a rise and found themselves facing a silent mass of men, at least a thousand in number. Hal recog- nized prisoners he had released, peasants he had offered shelter in Nemeton, townsfolk he had left behind. Indeed, they comprised a motley crowd, but with a uniform de- termination of mien which made their random ranks seem as formidable as the battle lines of trained armies.

At their fore, scowling, stood Derek.

"He guessed my secret when I came to Nemeton,"

Rosemary explained. "He, too, was anxious to go to you, but he feared your wrath. He asked me to intercede for him."

"He needs no intercession," Hal muttered. "I could kiss the fellow!" Suddenly dismounting, he strode to Derek and hugged him like a bear, thumping him on the back. Derek's lean face broke into a smile, perhaps a smile of love such as he had never known.