"Ay," Alan managed to say. "Is he-is he-" He could not say the word.

"Ay," replied Hal softly. "He is dead."

Alan groaned and lay back in the grass, breathing hard.

After a few minutes he spoke. "In my mind, I knew he was dead. But in my heart, I always hoped that by some chance he was yet alive."

The Forest 37

He sat up. "Tell me what they did to him," he de- manded, fists clenched.

"Oh, by any god, Alan, nay!" Hal pleaded. "Remem- ber him as he was! This much I will tell you: never once did his courage fail him. For five days and nights, as nearly as I can tell, they tortured him with every fiendish machine in that dark place of horrors, but always he was steadfast in his endurance." Hal spoke like one who, in spite of himself, must yet relive a bad dream. "If I cried out with him in his agony, or turned away my head, I was flogged. But the worst of it was that they tortured him even more cruelly then, thinking I would weaken. So I learned, for his sake more than for mine, to sit, and watch, and make no sign, though my blood ran cold. They let him keep his tongue, hoping that he would plead with me for his life, and they sometimes left us alone together for this purpose. But instead he always encouraged me.

He told me that he was ready to die, that any life the King granted him would not be worth the living. He urged roe, as before, never to yield to the King. And he spoke often of you, Alan. 'I have a son,' he would say, 'just your age, born on the day of your birth. His name is Alan, and you and he are much alike in many ways, I think. I have sent him to safety with kinsfolk in the north, and I hope he may strike a blow for my people someday. He is a bold lad, and great of heart. I do not mind dying, so long as I know he is alive.' "

"He spoke of me thus?" said Alan shakily.

"He spoke of you thus, more than once." Hal was si- lent a moment before he went on. "When they saw he would soon be dead, they put him to death in a way that they hoped would break my spirit. They tore him limb from limb on the rack. His last words were to me, and they were these: *A11 good go with you, Hal. Be brave.

And if ever you see my son, tell him that I love him.'"

Alan choked and turned away, hiding his face with his hands. Hal put his arms around him, and at last Alan gave in to his grief, weeping long and hard, as he had not wept since he was a child. When he could speak, his words were as bitter as his tears. "We parted in wrath on my side, sorrow on his," be said. "He would not tell me why he was sending me north, and I did not want to go. It was not until I had arrived that I learned he had

38.

THE SILVER SUN.

been taken 8y the King. I never had a chance to tell him...." His voice broke, and he could not go on.

"He knew your love," comforted Hal softly. "He

needed no telling. Always he spoke of you with great Joy and pride."

Alan got up and went to wash his face in the stream.

Hal put more sticks on the fire. When Alan returned, he looked as pale as if he had himself been through torture.

"How did you get out?" he asked in a low voice.

"When they killed him on the rack, I fainted-not for the first time. This time, when I awoke, I was alone, curled up on some filthy straw in a little cell. I suppose they had not yet decided what to do with me next In the cell wall was a small, barred window. Looking out, I saw the full moon rising, shining on the ivy that cov- ered the tower walls. In that instant I knew what I must do.

"I was very weak, but my worst weakness was not of the body. I felt that my spirit was almost gone, that I could not hold out much longer. And so, although I could scarcely stand, I somehow managed by strength of des- peration-perhaps by some good sorcery, from where I do not know-to force apart the bars enough to let nay body through. I climbed down the Tower wall by grasp- ing the ivy. Once down, I stumbled to the stables;

Arundel broke his halter to come to me. I somehow got on his back, and we were off. I think we traveled for three days, but most of the time I knew nothing. I had no idea where we were until we came to the Forest, and to Trigg, one of the outlaws with Craig the Grim."

Hal smiled, remembering that lucky meeting. "Trigg is a slow country fellow, but he has a heart as big as the sky. He was nearly in tears with coaxing Arundel when I came to myself. After I spoke to Arun, he got me to camp at last, and the outlaws cared for me well. . . .

But it was a month before I could stand, and late autumn before I had regained my full strength. So I stayed

through the winter with them, and finally left them early this past spring."

Hal and Alan were walking up and down the banks of the stream, talking softly, arms around each other's shoul- ders. Though they had not rested since Hal's capture, nei- ther had any thought of sleep.

"I had been traveling about a month when I met you,"

The Forest 39

Hal finished. "But how did you come to be wandering?"

"Some of my father's retainers took me to my mother's kinsfolk, near Rodsen," replied Alan. "Then they went their ways, to find service where they might. But my mother's people feared the King's wrath. They shunted me from one household to another throughout the winter, until I was glad enough to relieve them of my presence, with the coming of spring. I had some notion of going back to Laueroc for revenge, though I did not feel really ready to get myself killed. . . . But the robbers interrupted my journey before I was much farther south than Gaunt.

"Tell me, Hal, when did you suspect who I was?"

"When you told me your name," Hal smiled. "For I knew before then that you were brave, steadfast in suf- fering like only one man I had ever met-and you look like him, Alan. And Leon Aleron, whose sword you wear, was your cousin, was he not? And Alfie, Alf Longshanks, was your great-great-grandfather, who won himself a will- ful bride-"

"Ay, the lady Deona, fair as gold and stubborn as steel. Lauerocs since then have all looked like her, folk say."

"So I could have asked you your birthday weeks ago,"

Hal went on, "and discharged my duty to your father. I told myself I would not, for you were not yet well. But in truth, Alan, I did not speak because-because I was afraid."

"How so?'*

"Afraid that you would hate me," admitted Hal, with lowered eyes.

"And why would I hate you?" asked Alan dryly.

"For two reasons. First, because the blood runs in my veins of the vilest man, the greatest ill-doer, in all of Isle.

Second, because I could have saved your father's life, and did not."

Alan snorted. "Even supposing that the King kept his word, what sort of life would he have given my father?

The width of a cell for pacing? He would have pined like a caged eagle. He felt pent even in Laueroc, roaming oftener than he was home. . . . And as for your tainted blood," Alan continued warmly, "I tell you what I have often wished in the past weeks, and still do: I wish that Ket and the others were right, and that you were my brother in truth. For I tell you, I love you well, and I

40 THE SILVER SUN.

would be proud if your blood, of which you speak so

poorly, ran in my veins."

Hal ducked his head, unable to speak for emotion.

Finally, softly, he asked, "Is this truly your wish, or but

a manner of speaking?"

"This is my wish."

"Then," Hal said slowly, "there is a way."

"How?" Alan demanded.

*'My mother, as you know, was Welandais. She taught

me the language and customs of the west land. Indeed, Welas is the home of my heart, though I have never been there. It is the law there that, if two men wish to become brothers, they settle this between themselves through a ceremony they perform. They are then forever afterward

considered to be brothers, in law and in love." "What is this ceremony?" asked Alan eagerly.

Hal took a deep breath. "Each man takes a sharp knife, and nicks the vein of his comrade's left wrist, here, where the heart's blood flows nearest the surface. It must be skillfully done, or one might die; therefore great trust is required of those who undertake this ceremony. Then the wrists are pressed tightly together, so that the two bloods mingle and are one, and oaths are taken, such as are seen fit. Thus the two men are made brothers. The word for it in Welandais is belledas, meaning 'blood brother,*

whereas the word for 'natural brother" is mollendas.

Blood brothers are held not only in equality to natural

brothers, but in an honor of their own."

Alan read the longing in Hal's eyes, and he knew that the same desire brightened his own. "Let us do it, Hal,"