“But I did not—”

“You’re here,” Sir Roye said furiously, keeping his voice low as they rounded a corner and passed out of earshot. “On account of you, I’ve defied the prince of the realm.”

“Lord Odfrey will give me a place here. It was meant to be his promise.”

Sir Roye snorted in contempt. “A promise not made.” “He will,” Dain said with assurance. “Just as soon as I speak to him and—” Sir Roye shoved him into the wall to silence him. While Dain straightened himself, trying to catch his breath, the old knight glared and pointed his finger at him. “You’ll work none of your pagan wiles on him, hear me? You keep yourself quiet now, and don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”

“But—”

“Quiet!”

Dain shut his jaws and glared back. He was tired of being shoved and smacked and yelled at. He was tempted to break away from Sir Roye, but the knowledge that Gavril and his minions might pounce kept him where he was. As mean and gruff as he acted, Sir Roye meant protection, even if temporarily.  “Sir Roye!” called an accented voice, one that made the hairs rise on the back of Dain’s neck. “Where have you been? Why have you been away so long?” It was Sulein, the sorcerel, coming down the passageway toward them. Garbed in a long robe of crimson and green stripes, his conical red hat perched on his head and his dark beard frizzing wildly around his jaw, Sulein stared at Dain with a smile of dawning delight.

Dain stopped in his tracks and would come no closer, until Sir Roye gripped his arm and forcefully shoved him along.

“It took a bit of doing to get this lad,” Sir Roye said, pushing Dain past Sulein, who turned and followed them, gliding along in his unnatural way. “He wasn’t where I was told he’d be.”

“He escaped the garden, where my vision saw him in hiding?” Sulein asked in surprise. “How?”

Dain kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t about to answer any questions that would cause trouble for Thum. Unsure if the sorcerel could read his mind, Dain began mentally tabulating the weights of metal and made certain not to look Sulein in the eye.

“How he did it matters not,” Sir Roye growled. “He wasn’t there. What news of my lord?”

“He came awake for a moment. He sleeps now, but he is very restless. The fever does not abate.”

As he spoke, Sulein glided ahead of them, then pushed open a door at the end of the corridor. Guards stood on duty on either side of the door, but no page or other servants loitered about. Although they remained at attention without expression on their stern faces, one of the guards blinked at the sight of Dain, and his eyes widened.

The man did not speak, however, and Dain found himself being shoved into a large chamber kept dark and shadowy by the many shuttered windows. A large fire crackled on the hearth. More fires burned in braziers placed on all four sides of a large, box-shaped bed standing in the center of the room. Heavy curtains of tapestry enclosed the bed, except where some of the panels had been pulled aside.

Dain saw the chevard lying there, propped high on cushions. He wore a dark green robe of velvet over a linen gown. His face was heavily bandaged. Dain smelled the meat poultice and the fevered flesh of the wound beneath it. His stomach turned at other sickroom smells, but with a frown he made himself ignore them.  “Go on, boy,” Sulein said quietly, freeing Dain from Sir Roye’s grip and shoving him forward. “Go and sit yourself on that stool there. Stay very quiet. You will be where his lordship can see you when he wakes up.” “And put none of your pagan hexes on him while he lies helpless,” Sir Roye said.

Dain whirled around and glared at him. “I saved his life. Why would I harm him?”

“Get over there,” Sir Roye said, baring his teeth.

Sulein clapped his hands between them. “Hush this. There must be quiet. An atmosphere of peace and serenity. No quarreling. Now, boy. Sit on the stool as I told you.”

Dain seated himself on the cushioned stool next to the chevard’s bed. Although the fires made the room very warm, the chevard was shivering beneath the coverlet and fur robe. His head turned restlessly on the pillow, but his eyes did not open.

“And you, Sir Roye,” Sulein said in reproof. “Why do you fear this boy so? The eldin are peaceable creatures. They understand the natural flow of life forces.  They are not evil.”

Sir Roye grunted, his fear and worry swirling through him so strongly Dain could sense them. Ignoring the men, Dain leaned toward the chevard, who was turning his head from side to side in pain, mumbling words Dain could not understand.  Grief rose in Dain anew. He missed Thia and Jorb with all his heart. He did not want to be in the room of a dying man. He did not want to worry about the chevard, or even to like him. He had been raised to distrust men and their ways.  Men were duplicitous, superstitious, and dangerous, like Prince Gavril. But Lord Odfrey seemed different. He was a fair man, an honest man. It was not right that the Bnen arrows should kill him too.

Dain reached out and curled his fingers lightly around the chevard’s hand. Its flesh was intensely hot and dry.

Behind Dain, Sir Roye strode forward. “Take your—” “Hush,” Sulein said. “Be still. This is what I hoped for.” Dain glanced over his shoulder at the two men. Sulein was standing in Sir Roye’s path, and the knight’s face was contorted in a grimace of worry and anger.  Neither came any closer.

Dain relaxed. He already knew the answer he’d sought. The chevard’s blood burned with this terrible fever. His pain was strong. But so was his body strong. He was not yet ready to die.

“Lord,” Dain said in his quiet, awkward Mandrian, “I have come to speak with you about your promise. Have you forgotten it? Have you forgotten me?” “Be quiet, boy!” Sir Roye ordered.

Startled, Dain glanced up, but despite Sir Roye’s fearsome scowl, Sulein was beaming and gesturing for Dain to continue.

“Do not stop,” Sulein said. “Talk to him. It will help center his mind and bring him from his fever. Tell him anything you wish.”

Dain drew in a wary breath, trusting the outraged Sir Roye more than he trusted the sorcerel. Yet clearly Sulein understood what he was doing.  Returning his attention to the chevard, Dain was surprised to see the man’s dark eyes open and staring at him.

“Hilard?” Lord Odfrey said in a shaky voice.

“I am not Hilard your son,” Dain said evenly, ignoring Sir Roye’s muted growl of protest. “I am the eldin boy who rode with you when you fought the dwarves of the Dark Forest. Do you remember the battle, lord?”

The chevard frowned, looking lost and witless. Pain shimmered in the liquid depths of his dark eyes. Beneath the thick bandage swathing half his face, his skin was pasty white. “Hilard,” he said. His fingers shifted in Dain’s grip.  “You have come.”

“Was your son part eldin, as am I?” Dain asked. “Is that why you are kind to us?”

“No,” Lord Odfrey said. His voice was a thin whisper. “I want Hilard.”

“He is dead,” Dain replied. “You know that, lord.”

Lord Odfrey gripped Dain’s fingers with momentary strength. “You have come back.

I prayed for this, and you have come.”

Behind him, Sir Roye moaned and walked over to the window. Bowing his head, he put his hand to his face.

Dain swiftly turned his gaze back to Lord Odfrey. “I am called Dain, lord,” he said softly. “I was Jorb maker’s apprentice and fostered son. You saved my life, and I saved yours. Where your son walks today, you are not yet ready to go. It is not your time. Do not let this wound end your life before its fullness.” The chevard closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He seemed to sleep again, but his fingers did not slacken on Dain’s hand.

When Dain tried to pull away, the chevard opened his eyes at once. This time they looked more alert. “Stay with me,” he commanded, and sank back into his troubled sleep.

Dain stayed.

For three days, Dain remained in the chevard’s room, present whenever the man awakened and called for him. A cot was brought for him to sleep on. Food was served to him on trays. Lord Odfrey’s condition slowly improved, and Sulein beamed at Dain in approval.

“Your presence is helping. It is exactly as I wished and expected.” Sulein worked hard. He mixed potions with noxious smells that he poured down Lord Odfrey’s throat. He changed the bandage occasionally, scraping off the evil poultice and replacing it with fresh. The wound looked puckered and angry. Dain believed it should be exposed to the air, and the windows opened to let in sunlight, but Sulein kept the place tight and airless, like a stuffy cave. His hands were not always clean when he ministered to the chevard. Dain believed Lord Odfrey lived in spite of Sulein’s ministrations.

As for spells, he saw Sulein cast only one, and there was little magic in it.  Although Dain had been frightened of the physician at first, he gradually began to suspect that Sulein was not a true sorcerel after all but instead only a man trying to be one.

Dain was never alone with the chevard. Sir Roye stood guard over his master like a faithful old dog, and Dain had no opportunities to open the windows or to throw the poultice away. Bored, he ate all the food he could get his hands on and wandered about the chamber, examining its contents without touching or disturbing anything.

Then came the early dawn when Dain was awakened by a slight noise. He sat up and left his cot, going to the chevard’s bedside at once on silent feet. Sir Roye was slumped in a chair, snoring. Sulein had gone. The candles were all guttered, and the fires had died to a few crumbling, hissing coals atop heaps of ashes.  Meager daylight leaked in around the edges of the shutters.  Dain went to one window and opened it, letting in cold air and dawn’s shadowy, gray light.

The chevard lay on his side. His eyes stared, and he did not breathe. Horrified, Dain crept closer. It was dawn, the hour when souls were the least anchored to their bodies. Was the chevard dead?

He did not want to believe it, but already grief was swelling inside his heart.  Refusing to let his mind touch death, Dain kept his senses to himself and instead touched the chevard’s arm.

The man’s flesh was warm and pliant. The chevard blinked, and Dain flinched back. Almost at once, however, he smiled to himself and gripped the chevard’s hand.

There was no fever in it. Lord Odfrey’s hand was cool and dry. Dain touched his throat and found no fever there either.

Relief filled Dain. Shivering a little in his thin shirt and leggings, he sank onto the stool and faced the chevard’s intense stare.  “Is this the Beyond?” the chevard asked softly. “I do not know where I am.

Nothing looks as I remember.”

“The physician changed your room,” Dain replied, his voice quiet to keep from waking Sir Roye. “Most of the furniture is stacked in the passageway outside the door. He said there was an imbalance in the forces and elements that—” “Is this the Beyond?” Lord Odfrey asked again. He sounded tired, as though he had journeyed a long way.

“If you mean the third world,” Dain answered, “no, it is not. You are still in the first world, in your hold, in your personal chamber. Sir Roye guards your rest. If you look that way, you can see him.”

“I see an eld boy who reminds me of my son,” Lord Odfrey said without moving.

“Yet you are nothing like him. Strange.”

“What is strange?” Dain asked, yawning despite himself.  “You have the spirit he did not. I could not make a warrior of him. I tried too hard, I think.”