“Let us carry him back—”

“And have the court see his majesty struck unconscious, perhaps dying?” Sir Odeil said. “ ‘Tis unseemly! The court will panic.”

“Wait,” Dain interrupted them, then quickly added before they could argue, “Move back from him. Let me try something.”

Gavril hurried up and shoved Dain back. “Don’t touch him! You intend to do him some harm while he lies helpless. Sir Odeil, keep this eld creature away from his majesty!”

Immediately Sir Odeil rose and drew his sword, but it was in Gavril’s face that he put the tip of his blade, not Dain’s. Gavril’s blue eyes widened in shock, then growing rage.

“How dare you raise your blade to me!” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ll see that you’re broken for this. You—” Sir Odeil’s scarred face grew fierce. “Hear this, highness,” he said, and his flat voice held no respect. “We five witnessed what transpired between you and his majesty. And here and now we do swear to keep silent on it all, until his majesty releases us to speak. But you, highness, not this chevard, are the danger to his majesty, with your proven heresy.”

“Dain is an eld, you fool!” Gavril said furiously. “He will cast a spell on the

king. He will—”

“Be silent,” Sir Odeil said with contempt.

Gavril gasped in disbelief, but obeyed.

Sir Odeil gave Dain a nod. “Do whatever you feel is best, my lord.” The men moved Gavril back, leaving Dain alone with the king. Kneeling beside his majesty, Dain pulled off Verence’s gloves and folded his hands across his stomach. He put one hand atop the king’s and his other hand on Verence’s face.  Closing his eyes, he let his thoughts skim the king’s mind.  Gavril shouted something, and there were sounds of a brief scuffle, but Dain ignored these distractions. He wished, with all his heart, that Thia were here.  She’d been the one with gifts for healing. Her touch alone could have roused Verence from the dark place where his mind had gone.  Dain searched the king’s chaotic thoughts, but he felt no taint within them.  Instead he found fear and anger so strong it burned against Dain’s senses. And sadness beneath it all, sadness born of crushing disappointment in Gavril, layers of it, as though Gavril had failed many times to please his father.  Jealousy too, of the son who had youth and a full life ahead of him, jealousy of the son who would one day succeed the father. Guilt, for actions left undone, for wrongs unrighted, for self-indulgence. On and on, through the complexities that were the king, Dain searched until he found a bright small nugget of Tanengard’s twisted power, shining within the king’s mind.  Dain had no training in this sort of thing. All that he knew came to him naturally. But he began to weave in his thoughts an eldin song. With his eyes still closed, he hummed it and heard the sword’s resonance hum back. Dain thought of mountains, strong and bold against the sky. And he sang of them. He sang of rock and its treasure ore deep in the dark stone cavities. He sang of power and strength that withstood the ravages of the elements, the mining of the dwarves, the carving away of the mountains little by little over the eons. He sang of stone and dirt, and dirt and stone. He sang until Tanengard stopped humming and the small portion of its power faded from the king’s mind.  Falling silent, Dain took his hand from Verence’s face. He paused, then began a new song. The sword responded eagerly and savagely at first, but little by little, it grew less strident. The tormented humming and restlessness inside the blade became calm. He promised it that no mortal would destroy it, and Tanengard accepted his song.

Dain’s voice fell silent once more. When he opened his eyes the sun was going down and the air felt cool on his shoulders. The others huddled together, staring at him in wonder and fear.

Somehow Dain withstood his sudden, overwhelming feelings of fatigue, and said, “One of you must take the sword and put it in safekeeping. Lock it away where no one may handle it without due care.”

“No!” Gavril protested. “It belongs to me. I shall say what’s to be done with it.”

Lord Roberd stepped forward, ignoring the prince. His eyes, grave and a little apprehensive, met Dain’s. “I will take this duty,” he announced. He continued forward, but his stride became hesitant.

“Do not fear it now,” Dain told him. “I have made its powers sleep. It will not harm you.”

Nodding, Lord Roberd bent to pick it up.

Gavril shoved him away and lifted Tanengard, only to drop it with a sharp cry.  “What have you done to it?” he demanded, charging Dain. Sir Terent blocked his path, holding him back. “What have you done to it?” Gavril shouted.  Dain looked at him with pity, while the others stared. After a moment, Gavril glanced around at them all and seemed to realize what he was doing. He backed up, his face white, little flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth. He said nothing else.

Lord Roberd shot the prince a look of contempt before he approached the sword again.

“Take heed,” Dain said in warning. “Do not handle it more than you must. Do not touch the blade with bare flesh, or it will come awake again.” Lord Roberd pulled on his gloves with a grim air. He picked up Tanengard by its hilt and held it at his side with the point nearly touching the ground. “Your highness, where is its scabbard?”

“Over there,” Gavril said, pointing.

While Lord Roberd looked among the shadows at the base of the church for the scabbard, the king stirred.

Dain swung his attention back to Verence while the others gathered closer.  “Give him air,” Dain said in warning. “He must wake up of his own volition. Do not call out his name.”

Nodding, they remained silent, their faces tense with worry.  The king stirred again, groaning, then his eyes flickered open. Dain saw fear flash in their depths, followed by puzzlement. Sitting up, the king looked around. “Odeil?” he asked, his voice weak and quavery.  Sir Odeil knelt at once before him. “I’m here, majesty.” “What happened?” the king asked, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead as though it ached.