The Forest of Peldain

But his expression changed to one of recognition when Octrago entered, and his grasp on the knife handle firmed. Vorduthe ordered the serpent harrier to stand guard outside, then looked questioningly at the Peldainian by whose guidance he had come so far.

Octrago nodded in confirmation. “It is he. Mistirea, High Priest of the Lake.” He raised his voice, addressing the old man. “Why do you not bid me welcome, Mistirea?”

The priest’s gaze flicked from one man to the other. His hold on the knife did not waver. “I shall destroy myself instantly if forced against my will. Who is this peculiar stranger you bring, and how did you enter the castle?”

“Why, we came by the back way, High Priest. Over the sea, and through the forest. And this is Lord Vorduthe, who helped bring me here. He is from a land beyond the ocean. If you do not believe me, ask him yourself. And now you must come with us.”

It gave Vorduthe an eerie sensation to hear Mistirea speak in the same sharp, mangled accent that Octrago himself used. “What he says is true,” he told the old man. “We have brought you back your rightful monarch, King Askon.”

Mistirea gazed at Octrago with an expression it was impossible to read.

Octrago answered with his familiar wry smile. “Much has happened, and there is much that I shall have to explain to you. I beseech you to put down your knife, old man. You are to return with us to the lake.”

“There is much, perhaps, that should be explained to me,” Vorduthe said in a low tone. “I had thought Mistirea a prisoner in this place. But perhaps he is now your prisoner, instead.”

“The High Priest has duties to perform,” Octrago said, his voice acid. “Duties essential to the well-being of the realm, but which he has neglected for some time. Was that by your own choice, Mistirea? It is a question that torments us.”

It seemed that Mistirea’s eyes also became tormented as Octrago said this. But he put down the knife and rose to his feet.

Moving round the desk, he turned his attention to Vorduthe, who noticed now, as the loose robe flowed over his shoulders, how unusually well-muscled those shoulders were for a man of his age. He looked Vorduthe directly in the eye, the misery Vorduthe had briefly thought to see gone from his gaze. Instead his stare was penetrating and sharp.

In fact, Vorduthe found the pale blue eyes frightening. “You have done well, King Askon,” Mistirea said in a suddenly strong voice. “Doubly well, to bring this stranger to our land.”

Intently he studied Vorduthe’s face, then let his gaze travel over his body. “I have dreamed of such a man,” he murmured. “Now, perhaps, my dream is answered.”

There was silence. Octrago, Vorduthe noticed, was frowning in discomfiture or mystification. He did not seem to know what Mistirea was talking about, any more than Vorduthe himself did.

“In truth I am not my lord Vorduthe’s monarch,” Octrago said smoothly at last. “He has a monarch in his own land, to whom a reward is due greater than anything you may expect, Mistirea. But enough of that for the moment. There is only one issue to be settled. Do you return home with us and resume your duties, or must we force you to it, by whatever means are necessary?”

Mistirea’s broad shoulders sagged a little. Then he raised his head defiantly.

“I have laid down the dagger, have I not? By that I signified that I will accompany you. What happens at the lake… well, we shall see.…”

“Yes, we shall see that what must be done is done,” Octrago said tightly. Stepping forward, he picked up the dagger. “One of my lord Vorduthe’s men will stay by you till morning, to see you do not change your mind. A dead High Priest is no use to Peldain.”

“Wait!” Vorduthe said. “You have not settled with me.”

He faced Mistirea and spoke coolly. “We have come a long way, High Priest, at your king’s behest, and I require information. The men in this place are acolytes of your cult and wear the same badge as yourself. Furthermore, King Askon seems prepared to take you as his prisoner rather than a rescued friend. So what were you up until now—this stronghold’s prisoner, or its master?”

“Both,” Mistirea replied somberly.

Octrago uttered a caustic laugh. “To that question I too would like a sensible answer, friend Vorduthe,” he said. “As you have seen, I cannot obtain one. It is a secret Mistirea will not divulge. No matter. We are halfway to our purpose.”

He sighed. “Now with your permission, my lord, let us see if all the crannies in this heap of stone have been cleared.”

Chapter Ten