medicine well. But he is sunk in his grief, and remembers no joy in his life."
In the reaches of Hal's mind a spark of hope flickered. He spoke, knowing quite well that what he asked was preposterous. “At the beginning of this Age, there was a small flowering plant in the south and west of Isle, called by some folk Elfin Gold, by others Veran's Crown. It is said that since Herne first sailed up the Black River it is no longer to be found. Have you ever heard of it?"
Lord Roran's face was blank, but Bleys showed interest. “I have heard of it. We have a room here full of quaint things collected by the third lord, Rob Roy. It seems to me that I have seen a small jar in there, full of dried plants. ‘Bloome of Veran's Crowyn,’ it said."
Hal leaped to his feet. “A single plant will save Corin's life. I swear it!"
In a moment they were all in the crowded, dusty room, frantically searching every corner, shelf and case for the little jar which said “Bloome of Veran's Crowyn.” It was Robin who found it at last, triumphantly emerging from under a cobwebby table. They hurried with it back to Corin's room. The servants had followed Hal's directions; a brazier burned by Corin's bed, and on it a small pot of water boiled. Hal carefully removed from the jar a single brittle plant—root, stem, leaf and flower. Whispering what might have been a prayer, he crushed the little thing and dropped it into the boiling water.
Slowly a faint, clear aroma filled the room, essence of springtime, youth, birdsong and May sunshine. Without knowing it, everyone relaxed, their minds wandering back to the time when they were happy and young. Roran straightened in his seat, and spoke in wonder. “What magic is this? I thought I was a lad again, and my father still alive."
Alan thought of riding the green hills of his native Laueroc on his first pony. Hal remembered his mother's eyes. And Corin stirred in the sickbed and spoke.
“Father,” he said dreamily, “hear the larks, how they sing.” He sighed and smiled, turning his face to the imagined sunlight.
Bleys tiptoed to his side, and spoke in a hushed whisper. “His forehead is cool. He sleeps peacefully."
“The gods be thanked,” Alan breathed, and started to weep again. But he was not ashamed. Except Corin's, not an eye in the room was dry.
Before they went to bed, Hal and Alan took one more walk to the stables. Alfie still lay in his straw, but fast asleep, breathing deeply and contentedly.
“Hal,” Alan asked gratefully, “what manner of wizard are you?” But Hal shook his head.
“There is no magic here,” he said, “except that which you yourself have wrought."
Chapter Seven
Though Hal and Alan slept soundly, they awoke early and ran at once to Corin's room. The sun was just rising, and all was calm and still. Corin lay sleeping, very pale, but with a peaceful face. By his side sat Lord Roran. He smiled at the two as they entered.
“I sent Bleys to bed,” he whispered. “He is an old man, and needs his rest."
The keep faced to the south and east. Hal and Alan sat in a deep niche in the stone walls and looked out the window, now and then speaking to each other in whispers. Below them spread the shops and houses of the town. They could see the streets they had ridden so hastily the day before, and the town gates they had entered. To the east was the waterfront, where stood the masts of tall ships, for the Firthola were a seafaring folk; they worshiped brother and sister gods, Dunn of the islands and Dana of the tides. They had small interest in crops or herds, so they had built their stronghold on the Great North Cove, an arm of the sea which penetrated far into the barren northland.
The landscape was bleak enough, and the few small trees in view were dropping their brown leaves. But the rising sun which was finding its way through the haze turned everything to a golden shine, and gleamed on the gray sea water. Even these barren
In the reaches of Hal's mind a spark of hope flickered. He spoke, knowing quite well that what he asked was preposterous. “At the beginning of this Age, there was a small flowering plant in the south and west of Isle, called by some folk Elfin Gold, by others Veran's Crown. It is said that since Herne first sailed up the Black River it is no longer to be found. Have you ever heard of it?"
Lord Roran's face was blank, but Bleys showed interest. “I have heard of it. We have a room here full of quaint things collected by the third lord, Rob Roy. It seems to me that I have seen a small jar in there, full of dried plants. ‘Bloome of Veran's Crowyn,’ it said."
Hal leaped to his feet. “A single plant will save Corin's life. I swear it!"
In a moment they were all in the crowded, dusty room, frantically searching every corner, shelf and case for the little jar which said “Bloome of Veran's Crowyn.” It was Robin who found it at last, triumphantly emerging from under a cobwebby table. They hurried with it back to Corin's room. The servants had followed Hal's directions; a brazier burned by Corin's bed, and on it a small pot of water boiled. Hal carefully removed from the jar a single brittle plant—root, stem, leaf and flower. Whispering what might have been a prayer, he crushed the little thing and dropped it into the boiling water.
Slowly a faint, clear aroma filled the room, essence of springtime, youth, birdsong and May sunshine. Without knowing it, everyone relaxed, their minds wandering back to the time when they were happy and young. Roran straightened in his seat, and spoke in wonder. “What magic is this? I thought I was a lad again, and my father still alive."
Alan thought of riding the green hills of his native Laueroc on his first pony. Hal remembered his mother's eyes. And Corin stirred in the sickbed and spoke.
“Father,” he said dreamily, “hear the larks, how they sing.” He sighed and smiled, turning his face to the imagined sunlight.
Bleys tiptoed to his side, and spoke in a hushed whisper. “His forehead is cool. He sleeps peacefully."
“The gods be thanked,” Alan breathed, and started to weep again. But he was not ashamed. Except Corin's, not an eye in the room was dry.
Before they went to bed, Hal and Alan took one more walk to the stables. Alfie still lay in his straw, but fast asleep, breathing deeply and contentedly.
“Hal,” Alan asked gratefully, “what manner of wizard are you?” But Hal shook his head.
“There is no magic here,” he said, “except that which you yourself have wrought."
Chapter Seven
Though Hal and Alan slept soundly, they awoke early and ran at once to Corin's room. The sun was just rising, and all was calm and still. Corin lay sleeping, very pale, but with a peaceful face. By his side sat Lord Roran. He smiled at the two as they entered.
“I sent Bleys to bed,” he whispered. “He is an old man, and needs his rest."
The keep faced to the south and east. Hal and Alan sat in a deep niche in the stone walls and looked out the window, now and then speaking to each other in whispers. Below them spread the shops and houses of the town. They could see the streets they had ridden so hastily the day before, and the town gates they had entered. To the east was the waterfront, where stood the masts of tall ships, for the Firthola were a seafaring folk; they worshiped brother and sister gods, Dunn of the islands and Dana of the tides. They had small interest in crops or herds, so they had built their stronghold on the Great North Cove, an arm of the sea which penetrated far into the barren northland.
The landscape was bleak enough, and the few small trees in view were dropping their brown leaves. But the rising sun which was finding its way through the haze turned everything to a golden shine, and gleamed on the gray sea water. Even these barren
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