“I have a gifting for you, High King,” Brendel said at length. “Ra-Tenniel would have you know that he is other than was the Mistweaver. My tidings of battle should tell you that. He will not hide in Daniloth, and henceforth you will see us more often than at the sevenyear. In token of which, and as earnest of alliance and our interwoven threads of destiny, the Lord of the lios alfar sends you this.”

Never in his life had Paul seen a thing so beautiful as the object Brendel handed to Ailell. In the thin scepter of crystal that passed from the lios to the man, every nuance of light in the room seemed to be caught and then transmuted. The orange of the wall torches, the red flickers of the candles, even the blue-white diamonds of starlight seen through the window, all seemed to be weaving in ceaseless, intricate motion as if shuttling on a loom with the scepter.

“A summonglass,” the King murmured as he looked down upon the gift. “This is a treasure indeed. It has been four hundred years since one of these lay within our halls.”

“And whose fault was that?” Brendel said coldly.

“Unfair, my friend,” Ailell replied, a little sharply, in his turn. The words of the lios seemed to kindle a spark of pride in him. “Vailerth, High King, broke the summonglass as a small part of a great madness—and Brennin paid a blood price for that madness in civil war.” The King’s voice was firm again. “Tell Ra-Tenniel that I accept his gift. Should he use it to summon us, the summons shall be answered. Say that to your Lord. Tomorrow I will speak with my Council as to the other tidings you have brought. Pendaran will be watched, I promise you.”

“It is in my heart that more than watching may be needed, High King,” Brendel replied, softly now. “There is a power stirring in Fionavar.”

Ailell nodded slowly. “So Loren said to me some time ago.” He hesitated, then went on, almost reluctantly. “Tell me, Na-Brendel, how does the Daniloth wardstone?”

“The same as it has been since the day Ginserat made it!” Brendel said fiercely. “The lios alfar do not forget. Look to your own, High King!”

“No offence was meant, my friend,” said Ailell, “but you know that all the guardians must burn the naal fire. And know you this as well: the people of Conary and Colan, and of Ginserat himself, do not forget the Bael Rangat, either. Our stone is blue as it ever was, and as, if the gods are kind, it ever will be.” There was a silence; Brendel’s eyes burned now with a luminous intensity. “Come!” said Ailell suddenly, rising to stand tall above them. “Come, and I will show you!”

Turning on his heel he stalked to his bedroom, opened the door, and passed through. Following quickly behind, Paul caught a glimpse of the great four-postered, canopied bed of the King, and he saw the figure of Tarn, the page, asleep on his cot in a corner of the room. Ailell did not break stride, though, and Paul and the lios alfar hastened to keep up as the King opened another door on the opposite wall of the bedchamber and passed through that as well into a short corridor, at the end of which was another heavy door. There he stopped, breathing hard.