How many angels could pass through the eye of a needle? The answers to all of these questions eluded him entirely. He went to bed still seeking them out.
He woke the next morning shortly after sunrise, washed in the basin placed next to his bed, dressed in his running sweats and Nikes, and slipped quietly through the halls of Sterling Silver for the front entry. He was soundless in his movements, but Abernathy had good ears and was waiting for him at the portcullis.
“Breakfast, High Lord?” he asked, his glasses inching down over his furry nose as he looked Ben over.
Ben shook his head. “Not yet. I want to run first.”
“Run?”
“That’s right — run. I did it all the time before I came to Landover and I miss it. I miss the workouts at the Northside Health Club. I miss the sparring and the speed work and the heavy bag. Boxing, we call it. I guess that doesn’t mean anything to you.”
“It is true that dogs do not box,” Abernathy replied. “Dogs do run, however. Where is it that you plan to run this morning, High Lord?”
Ben hesitated. “I don’t know yet. Probably at the valley’s rim where there’s’some sun.
Abernathy nodded. “I’ll send someone to accompany you.”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t need anyone, thanks.”
The other turned away. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I were you,” he said and disappeared down the hallway. Ben stared after him momentarily, then wheeled without waiting and strode through the portcullis and gates to the lake skimmer. He boarded and his thoughts sent the skiff leaping recklessly ahead through the gray waters. He did not need someone with him everywhere he went, he thought stubbornly. He was not some helpless child.
He grounded the lake skimmer on the far shore, turned, and jogged ahead through the gloom. He worked his way slowly to the valley slope, then started up. When he reached the rim, he turned right and began to follow the forest’s edge. Below him, the valley lay wrapped in shadows. Above, the pale golden light of the sun washed the new day in trailers of mist.
He ran easily, his thoughts drifting with the soft padding of his running shoes on the damp earth. His head felt clear and alert, and his muscles felt strong. He hadn’t felt like that since he had arrived in Landover, and the feeling was a good one. Trees slipped rapidly away beside him, and the ground passed smoothly beneath. He breathed the air and let the stiffness in his body slowly work itself out.
Last night’s questions were still with him, and the search for their answers went on. This was the final day of the ten days allotted him for rescission under the terms of his contract with Meeks. If he didn’t rescind now, he would lose the million dollars paid for the purchase of Landover’s Kingship. He might also lose his life — although Questor Thews had assured him that the medallion would take him back again at any time with but a moment’s thought. In any case, the choices were clear. He could stay and attempt to straighten out the morass of problems he would face as King of Landover, risk a confrontation with the Mark and give up the million dollars, or he could leave, admit that the purchase was the dog that Miles had warned, return to his old life and world, and get back most of the million dollars he had spent. Neither choice held much appeal. Neither choice held much hope.
He was breathing more quickly now, feeling the strain of running begin to wear pleasingly on his muscles. He pushed himself, picking up the pace slightly, working to pass through the wall of his resistance. A flash of something dark caught his eye — something moving through the forest. He glanced over sharply, searching. There was nothing now — only the trees. He kept moving. He must have imagined it.
He thought again about the Paladin, knight-errant of the realm. He sensed somehow that the Paladin was the key to everything that was wrong with Landover’s throne. It was too large a coincidence that, with the old King’s death, the Paladin had disappeared as well and everything had started to go wrong with the Kingship. There was a link between them that he needed to understand. It might be possible for him to do so, he reasoned, if it were true as Questor had thought that the Paladin had indeed appeared twice now because of him. Perhaps he could find a way to bring the Paladin back yet a third time — and this time discover if he were indeed but a ghost.