After what was probably an hour and a half, the shadows stirred within the large tent. It was several minutes after that before the entrance flap was thrown aside and men began to emerge, slowly, talking among themselves, glancing back within. The last two tarried at the threshold, still talking with someone who remained inside. The rest of them passed into the other tents.
The two at the entrance edged their way outside, still facing the interior. I could hear the sounds of their voices, although I could not make out what was being said. As they drifted farther outside, the man with whom they were speaking moved also and I caught a glimpse of him. The light was at his back and the two officers blocked most of my view, but I could see that he was thin and very tall.
Our guards had not yet stirred, indicating to me that one of the two officers was the captain mentioned earlier. I continued to stare, willing them to move farther and grant me a better look at their superior.
After a time they did, and a few moments later he took a step forward.
At first, I could not tell whether it was just a play of light and shadow . . . But no! He moved again and I had a clear view for a moment. He was missing his right arm, from a point just below the elbow. It was so heavily bandaged that I guessed the loss to have been quite recent.
Then his large left hand made a downward, sweeping gesture and hovered a good distance out from his body. The stump twitched at the same moment, and so did something at the back of my mind. His hair was long and straight and brown, and I saw the way that his jaw jutted. . .
He stepped outside then, and a breeze caught the cloak he wore and caused it to flare to his right. I saw that his shirt was yellow, his trousers brown. The cloak itself was a flame-like orange, and he caught its edge with an unnaturally rapid movement of his left hand and drew it back to cover his stump.
I stood quickly, and his head snapped in my direction.
Our gazes met, and neither of us moved for several heartbeats after that.
The two officers turned and stared, and then he pushed them aside and was striding toward me. I heard Ganelon grunt and climb quickly to his feet. Our guards were taken by surprise, also.
He halted several paces before me and his hazel eyes swept over me. He seldom smiled, but he managed a faint one this time.
“Come with me,” he said, and he turned back toward his tent.
We followed him, leaving our gear where it lay.
He dismissed the two officers with a glance, halted beside the tent‘s entrance and motioned us in. He followed and let the flap fall behind him. My eyes took in his bedroll, a small table, benches, weapons, a campaign chest. There was an oil lamp on the table, as well as books, maps, a bottle, and some cups. Another lamp flickered atop the chest.
He clasped my hand and smiled again. “Corwin,” he said, “and still alive.”
“Benedict,” I said, smiling myself, “and breathing yet. It has been devilish long.”
“Indeed. Who is your friend?”
“His name is Ganelon.”
“Ganelon,” he said, nodding toward him but not offering to clasp hands.
He moved to the table then and poured three cups of wine. He passed one to me, another to Ganelon, raised the third himself.
“To your health, brother,” he said.
“To yours.” We drank.
Then, “Be seated,” he said, gesturing toward the nearest bench and seating himself at the table, “and welcome to Avalon.”
“Thank you—Protector.” He grimaced.
“The sobriquet is not unearned,” he said flatly, continuing to study my face. “I wonder whether their earlier protector could say the same?”
“It was not really this place,” I said, “and I believe that he could.” He shrugged.
“Of course,” he said. “Enough of that! Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why have you come here? Tell me of yourself. It has been too long.”