“I would feel less distressed, sir, if you could tell me why I was sought? Why we are going to Bannerwell? I have done nothing to warrant enmity from anyone…” I let my voice trail off, not quite pleadingly. His jaw was set, and for a moment I thought he would not answer me at all. Then he did, grudgingly.
“You are not sought in enmity, boy. Were you not close friend to my Prince Mandor? Did you know he was hurt?” He east a curious glance at me out of the corner of his eye, almost covert, as though to see what I thought of that.
“I was told so.” It seemed wisest not to say much. “I, too, was hurt.” I would not have been human had my voice not hinted asperity. Had it not been for Mertyn, I would have been more than hurt. I would have been damn near killed.
He jerked angrily, the little muscles along his jaw bunching and jumping as though he were chewing on something tough. “Yes. Well, you are better healed than he. There were no Healers in the Schooltown during Festival. It was long before one could be found and longer yet before we found one who was competent.” The little muscle jumped, jumped. “He is not healed of his hurt. Perhaps you can aid him in that.”
“I am no Healer!” I said in astonishment. “So far, I’m nothing at all.”
Jump, jump went his jaw, face turned from me, stony. At last, “Well, your presence may comfort him. As a friend. He has need of his friends.”
I could not stop the thought. It bloomed angrily in me as fire blooms on grassland. “He who sought my death claims my friendship! A fine friend indeed!” The Demon caught it, had been waiting for it. He could not have missed it, and he looked down at me out of a glaring face, eyes like polished stone set into that face, enmity and anger wished upon me. I felt it like a blow and shuddered beneath it.
“You were friends once, boy. Remember it. Remember it well, and be not false to what once was. Or regret be thy companion…” He spurred his horse and went on before me. I did not see him again until we camped that night. Then he was as before, calm, but did not speak to me nor I to him. In his absence I had thought of Mandor, of how I had once felt about Mandor. No echo of that feeling remained. It was impossible to remember what once had been. For the first time I began to be afraid.
By the time we had come over the last of the high passes of the Hidamans and down the fast stretch of road to Bannerwell, I was more frightened yet. I had also forgiven the white horse. He had carried me without complaint or balk, growing noticeably thinner in the process. The sight of my own hand and wrist protruding from my sleeve for a handsbreadth told me some of the reason. While mind and emotion may have been disturbed by all the journeys since Schooltown, body had gone on growing. Measuring my trouser legs against my shins, I guessed myself a full hand higher than when we had left Mertyn’s House. My hand shook as I lengthened the leathers to a more appropriate stretch, and my eyes brooded over the close-knotted forest of oaks which fell away from us down the long hills to Bannerwell itself, a fortress upon a cliff/surrounded on three sides by the brown waters of a river.
“The River Banner,” said the Demon, reading my question before it was asked. “From which Bannerwell takes its name. The ancient well lies within the fortress walls, sweet water for harsh times, so it is said.” He cast me one of his enigmatic looks before rounding up the train with his eyes, counting the men off, arranging us all to his satisfaction. I noted the silence among the retainers, the gravity each seemed to show at our approach. The Demon said, “I was to have returned with you a season ago, boy. I rode from this place due east on a straight road to Schooltown only to find you gone.”