They looked down from the edge of a slight crest, an old man and a girl. Behind them, on the flat of the crest, a small fire smouldered to its gray death beside two blankets rolled into tight bundles. On the other side of the fire stood a small brown mule, its front legs hobbled by a slack piece of rope. Further back of the mule, the hill rose steeply away from the crest to final heights of windswept heather.

The girl shivered away the last of her sleepiness against the dawn's cold. The old man's cloak and hood wrapped him in a darkness which almost concealed the cane that supported him as he leaned forward to survey the castle below.

Music reached them faintly.

"This celebration promises to rival that of the day when Thomas first freed the kingdom," the old man remarked. "Their song and dance has carried them the night through, and not even the first light of morning sends the people of Magnus to their beds."

Katherine, the girl, stared downward at the tiny pieces of color which were festive flags lined along the top of the castle walls far below.

"Must such pain always come with duty?" she asked quietly. "The years I spent disguised as a pitiful freak are nothing compared to the ache I feel now to depart from Magnus as I did."

"Would you wish to return?" the old man asked in reply.

"Only to tell Thomas the truth." She did not add to her statement another thought, and to have him hold me again.

The flat gray sky brightened to its first tinge of blue before the old man spoke again. "Until we are certain of which side he chooses, he cannot know of us. Or of his destiny."

"You have said that oft before!" Katherine's quick words betrayed more than a trace of impatience. She swept her hands to indicate the castle below. "Yet all of Magnus is in celebration because yesterday Thomas survived trial by ordeal, a trial he withstood because he refused to belong to the Druid circle of evil. Is that not enough proof of choice?"

"Is it indeed?"

The calmness of his statement caused her to falter. "Is it not?" Katherine almost pleaded.

The old man sighed. "We play against unseen masters a terrible and mysterious game of chess, Katherine. As you well know, Thomas belonged to us at birth. Too soon, we had no choice but to leave him among them, alone and only armed with those few books of knowledge. But many years have passed. We do not know if they have claimed him as their own."

"Thomas conquered Magnus," Katherine protested. "Even without knowing the true purpose of that destiny. He rejected their offer of unlimited wealth and power -- I stood in the secret passageway and heard clearly every word. Surely that is enough proof he is not one of them."

The old man shifted his weight. Again, the sky grew deeper in blue before he answered. A light breeze began to move along the slope of the valley hills, and pulled wisps of Katherine's long blonde hair forward against her face.

"In this terrible game of chess, nothing is what it appears to be," the old man said. "How can we know they have not artfully arranged a simple deception? After all, the more it would seem Thomas is not one of them, the more likely we might finally tell him the truth. To do so -- should Thomas be one of them -- is to arm them with what they so desperately seek. The consequence? Centuries of battle lost in the quickest of heartbeats."

"If he not be one of them? But, rather, one of us?" Katherine persisted. "His victory yesterday will only make them more determined. Yet how is Thomas to survive if he knows not what he fights?"

Passion filled her cheeks with color. "And has he not done enough already? He has defeated the Druid attempt at rebellion within Magnus. He has turned away the most powerful earl in the north," Katherine said. "Yet the Druids have not been completely conquered. As well, the Earl of York has departed as a sworn enemy -- a mystery which bewilders and torments Thomas. He and Magnus are not free from danger!"

"You were not the only spy in Magnus," the old man said softly without removing his gaze from the castle below. "Thomas shall be watched. And guided. His death -- should it occur -- will be sad proof that he was not capable of carrying on our battle."

The old man straightened and slowly turned to the fire and the mule. He pretended not to see the grief which spasmed across Katherine's face. She was 15, nearly woman, but far too young for such pain.

"We have waited too long, already," he said. "Magnus is no longer safe for us. Our own journey must begin."