“You must be refreshed before we leave here,” he said at last.  “I am going to take you to a place hidden in the mountains where there are men whose hearts will leap at the sight of you.  To see you will give them new power and courage and new resolve.  To-night they meet as they or their ancestors have met for centuries, but now they are nearing the end of their waiting.  And I shall bring them the son of Stefan Loristan, who is the Bearer of the Sign!”

They ate the bread and cheese and drank the goat’s milk he gave them, but Marco explained that they did not need rest as they had slept all day.  They were prepared to follow him when he was ready.

The last faint hint of twilight had died into night and the stars were at their thickest when they set out together.  The white-haired old man took a thick knotted staff in his hand and led the way.  He knew it well, though it was a rugged and steep one with no track to mark it.  Sometimes they seemed to be walking around the mountain, sometimes they were climbing, sometimes they dragged themselves over rocks or fallen trees, or struggled through almost impassable thickets; more than once they descended into ravines and, almost at the risk of their lives, clambered and drew themselves with the aid of the undergrowth up the other side.  The Rat was called upon to use all his prowess, and sometimes Marco and the priest helped him across obstacles with the aid of his crutch.

“Haven’t I shown to-night whether I’m a cripple or not?” he said once to Marco.  “You can tell him about this, can’t you?  And that the crutches helped instead of being in the way?”

They had been out nearly two hours when they came to a place where the undergrowth was thick and a huge tree had fallen crashing down among it in some storm.  Not far from the tree was an outcropping rock.  Only the top of it was to be seen above the heavy tangle.

They had pushed their way through the jungle of bushes and young saplings, led by their companion.  They did not know where they would be led next and were supposed to push forward further when the priest stopped by the outcropping rock.  He stood silent a few minutes—­quite motionless—­as if he were listening to the forest and the night.  But there was utter stillness.  There was not even a breeze to stir a leaf, or a half-wakened bird to sleepily chirp.

He struck the rock with his staff—­twice, and then twice again.

Marco and The Rat stood with bated breath.

They did not wait long.  Presently each of them found himself leaning forward, staring with almost unbelieving eyes, not at the priest or his staff, but at the rock itself!

It was moving!  Yes, it moved.  The priest stepped aside and it slowly turned, as if worked by a lever.  As it turned, it gradually revealed a chasm of darkness dimly lighted, and the priest spoke to Marco.  “There are hiding-places like this all through Samavia,” he said.  “Patience and misery have waited long in them.  They are the caverns of the Forgers of the Sword.  Come!”