One of the old temple guardsmen approached.
“That will be up Daulis way,” he said. “They’ve set fire to Daulis.”
Neither Dryas nor Eëtíon made comment. They knew only too well what it meant.
The Persians were heading for Delphi! And were now not two hours away!
Dryas hurriedly sent a slave to fetch wine.
“Don’t do that,” advised Eëtíon. “The wine will help you now, but later it will weaken your arm.”
Dryas clapped his hands together in pitiful misery.
“Why don’t you hate me, kick me out for the dog I am? Why did you ever try to save me?”
“Hush, hush,” said Eëtíon. He laid his hand on Dryas’s arm. “Your father must not hear you.”
“Why, Eëtíon! Your hand is cold as ice.”