"Who could it have been?" she asked in an awed whisper.
Meltor forced a grin. He had managed to regain control of his shattered nerves.
"Old Rydob, the hermit," he replied. "And no prettier in death than he was in life. Some say he was the brother of Pryak, the high priest."
Taking Dylara by the elbow, he urged her past the pile of bones and over the threshold.
They came into a huge, high-ceilinged room, well-lighted by the sun. From its appearance the girl judged that Rydob had spent most of his time here; the ruins of a bed stood in one corner, while a large table in the center of the room held a jumbled collection of stone dishes and bowls. Several tunics, rotten with mildew, hung across one of the three chairs about the table.
And over everything was a thick layer of dust and cobwebs and the droppings of countless rodents.
Meltor kicked over two of the stools to clear them of dust, replaced them, then cleared the table top in the same way.
"Sit there," he said, pointing to one of the stools.
Dylara obeyed without a word, watching the man seat himself across the table from her.