The silence was sudden and as complete as the hush of the tomb.
Kieron waited.
The door flung wide, and men bearing torches rushed into the cell. Kieron lunged savagely for the first one, hands seeking a throat.
"Kieron!" Nevitta threw himself backward violently. Kieron clung to him, his face a fevered mask of hate. "Kieron! It is I. . Nevitta!"
Kieron's hands fell away from the old warrior and he stood swaying, squinting against the light of the torches. "Nevitta Nevitta?"
A wild laugh came from the prisoner's cracked lips. He looked about him, into the strained faces of his own fighting men.
He took one step and pitched forward into the arms of Nevitta, who carried him like a child up into the light, tears streaking his grizzled cheeks…
For three weeks Alys and Nevitta nursed Kieron, sucking the poison of his untended wounds with their mouths and bathing him to break the fiery grip of the fever. At last they won. Kieron opened his eyes — and they were sane and clear.
"How long?" Kieron asked faintly.
"We were gone from Kalgan twenty days. . you have lain here twenty-one," Alys said thankfully.