“So you have that proverb on this continent as well as in Cupia?” was his reply. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I am the soldier whom you saved from the raging mountain torrent, and what I want is to repay that favor. It is really true that you are a friend of Otto the Bold?”
“Yes.”
“Then come. The forces of Grod the Silent, Prince Otto’s father, are encamped but a short distance from here. I am on guard over you for the moment. Come, while there is yet time.”
Cabot arose in haste. The other promptly severed the cords which bound his elbows. Oh, how good it felt to have his arms free once more! He held them aloft, and flexed and reflexed the lame and bloodless muscles. Excruciating pain shot through the nerves of his forearm, but it was pleasant pain, easy to bear, for it portended peace and rest to his tired members.
He wiggled all his fingers rapidly, and the pain gave way to a prickly tingling, which in turn gradually faded off as the blood coursed freely through his veins and arteries once more. He drew a deep sigh of relief.
“Come!” the guard commanded.
Together the two left the tent, and threaded their way among the other tents out of the camp, and down a rocky hillside path, the Roy in advance, with Myles following, holding the other’s hand for guidance.
Myles lost all sense of direction in the jet black starless night, but the other, born and reared on Poros, and hence used to the daily recurrences of twelve hours of absolute darkness, walked sure-footedly ahead, and seemed to know where he was going.
Finally, after about two hours of this groping treadmill progress lights appeared ahead, and presently there came the sentry’s challenge: “Halt! Who is there?”