“Will you keep your word?”
“My word of honor as a brigand,” said the sentinel proudly.
Maya could scarcely speak. But, if she was to be in time to warn her people of the attack, every moment counted. Her heart exulted.
“Very well,” she said, “I believe you. Listen, then. Do you know the ancient linden-trees near the castle? Beyond them lies one meadow after another, and finally comes a big lake. In a cove at the south end where the brook empties into the lake the waterlilies lie spread out on the water in the sunlight. Near them, in the rushes, is where Loveydear lives. You’ll find her there every day at noon when the sun is high in the heavens.”
The warrior had pressed both hands to his pale brow. He seemed to be having a desperate struggle with himself.
“You’re telling the truth,” he said softly and groaned, whether from joy or pain it was impossible to tell. “She told me she wanted to go where there were floating white flowers. Those must be the flowers you speak of. Fly away, then. I thank you.”
And actually he stepped aside from the entrance.
Day was breaking.
“A brigand keeps his word,” he said.
Not knowing that Maya had overheard the deliberations in the council chamber, he told himself that one small bee more or less made little difference. Weren’t there hundreds of others?