“These are men, daughter of Felim.”
“They are younger than those I have seen from the outskirts of the forest, but they are wild in dress and mien, and are not of high degree, and my eyes have no pleasure in looking upon them.”
“Nevertheless,” answered Lavarcam, “these are the three sons of Usna—Nathos and Ailne and Ardan.”
For a brief while Darthool looked upon them. Then she spoke.
“The truth flew past thy lips, Lavarcam. Yonder man whom ye name Nathos has neither raven hair nor white skin, nor the comely red in his face; and the two others are like the slaves I saw that day I beheld the foster-brothers of Concobar driving back from battle, in a chariot dragged by wild rough men in bondage. I remember the day, for it was then that thou bade me know that death was the portion of any man who sought me. That, too, I fear was no true word. Howsoever, as to these men, they may go. And yet—— wait.”
And with that Darthool moved swiftly forward, and, coming upon the three men by a by-path through the fern, confronted them.
They stood amazed at her exceeding great beauty. Nothing like it was in the whole world; so, little wonder that these boors stood as though the face of death was bare to them; for beauty is strange and terrible to most men, and they are prone to stand in dread of it.
None spake. Darthool looked at each, a slow smile of mocking in her lips, a blue flame of scorn in her eyes.
“Are ye the sons of Usna?”
They made no answer, but stared unwaveringly upon her, as do the dull cattle in the fields.