Free The Sword of Aradel by Alexander Key Page A

called a halt. “It is past midnight,” she said. “We’ve been through an incredible day, and this is much too important for us to struggle over it and risk making mistakes when we are tired. Let us get some rest, and go over it again in the morning.”
    Brother Benedict, his broad scarred face drawn with fatigue, rolled up in one of the blankets Nysa tossed down the stairs, and went almost instantly to sleep on the floor near the fireplace. Brian chose the other side near the curious and undefined door that seemed to open only to a rhyme.
    He was awakened long later when someone stepped carefully over him, and he heard the door rhyme being softly whispered. But before he could sit up and see who it was, the door had opened and closed again.
    Brian rubbed sleep from his eyes and frowned at the place where the door had closed. Suddenly he glanced behind him, but Brother Benedict was still swaddled in a blanket, at peace with the world. Then he noticed that Tancred’s perch was empty.
    Brian knew he ought to go back to sleep and get all the rest he could. Then he realized sleep would be impossible. Finally, as if drawn by a string, he found himself standing before the door area, whispering the rhyme. When the door opened, he slipped quickly out into the night.
    After an uncertain step or two in the blackness he paused, listening to the song of a nightingale while he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark. Was that Tancred singing? It almost had to be, for it was the only birdsong he could hear, and the singer couldn’t be more than a dozen paces away.
    When he could make out the dim trunks of the trees, he began moving cautiously around the edge of the spring. Dawn was much closer than he’d thought, for little patches of graying sky were showing through the black canopy of leaves overhead.
    All at once he stopped, shaken by the discovery that he was hearing far more than a nightingale’s song. For behind it, joining in, rose a soft and lovely chorus that seemed to come from many silvery voices singing all through the ancient grove. He stood listening, hardly believing his ears.
    â€œIsn’t it beautiful, Sir Brian?”
    He could not see Merra, and before his fumbling tongue could form a reply, she went on gaily, “I willed for you to come out. If you hadn’t, I would have awakened you. All my friends are singing to us while Tancred leads. For the Dryads know we are leaving with the dawn and they are wishing us well.”
    â€œBut—but—the formula! How—”
    â€œI stayed awake thinking of it, and sent my thoughts to the Dryads. They helped, and now the right numbers have all come together in my mind. Only the last few words are confusing, but they are names of some kind that should help us locate the sword after we arrive. But we will not worry about that now. It is your turn to bathe in the sacred spring.”
    â€œHuh? Bathe in it? But—but I’ve washed in it twice already!”
    â€œOh, fiddle! That was for the outside. This is for the inside. You silly goose, don’t you know there is magic in these waters? Heaven preserve us! But right now we need all the magic we can get. Quickly! Off with your handsome new clothes, and in you go!”
    He had no choice but to obey. He stripped off his clothes, crossed himself, and stepped out into the great spring while Tancred and the invisible chorus continued to pour forth their melody in the grove.
    Maybe he was just imagining it, but when he turned at last and crawled up on the bank, it seemed that something had brushed all the cobwebs from his brain and that his body had gained the strength of ten.
    A towel was flung to him, and Merra called, “Hasten, Sir Brian. Dawn is near!”
    The moment he was dressed she appeared from behind a tree, still toweling her golden braids, which she had allowed to become soaked. The darkness had faded slightly and the vague patches of sky