Khian entered the dreadful place. At a sign from Anath the guards saluted and withdrew, looking with pity at the young prince under whom they had served in war and who was beloved of all of them. Anath lingered to give certain instructions to the jailer, then as they were both departing he turned back and inquired of the Prince what garments he required to be sent to him.
"I think such as are thick and warm, Vizier," replied Khian, shivering as the damp cold of the dungeon got a hold of him.
"They shall be sent to your Highness," said Anath. "May your Highness forgive me who must fill this sorry office towards you."
"I forgive you as I forgive all men, Vizier. When hope is dead, forgiveness is easy."
Anath glanced behind him and saw that the jailer was standing at a distance from the door with his back towards them. Then he bowed deeply as though in farewell, so that his lips came close to the ear of Khian.
"Hope is /not/ dead," he whispered. "Trust to me, I will save you if I can."
Next moment he, too, was gone and the massive door had shut, leaving Khian alone. He sat himself down upon one of the stools, placing it so that the faint light from the grating fell upon him. Awhile later, he did not know how long, the door opened again and the jailer appeared accompanied by another man who brought garments, among them a dark, hooded cloak lined with black sheepskin; also food and wine. Khian thanked him and put on the cloak gratefully, for the cold of the place was biting, noting as he did so that it was not one of his own, which made him wonder; also, that in such a cloak a man might go anywhere and remain unknown.
The jailer set out the food upon the table and prayed his prisoner to eat, addressing him as Prince.
"That title belongs to me no more, Friend."
"Oh, yes! your Highness," replied the man kindly. "Trouble comes to all at times but it cannot change the blood in the veins."
"No, Friend, but it can empty the veins of the blood."
"The gods forbid!" said the jailer, shuddering, from which Khian learned that he had rightly named him friend, and again thanked him.
"It is I who should thank your Highness. Your Highness has forgotten that when my wife and child were sick in the season of fever three years ago, you yourself visited them in the servants' huts and brought them medicines and other things."
"I think I remember," said Khian, "though I am not sure for I have visited so many sick, who, had I not been what I am, or rather was, would, I think, have turned physician."
"Yes, your Highness, and the sick do not forget, nor do those to whom they are dear. I am charged to tell you that you will not be left alone in this place, lest your mind should fail and you should go mad, as many here have done before you."
"What! is another unfortunate to be sent to join me, Friend?"
"Yes, but one whose company it is believed will please you. Now I must go," and he departed before Khian could ask him when this other prisoner would come. After the door had shut behind him Khian ate and drank heartily enough, for he was starving, having touched no food since the afternoon before upon the ship which brought him to Tanis.
When he had finished his meal he fell to thinking and his thoughts were sad enough, for it was evident that it was in his father's mind utterly to destroy the Brotherhood of the Dawn, and to drag Nefra away to be made his wife by violence, for, having by evil fortune looked upon her beauty, nothing now would turn him from his purpose of making her his own. This, however, Khian knew would never happen, for the reason that first Nefra would choose to die. Therefore it would seem that both of them were doomed to death. Oh! if only he could warn them by throwing his spirit afar, as it was said that Roy and some of the higher members of the Order had the power to do. Indeed, had he not felt the thought of Roy strike upon him that morning when he stood before the Pharaoh in the hall of audience? He would try, who had been taught the secrets of the "Sending of the Soul" as it was called, though he had never practised them before.
Try he did according to the appointed form and with the appointed prayers as well as he could remember them, saying:
"Hear me, Holy Father. Danger threatens the Queen and all of you. Hide or fly, for I am in the toils and cannot help you."
Again and again he said it in his heart, fixing the eyes of his mind upon Roy and Nefra till he grew faint with the soul struggle and even in that bitter place the sweat burst out upon him. Then of a sudden a strange calm fell on him to whom it seemed that these arrows of thought had found their mark, yes, that his warnings had been heard and understood.
An utter weariness fell upon him and he slept.
He must have slept for long, for when he woke all light had faded from the grating and he knew that it was night.
The door opened and through it came the jailer bearing more food, quantities of food, and bringing with him another man clothed like Khian himself in a dark, hooded cloak. The stranger bowed and without speaking took his stand in a corner of the cell.
"Behold your servant, Prince, who is appointed to wait upon you. You will find him a good man and true," said the jailer. Then he removed the broken meats and went, having first lit lamps which he left burning in the prison.
Khian looked at the meats and wine; then he looked at the hooded figure in the corner and said:
"Will you not eat, my brother in misfortune?"
The man threw back his hood:
"Surely," said Khian, "I have seen that face before."
The man made a certain sign, which, by habit as it were, Khian answered. The man made more signs and Khian answered them all, then uttered a secret sentence which the man, speaking for the first time, completed with another sentence still more secret.
"Will you not eat, Priest of the Dawn?" he asked again meaningly.
"In hope of the Food Eternal I eat bread. In hope of the Water of Life I drink wine," replied the man.
Then Khian was sure, for in these very words those of the Order of the Dawn were accustomed to consecrate their meat.
"Who are you, Brother?" he asked.
"I am Temu, a priest of the Order of the Dawn whom you saw but once in the Temple of the Sphinx, Scribe Rasa, when you came thither on a certain embassy, though then I did not know that you were sworn of the Brotherhood, Scribe Rasa, if that indeed be your name."
"It is not my name and at that time I was not sworn of the Brotherhood, Priest Temu, who, I think, are the messenger sent by the holy Roy with letters for Apepi, King of the North. We heard that you were dead of sickness, Priest Temu."
"Nay, Brother, it pleased Apepi to keep me prisoner, that is all. Had I died, my spirit, as it departed, would have whispered in the ear of Roy."
"I remember now that so the Prophet said. But how come you here, and why?"
"I come because I am sent to help another in distress, by some Great One who visited me in my prison. He gave no name, or if he did I have forgotten it, as we of the Order forget many things. Nor did he tell me whom I was to help, yet I can guess, as we of the Order guess many things. I see that you wear a royal ring, Scribe Rasa. It is enough."
"Quite enough, Priest Temu. But tell me, why were you sent to me? In such a hole as this even a Pharaoh would need no servant."
"No, Brother, yet he might need a companion and--a deliverer."
"Very much indeed, both of them, especially the last. But, Temu, how could even Roy himself open that door or break through these walls?"
"Quite easily, Scribe Rasa, by means of which we know nothing, and if only we have faith perhaps I can do the same, though not so easily and in another fashion. Hearken. During the many days I have spent in prison, bettering my soul with prayers and meditations,