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still laughing at their brother and the lunatic stranger.
    When they were gone, Bayard spoke. “Errol, I should like to speak to your son. Alone. Could you leave us too?”
    Errol was torn. He did not wish to disrespect the great prophet of Corenwald by refusing such a small request. But on the other hand, he had begun to believe that Bayard was out of his mind. Who knew what seeds he might plant in the boy’s fertile imagination?
    Errol pondered long, then answered, “Bayard, I honor and revere you as one of Corenwald’s great men. You helped lay the foundation on which this nation stands.” Bayard nodded appreciatively.
    After a hesitation, Errol continued, “But would you now convince my son that he—and not the king you crowned yourself—is Corenwald’s true king? Such thoughts are treason.” It clearly pained him to speak this way to the Truthspeaker. “I cannot nurture treason in my house.”
    Now Bayard’s eyes burned. His lips tightened. “If you revere me as you say you do,” said the old prophet, “you will not suggest that I am a traitor to my king—or that I would turn your son to treachery. If I am truly a prophet of the One God, then your son is truly theWilderking, and you dare not hinder his progress toward that calling. But if, as you believe, I am only an old madman, I ask that you indulge me for the sake of the man I used to be.”
    Bayard’s expression softened. “In either case, old friend, I will not make a traitor of your son. This I solemnly promise.”
    Errol saw the logic in the Truthspeaker’s argument. This wasn’t the reasoning of a lunatic. He was sorry he had offended the old prophet. Rising to leave, he put his hand on his son’s head and looked into his eyes. “My son,” he said, “listen well to what this man tells you.”
    When they were alone, Bayard turned to Aidan. “I have come to find the Wilderking of Corenwald, foretold in the ancient prophecies.” He paused. “Aidan, the Wilderking is you.”
    Aidan stood blinking, unable to make sense of everything that had happened to him on this day. “But I’m only twelve years old.”
    Bayard laughed. “You didn’t suppose the Wilderking would be born an adult, did you? Every great man starts out as a boy. Every great woman starts out as a girl.”
    “I suppose so. But I don’t feel like the Wilderking.”
    “How is a Wilderking supposed to feel?” asked the prophet.
    “I don’t know. I don’t suppose anybody knows. There’s never been a Wilderking before.”
    “Precisely. None but you can say how a Wilderking feels. You are the only one.” He poked a finger into Aidan’s chest for emphasis. “And you don’t have to feel anything in particular.”
    Bayard leaned toward Aidan. “Let me tell you a secret, Aidan.” He looked over his shoulder as if making sure no one was listening, then whispered, “I don’t usually feel like a prophet.”
    Aidan studied Bayard’s face, trying to decide if the old man were joking. He seemed to be serious, but Aidan couldn’t help laughing at such an absurd notion. “The great Truthspeaker not a real prophet? Now you’re teasing me.”
    “No, no, no. I didn’t say I wasn’t a real prophet. I said I don’t feel like a prophet. But my feelings have nothing to do with it. I am Corenwald’s Truthspeaker because the One God shows me the truth, and I speak it.”
    Aidan considered what Bayard had said. “I understand. But the Wilderking will be a man of great courage. I’ve never shown much courage, even for a twelve-yearold.”
    “Today you killed a panther with a sling. Was that not an act of courage?”
    “Courage? I was frightened out of my wits. You should have seen Dobro! He charged the panther like he knew no fear.”
    Bayard chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure of that. Most feechiefolk are fearless, especially when they are Dobro’s age. But where there is no fear, there can be no courage.”
    Aidan was confused. “What do you mean?”
    “Courage is the will