They had come to a flat outcrop that jutted starkly from the crest, so that it seemed almost a straight drop to the plain far below. There was a rough bench resting on stumps of rock, and here they sat. Behind them was a field, and beyond that the road, and the beginning of the steep “front” hill.

“It is as I thought,” said Fenodyree. “The black master is in his den. See, yonder is Llyn-dhu. garlanded with mosses and mean dwellings.”

Colin and Susan looked where Fenodyree was pointing, and some two or three miles out on the plain they could see the glint of grey water through trees.

“Men thought to drain that land and live there, but the spirit of the place entered them, and their houses were built drab, and desolate, and without cheer; and all around the bog still sprawls, from out the drear lake come soulless thoughts and drift into the hearts of the people, and they are one with their surroundings.

“Ah! But there goes he who can tell us more about the stone.”

He pointed to a speck floating high over the plain, and whistled shrilly.

“Hi, Windhover! To me!”

The speck paused, then came swooping through the air like a black falling star, growing larger every second, and, with a hollow beating of wings, landed on Fenodyree’s outstretched arm—a magnificent kestrel, fierce and proud, whose bright eyes glared at the children.

“Strange company for dwarfs. I know,” said Fenodyree, “but they have been prey of the morthbrood, and so are older than their years.

“It is of Grimnir that we want news. He went by here did he seek the lake?”

The kestrel switched his gaze to Fenodyree, and gave a series of sharp cries, which obviously meant more to the dwarf than they did to the children.

“Ay, it is as I thought.” he said when the bird fell silent. “A mist crossed the plain a while since, as fast as a horse can gallop, and sank into Llyn-dhu.