Fear shot through him, and he sat up, bracing his back against the cell wall. Only a pale light came through the grate of his dungeon door, just enough for the guards to see through. But his eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and shock ran over him when he saw a figure standing in the cell. He came to his feet in a wild scramble, putting up his hands in a defensive position. “Who are you?” he cried hoarsely. “What do you want?” “As for your first question”—the man’s voice was calm and somehow soothing—“I am Goél.” Astonishment and relief washed over Roland. His knees felt weak. He lowered his hands and took a step back. “Goél,” he whispered. “You’re really here.” Goél came closer, and the faint, flickering light from the torch outside fell on his face. His hood was pushed back, and his face was lean and sculptured. His eyes were deep set, and they gleamed as he said, “As for your second question, I cannot answer that until I have asked you a question, my son.”
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