hey did not wait long. Presently each of them found himself leaning
forward, staring with almost unbelieving eyes, not at the priest or his
staff, but at THE ROCK ITSELF!

It was moving! Yes, it moved. The priest stepped aside and it slowly
turned, as if worked by a lever. As it turned, it gradually revealed a
chasm of darkness dimly lighted, and the priest spoke to Marco. "There
are hiding-places like this all through Samavia," he said. "Patience
and misery have waited long in them. They are the caverns of the
Forgers of the Sword. Come!"

XXVII

"IT IS THE LOST PRINCE! IT IS IVOR!"

Many times since their journey had begun the boys had found their
hearts beating with the thrill and excitement of things. The story of
which their lives had been a part was a pulse-quickening experience.
But as they carefully made their way down the steep steps leading
seemingly into the bowels of the earth, both Marco and The Rat felt as
though the old priest must hear the thudding in their young sides.

"'The Forgers of the Sword.' Remember every word they say," The Rat
whispered, "so that you can tell it to me afterwards. Don't forget
anything! I wish I knew Samavian."

At the foot of the steps stood the man who was evidently the sentinel
who worked the lever that turned the rock. He was a big burly peasant
with a good watchful face, and the priest gave him a greeting and a
blessing as he took from him the lantern he held out.

They went through a narrow and dark passage, and down some more steps,
and turned a corner into another corridor cut out of rock and earth.
It was a wider corridor, but still dark, so that Marco and The Rat had
walked some yards before their eyes became sufficiently accustomed to
the dim light to see that the walls themselves seemed made of arms
stacked closely together.

"The Forgers of the Sword!" The Rat was unconsciously mumbling to
himself, "The Forgers of the Sword!"

It must have taken years to cut out the rounding passage they threaded
their way through, and longer years to forge the solid, bristling
walls. But The Rat remembered the story the stranger had told his
drunken father, of the few mountain herdsmen who, in their savage grief
and wrath over the loss of their prince, had banded themselves together
with a solemn oath which had been handed down from generation to
generation. The Samavians were a long-memoried people, and the fact
that their passion must be smothered ha