Finn at last broke the silence, saying that perhaps Midac's people had made the feast at his other palace, the Palace of the Island. Then one noticed that the fire was filling the hall, not with sweetness, but with foul soot and smoke. Another pointed out that the gorgeous walls were now only rough and unsightly planks. They found themselves sitting on the cold wet ground instead of choice furs. There was now only one little door to the hall, and that fast shut.
'Break open that door,' said Finn, 'I cannot abide in a house with one door only.'
Immediately Conan started to leap to his feet; he tried to raise himself up with his spear; but he did not and could not move, whatever he did. 'A spell!' he cried out, 'A spell has rooted me to the cold ground of this Palace of the Mountain Ash Trees.' The others also tried to rise, but all were fixed to the ground like trees. Finn put his thumb into his mouth under his tooth of knowledge, where he let it stay while he was thinking. He groaned as he took it out, for he had seen the truth.
'Midac,' he said, 'has plotted against us. In the Palace of the Island a host has assembled, under many foreign kings and princes. There are Sinsar the King of the World, and his son Borba the Haughty and the three Kings of the Island of the Torrent, and many more. These three are the enchanters. The clay in which we are rooted was taken from their enchanted Island of the Torrent. Soon the host will march against us. Nothing can break the spell which binds us, except the blood of the three kings sprinkled upon the clay.'
The heroes were furious because of their helplessness. They writhed like trees in a tempest. Some wept, some
