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A NEW NOVEL OF

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ONCE A NECROMANCER
ALWAYS A NECROMANCER
At least that's what all the other elves are telling the young
human Gawaine about his master, the Dark Elf Naitachal. Of
course Gawaine doesn't believe them; Naitachal has always
treated him well and honorably, explaining that though he
once was a necromancing Dark Elf, and still has the ebon skin of
the breed, he long ago forsook all things black In order to be-
come the first elven Bard.
But though Naitachal means every word he says, and though
Gawaine has known all along that things might get a little un-
comfortable for a human with a Dark Elf master, neither has
guessed what temptations the future might hold: for Gawaine
to forsake his master, and for Naitachal to go back to his old
necromancing ways.
FORTRESS of
FROST dud
Publisher's Note: This novel takes place about twenty years after
the events chronicled In Castle of Deception, and like that highly
successful genre bestseller it is set In the universe of the most pop-
ular role playing computer game of all time: The Bard's Tale.®
Again as with Castle of Deception, no familiarity with the game is
required, but those who have played The Bard's late will find they
enjoy it even more after reading Fortress of Frost and Fire1. (The
Bard's Tale characters and descriptions are the sole property of
Electronic Arts and are used by permission. The Bard's Tale is a
registered trademark of Electronic Arts.)
721 62
0 ""76714"00599"" o
ISBN   D-b71-7Slb5-3
Chapter I
For the first time in many days, the west wind died
away with sunset. It was fairly warm and very quiet
along the edge of the Whispering Woods. Quiet
enough in the stable that the human boy grooming
two travel-worn horses could easily make out indi-
vidual voices from the Moonstone Inn, some distance
to the west -- and upwind -- across a neatly tended
courtyard. Mostly dry or downright sarcastic elven
voices, but of course, the Moonstone was owned by
White Elves. An occasional, coarser human voice rose
above the rest.
Gawaine sighed and freed a hand from his present
task to push long, loose carrot-colored curls back
under the edge of the cloth band, then went back to
currying the horses. His master would wonder where
he was, why it was taking him so long to finish such a
simple task. But I like being in a stable, Gawaine
thought. Even after four years, I feel like I've come
home, tending to the horses, breathing the smell of
horses and hay. A loud burst of laughter from the inn
made him jump; his gray stepped back nervously and
he automatically rubbed the heavy neck muscles, reas-
suringly. "It's all right, Thunder; sorry I startled you,"
he said softly. 'They startled me, though. Somehow
you don't expect that kind of raucous noise from an
inn full of White Elves."
Probably that had been some of the humans.
Though Gawaine had had to reevaluate his notions of
White Elves when Naitachal brought him into elven
country. "I thought they would be  --  well, look at
them, tall and beautiful, so long-lived! You'd think
they would all have beautiful souls, too; that anyone
with so much time would be more spiritual. It's just
like everything else, Thunder," he mumbled gloomily.
'Things used to be so simple." Thunder  --  named
partly for his storm-cloud color, mostly for the heavy
way he set his feet down  --  leaned against him and
lipped his hair. Gawaine chuckled softly, gave him a
shove so he could get past him into the open, and pat-
ted his rump on the way by.
Across the aisle, there were at least a dozen elven
horses. He smiled and sighed happily. Thunder was
his own horse, and he dearly loved the cobby dapple
gray, but those beauties . . . they made him warm and
shivery all over. "Look at those long legs, at that golden
tail, and you," he murmured as he wandered down the
aisle. "Oh, you love." The horse in question turned its
head to give him a long look from under thick lashes,
then turned back to its feed. Gawaine sighed again
and turned back to take care of his Masters black,
Star. What an insipid name for such a nice-looking fel-
low, he thought. From another point of view, he'd
been named by his Master after one of the heroic
steeds from an epic verse  --  which was really silly
when you got to know the phlegmatic, unexciteable
Star.
Star munched while Gawaine rubbed, ignoring
both the boy and Thunder, whose jealousy made an
hour like this difficult. Thunder caught hold of
Gawaine's tunic and tugged, and when Gawaine
turned his head to free the garment, lipped at his hair
again, catching hold of the band and pulling it off his
young masters head. Thick, copper-colored curls fell
across his face and Gawaine had to shove them back
and hold them with one hand while he snatched at the
cloth band. He finally caught it, slid it over his fore-
head and smacked Thunders neck. "Stop that. Behave
yourself." Thunder simply looked at him. Gawaine
scowled as he shoved the last of his hair off his fore-
head and out of his eyes, and moved around to Star's
other side to finish his grooming.
Another burst of laughter from the inn; someone
was telling lamp-wick jokes in there, from the sound
of things: ". . . only one, but the wick has to want to
change!" And a cutting retort topping the laughter,
"How dreadfully witty the entertainment is tonight!"
Change. Gawaine stopped rubbing and let his chin
rest on Star's back. Four years of change for him  -- 
four years that sometimes felt more like a full lifetime.
It was increasingly difficult for him to remember that
boy who had been one of Squire Tomblys horseboys.
"Sixteen and looking for all die world like twelve," he
murmured. Star laid back one ear and Thunder
turned to look at him curiously. Not that it was much
better now; at twenty, he still found that most of those
around him looked at the carroty hair, the slender
build, and those wretched freckles and thought, "Fif-
teen, at most." It had been worse, though: he had
been short to boot, back then, smaller than anyone
else on the squires land save the genuine children.
Fortunately, he hadn't been the twelve he'd looked,
because before his voice broke, he hadn't been able to
sing two notes in tune together. "I would probably
have still been stuck in that foul-smelling little cell
where Naitachal found me  --  if the squire hadn't sim-
ply executed me."
Unpleasant thought. For five years  --  six?  --  his
whole life had revolved around caring for the squire s
horses. life had been hard, of course, especially for
the smallest horseboy, and particularly for one who
looked like he did  --  the only pale, freckly redhead,
half the size of the others, and especially for someone
as serious as he normally had been, even then. It had
been even harder once he had shown so much of a gift
for dealing with horses and had come to the personal
attention of the squire's horsemaster. Standing out for
size and looks had been one thing; standing out
because he was good at what he did had caused no
end of trouble, with first one and then another of the
other horseboys finding ways to make life miserable
for him.
All the same, it hadn't been a bad life. He'd been
cared for, well fed, and there was a simplicity to things
he looked back at with longing. In that life, a boy per-
formed his tasks and did them well, obeyed orders,
kept to his place and got on with the other boys in the
stable  --  or at least, didn't fight with them enough to
bring himself to the attention of the horsemaster. That
was Right; anything else was Wrong. There weren't
any complications, none of these moral dilemmas one
tripped over constantly in the Real World. No shades
of gray anywhere.
Gawaine sighed, righted himself, and applied the
brush to Star's dusty flanks. Probably that had only
been a boy's view of matters, or what Naitachal called
"looking back with one blind eye." Things couldn't
have been quite as simple as all that, however they
looked from a distance of four years and a lot of miles.
They had certainly gotten complicated with a
vengeance when the squire's prize stallion had van-
ished  --  and Gawaine, as the horse's groomer and the
only one of the stableboys who dared approach the
brute, had been accused of its theft.
"So stupid," he mumbled, and Star shifted to look
back at him. "The horse vanished from his stall, it was
so obvious that magic had to be involved  --  and back
then, what had I ever done that someone could think I
had the least bit of magic? Besides, if I'd been able to
create Darkness all around the stable, even at night,
and then send the stallion elsewhere, wouldn't every-
one been aware I had that kind of Power?" He looked
at Star and shrugged; the horse blinked and went back
to his feed. "Anyway, what was a mere stableboy sup-
posed to do with a horse like Firestorm?' Sell it, and at
a very high price, they'd said. Yes, and how was a mere
horseboy supposed to account for such sudden
wealth? That had been most conveniently glossed over
 --  everyone ignoring the fact that Gawaine hadn't dis-
appeared with the horse, or shown any signs of having
a personal supply of coin. The mage the squire hired
to examine the entire stable and all the staff hadn't
been able to locate a cache of coin or find any trace in
Gawaine's mind of having cached anything  --  except
the wooden top he had hidden, years before, to keep
one of the older and larger boys from taking it.
Gawaine grinned, remembering the look on that
mage's face  --  and on the squire's  --  when the com-
post heap had been excavated and they had found, not
a bag of silver and gold, but a rotting bit of fashioned
oak. At the time, he had found that episode almost
more embarrassing than being put on trial for horse
thievery.
There was no doubt the squire had been deeply
embarrassed, too: bellowing all those orders, up to his
knees in the hole, waiting for evidence to be pulled
from the hot, reeking mess only to find . . . That
moment had ended Gawaine's public trial; Squire
Tombly had tromped off, shouting furiously, and his fi-
nal order had resulted in his erstwhile horseboy being
chucked into a cell.
Magic. "Who would ever have thought?" Gawaine
murmured. He hadn't ever given it any thought him-
self; so far as he knew, neither had anyone on that
entire vast estate. If it hadn't been for someone saying
what so many thought, that the stallion could only
have been spirited out of the stable by magic . . .
Gawaine patted Star's neck, ran his fingers through
the long mane to comb free several thorny seed-pods.
That had been the real cause of all his troubles: magic.
He had only been a minor suspect in the matter until
that mage showed up. Tottery, white-haired, half
senile, the mage had gone down the line of horseboys
and come back twice before stopping in front of
Gawaine and leveling a trembly, liver-spotted hand at
his nose. And on the strength of his word that there
was "something about this boy"  --  and no other evi-
dence whatever  -- • the squire had named Gawaine
horse thief, and turned him over to the guard.
Gawaine leaned against the back wail of the stable
and stared into space; he could almost see  --  and
smell  --  that nasty little dirt-floored chamber, right
next to the goat sheds. Almost as if they had known
how very much he loathed the smell of goat and
wanted to get in a little subtle torture. Not Squire
Tombly, of course: the squire wasn't a subtle man at
any time, and he had no doubt been heating irons and
consulting with his by-the-day rent-a-mage, to see
what would hurt the most  --  even if the first applica-
tion of pain got a response to the whereabouts of his
stallion. Between the two  --  the reality and the possi-
bilities  --  Gawaine's spirits had been very low indeed.
"If I'd been squawking in a boy's soprano, I'll wager
Master Naitachal would have gone right by  --  prob-
ably at double step," Gawaine added to himself, and
grinned. He'd been singing, partly to pass the time
and mostly to keep his spirits up, and the Dark Elf  -- 
once Necromancer, now a full Bard  --  later claimed
he had been stopped in his tracks by the underlying
Power he felt in that voice. There wasn't any doubt
Naitachal had been impressed enough by Gawaine's
singing, and his potential; as proof of that, he had
immediately gone to the manor house to find out who
the singer was, and, when he had gotten that far, dis-
covering what such a singer had done to deserve such
a fate. Learning that much, he had somehow con-
vinced the squire to keep the hot irons in the firepit
and off his horseboy, and had talked long and hard
enough to  --  well, not convince the man of Gawaine s
innocence, but at least to let Naitachal investigate the
matter on his own.
Of course, who would dare argue with a Bard?
Naysay him, and Squire Tombly would have been
cringing for the rest of his life as his name was bandied
across the kingdom in truly hilarious, eminently singa-
ble, and extremely unflattering song.
Something tugged at his hair, Gawaine started back
into the present and looked up to see Thunder, his
long gray head resting on Stars back, gazing mourn-
fully into his face. Gawaine laughed, freed his hair and
gave Thunder a shove. "Stop that, you fool," he said.
"You look so silly when you do that. And Star has car-
ried enough weight today!" Thunder shook his head,
spraying grain fragments across Star's back; Gawaine
gave him another shove, this one hard enough the
gelding gave him a reproachful look before pulling
back into his own stall.
"Naitachal," Gawaine mumbled, and sighed heavily.
Oh, the Bard had gotten him released from that grue-
some, reeking little box of a cell. He'd found the horse
and  --  unfortunately  --  also found the thief: the
squire's own son. "At least he took me with him when
he left  --  and at least he left quickly." The squire
hadn't been wildly pleased to learn his spoiled son had
gone from being merely spoiled to becoming actively
involved with the wrong kind; Gawaine was glad his
new Master not only knew all the stories and songs
about the fate of messengers with ill news, he'd had
the sense to act on that knowledge  --  and to ask as his
reward the services of the boy he'd rescued. "I wonder
how long I would have lasted, if I had remained
there." Not a very good thing to think about.
He looked up, brought back to the present once
more as several men came into the stable, two of them
noticeably weaving. One of these latter was at the
stage of too much drink that he'd become maudlin; his
companions were trying to shush him, get their horses
together, and get free of the inn and surrounding
country before full dark fell.
"Wretched, snotty elves," one of them whined. 'Tell
a few jokes, try to get people laughing, and wha'd they
do? They kick us out!" He turned to one of his com-
panions and clutched his tunic. "Did you ever see such
a dull crowd?"
"Well, all right, not recently," the second man
allowed. "Come on, Robyun, time we went home." But
Robyun had seen the boy at the far end of the stables;
he pulled free of his friend and came down the aisle.
He wasn't so drunk he couldn't see Thunder edging a
few steps back into the open, or the shift in the
gelding's withers; he halted two stalls short of
Thunder's and asked cheerily, "Hey, boy! Carrots! How
many Mystics does it take to change a lamp-wick?"
"Sir?" Gawaine asked. He couldn't manage any
more than that, without adding something truly abu-
sive. Carrots, indeed!
The man laughed raucously; his friend came up and
started to drag him away, and the drunk shouted out,
'Two! One to change the wick, and one to not change
the wick!"
"  --  and three to make loud fools of themselves,"
came a sardonic remark from the front of the stable.
The men halted so abruptly their joke-telling friend
fell flat on his face. Gawaine sent his eyes sideways to
see a long, lean, silver-haired figure propped indo-
lently against the doorframe, arms folded across his
chest. "Are you not gone yet?' he asked pointedly.
"We're just going." One of the standing men spoke
quickly and loudly, covering whatever the fallen one
was trying to say. They pulled him to his feet and
hurried down to the horses waiting there  --  still sad-
dled, poor creatures, Gawaine saw with irritation.
Without a backward glance or remark, the three
mounted  --  the joke-teller had to be pulled up by one
arm and the neck of his coarse-woven shirt  --  and
rode out the back way. As they vanished into the dark-
ness, though, a loud voice slurred out, "Hey! How
many White Elves does it  --  " The voice was cut off
abruptly, and the only further sound was that of
hooves moving quickly into the distance.
As if things weren't complicated enough, just being
in elven territory  --  in the company of a Dark Elf,
Gawaine thought tiredly. He went back into the stall
to check that Star had enough to eat and that the
bucket was full and knelt to collect the saddlebags
Naitachal had left for him to bring  --  as usual, all the
heavy stuff, but that was one of the perquisites of
being a Master  --  then staggered back to his feet. He
was watching the bags as he juggled them into better
position, paving no attention to anything else, as he
put a shoulder into Star's withers to get past him. A
low sound, someone clearing his throat, and the sound
of a pair of long shoes not two steps away.
Gawaine let out an airless squawk and dropped
everything. He had forgotten all about the White Elf who
had followed the drunks out to the stable, assuming he'd
gone back inside once they'd left. Apparently not.
"My. Jumpy, aren't we?" the elf asked dryly. He ran
a practiced eye over the bardlings travel-stained shirt
and breeches, ending at the scuffed boots, then looked
rather pointedly, Gawaine thought, at the pile of
leather bags between them. His stomach tried to fall
into those boots. Don't let him see how badly he did
scare you, he thought. He squared his shoulders and
drew his eyebrows together.
"You weren't exactly making your presence known,
and I was busy," he replied shortly.
"Did you expect me to tromp like a three-legged
cow, or a human?" the elf replied. "And are you going
inside with those?"
"Why? Are you trying to say I'm stealing them?'
Impass. The elf bared his teeth in what could have
been a smile except that it didn't move beyond his lips.
"Why would I? Or why should I care if one human
steals the goods of another human?" He took a step
forward; Gawaine held his ground as the elf looked in
both directions, then leaned close to his ear to mur-
mur, "Or those of a Dark Elf, hmmm?" He tilted his
head to one side, waited for some reaction. Gawaine
raised one eyebrow, something he knew many found
very irritating, and waited. "A Necromancer?" the elf
added, in case this fool of a human boy didn't under-
stand. 'The Necromancer Naitachal?" he added
helpfully.
"You mean, the Bard  --  my Master?" Gawaine
asked with a lips-only smile of his own.
The elf tipped his head to the other side and stud-
ied him for a very long moment. He raised one
eyebrow himself then. "You  --  know what he is, then?
And who?'
"If you want to know, if I know his name, I have for
the past four years. And if I know the meanings of
those terribly long words," Gawaine replied dryly, "the
answer is yes. If you have nothing important to say, the
Bard, my Master Naitachal, who was a Necromancer
but no longer is, is waiting for his bags."
For a moment, he wondered if he might not have
pushed his luck; the elf narrowed his eyes and looked
genuinely dangerous. Suddenly, he laughed, jumped
back and gave the bardling a sweeping bow, then
turned and left the stable. Gawaine blotted a damp
forehead with his sleeve, gathered up the bags, and
practically ran for the inn.
"What, does that make three of them now?" he
grumbled as he had to slow for a very poorly lit section
of path. 'Three White Elves with my best interests at
heart and a very low impression of human ability to
tell nonhumans apart."
Even if he hadn't been able to tell White from Dark
Elves  --  he would have to be blind or babe-witted to
not see that  --  it didn't matter. Because one of the first
things Naitachal had done  --  even before he had let
Gawaine swear the oaths that would bind him as
apprentice to Master  --  was to set the boy down and
explain who and what he was, and what he had been.
He didn't really have to tell me, not then; he could have
let it go until I'd learned to trust him for what he was.
But that had never been Naitachal's way; the Dark Elf
had always been totally honest with him, and however
much his Master irritated him by shunting aside his
questions about matters mystical and the greater
truths, Gawaine had to admire his honesty. After all,
most people  --  most beings  --  went out of their way
to avoid Necromancers. All Dark Elves, really, since it
was said they all practiced that black art.
At least this elf had given up after a few moments of
verbal fencing: The one who had accosted him at the
door had been maddeningly persistent. "He used to
practice necromancy, do you know what that is? What
it means? Why would he have given it up, entirely?
His kind don't, you know." And on and on, halfway to
the stables after a tight-lipped Gawaine. Getting no
response, he had finally made a very rude remark
about his young companion's parentage and relative
intelligence, and left him.
Oh, well. Gawaine juggled off-balance bags, mut-
tered a curse under his breath as one of them fell, and
bent down to pick it up, dropping the other two in the
process. "Could be worse," he reminded himself. "You
could have been inside the whole time, sitting with
Naitachal and having to cut your way through the
atmosphere in there to get up to the bar for more ale."
There had been plenty of other times since they'd
crossed into elven territory that the elves had gone out
of their way to make it clear their absence would be
cause for celebration; here, things had been down-
right frosty from the first.
Except for the innkeeper, of course; like most inn-
keepers, he was willing to put up with just about any
clientele, so long as the coin they carried was honest
and the guest showed some sign of reasonable behav-
ior. Coin they had, but then, Naitachal had done very
well as far as bringing in coin with his singing, at the
last three towns they had visited. And though Gawaine
had a sneaking hunch his Master minded the cold
shoulder he invariably got from his White cousins, he
dealt with those at the inn much as he did anyone else
 --  elven, human, or otherwise  --  who used the word
"dark" like a curse: with dry, cutting humor at least the
equal of any White Elf's.
The path was lit near the inn, the inn and the door-
way lit as well, but Gawaine had the bags clasped high
in his arms and couldn't see his feet at all. He tripped
up the single step; men and elves at half a dozen tables
close to the open door turned to stare. He righted
himself against the doorframe, sent his eyes briefly
skyward, and walked into the close, dark room.
He had to cross the entire common room; Nai-
tachal, as usual, had taken a table in the farthest and
darkest corner of the whole place. And between the
sooty black of his garb and the near-ebony of the
Bard's visible skin, there wasn't much to see of him but
startiingly intense blue eyes. Gawaine got a grip on the
bags, and walked over to join him, trying to show the
same cool exterior his master did. Not easy, with so
many elves casting sidelong, narrowed looks into the
corner, watching this most recent arrival with the same
suspicious glances.
"Master?"
"Hmmm? Ah. Good, you brought them. Keep
them by your chair, will you? There's a good boy." Nai-
tachal waved him to one of the empty chairs. Gawaine
felt around cautiously with his foot for the bag that
held his harp and the other that contained their shared
lute, then set the saddlebags on the floor, pulled the
chair around so his back was to the door  --  and all
those speculative and unpleasant looks  --  and
dropped down with a sigh. He had been on his feet
longer than he'd thought; the backs of his knees and
the soles of his feet ached.
After that one rather abstracted remark, Naitachal
went back to his companion. Gawaine scooted his chair
forward and planted his elbows on the edge of the table so
he could listen to the low conversation. The third at the
table paused, eyeing Gawaine sidelong, then staring
openly at the bright red hair. Gawaine scowled, the man
blinked as though suddenly aware he'd been caught
staring  --  and probably about to make some remark
about fires, or carrots, or something else equally
infuriating -- and turned hastily away.
The Bard stretched, looked up as the innkeeper
appeared between him and the human with a pitcher
and an extra cup for the new arrival. "Gawaine, this is
Herrick, a trader from the north. Herrick, my appren-
tice, the bardling Gawaine. Herrick has been telling
me about the lands he's passed through recently, and
he has the most interesting story about  --  well, if you
don't mind telling it once more, master trader?"
Herrick shrugged, drew his cup close and poured,
sucked the foam off the rim before it could run over
the edge, then drank down half the contents. Gawaine
watched him and fought a sigh; he suddenly felt tired
all over. I know full well what this means. I know that
look. Master Naitachal has found another detour on
the road to the Druids. Another wretched Adventure,
when all I really want is Truth. And after all he had
promised, after these last three side trips  --  / It's not
fair. He's been around for so long, he's seen and done
so much, but when I ask for answers, he can't or won't
help me, and he  --  well, he doesn't laugh, but he might
as well. And then, when I ask to go somewhere where I
might learn what I want to know, he does this. Again!
Well, there wasn't any use fighting it; only one of
them was Master, and it certainly wasn't Gawaine. He
filled his cup, leaned back in his chair, and tried to
make himself look interested in the man's story.
Chapter II
If Gawaine had to force himself to look attentive at
first, he became genuinely interested as time passed:
Herrick had been plenty of places and had an ear for a
good story; better, he could tell one himself. One
couldn't readily separate truth from tall tale, but
Gawaine didn't mind that: As a bardling, he knew
quite a few tall tales of his own  --  most of his being set
to a tune, of course  --  and he liked a good one. The
one Herrick had just finished, about the lake full of
drowned men who rose to the surface at the full moon
and crept ashore to lure village women  --  well, that
just begged to be set to music; Gawaine's eyes glazed
over as he considered a variation on an old, minor-key
tune that might fit the tale s mood.
He came back to the present with a start as Nai-
tachal kicked his shin under the table. Herrick had
moved on to another story and the Masters eyes were
bright. Pay attention. Gawaine leaned forward and
nodded once, warily drawing his feet back under the
chair in case the Bard decided to make certain he was
with them once more.
"Now, some of these things I've told you were told
to me, young master," Herrick said as he turned from
Naitachal to Gawaine. 'Though I know well the men
who told them, and don't doubt their veracity. This I
am about to tell you I can swear is solemn truth, for I
have seen this place with my own eyes, as I swore to
the Bard here." He lifted his cup and tipped his head
back to drain it, let Naitachal fill it for him once again,
and slid down in the chair until he looked no taller
than a dwarf.
'To the north of here, many days journey above
Portsmith and not a little east, there is a broad, rolling
land where the peasants are rosy-cheeked, their sheep
and goats fat, the babies plump, and the grain grows
very tall and thick  --  surprisingly to my mind, for the
winters are long and there are many days to each side
of the shortest when the sun barely peers above the
southern mountains before it sets again. Then, the
local people say, the snows come and lie deep in the
valleys and dells, wind blows it into sharp-edged
peaks, and lakes freeze to a great depth so that a man
who would take fish must spend a long time indeed
hacking his way through ice. The men sit around such
holes, they say, drinking the clear, oily and viciously
strong liquor they distill from tubers, safe from the
wind in tents which they bring onto the lakes, and they
fish and smoke, and tell tall tales. The bears which
come down from the northern mountains are very
large, and there are men who swear to me they have
seen white bears in particularly cold years.
'The women spend the cold season spinning and
weaving a truly splendid wool, some of which I carry
with me even now, in hopes of trading it to seamen
who sail in chill northern waters  --  for the stuff is
waterproof, thick, and keeps out the worst of winter."
Naitachal stirred; this corner was dark even com-
pared to the rest of the poorly lit common room, but
his eyes gleamed, and Gawaine bit back another sigh.
"Yes, but my dear Herrick, all this of winter is interest-
ing, but surely no one would go there in winter."
Herrick laughed, and the elves at the next table who
had been scowling at the three off and on for some
time made a great show of getting up and moving. The
Bard turned a hand over and smiled faintly as the
laughter died on the traders lips. "Pay no heed; if we
were out of line, the innkeeper would say so. They are
simply paying guests, like us." His voice had risen a lit-
tle on the last words; one of the elves turned to glare at
him and Naitachal gave him a cheerfully toothy grin.
"Well  --  what was I saying?" Herrick asked, and
supplied his own answer before either of his compan-
ions could. "Oh, yes  --  winter. No, no one would go
there in winter  --  or try to; he would never reach his
destination, between wild animals, creatures that pre-
fer night to day and don't mind the chill, and the roads
are impassible in any event. Certainly no one would go
and stay over the winter, who wasn't used to such a cli-
mate; imagine a hundred days or more with nothing
but a little twilight once a day! I myself would go mad
and slay the first man who laughed within reach of my
knife!"
"So would I," Gawaine said, with a meaningful look
at the Dark Elf across from him. Naitachal merely
grinned once more and waved the trader to continue.
"However, it is a pleasant enough country once the
snow melts. But that is not the amazing part of the
tale, young bardling. Not far from that land, to the
north, there is a valley where summer never comes."
Herrick paused dramatically. Gawaine shrugged,
adding when it became clear the man was waiting for
some response, "Well, yes, I have learned some of the
songs myself, about the land well to the north where
there is ice all year round and not even twilight once a
day during winter."
"You mistake me," Herrick said. 'This is near to that
northern chme, but no more so than that where the
peasants grow their grain and some of the most
enormous cabbages I have ever seen. There are
seasons  --  ordinary seasons  --  all around the valley,
but in tlie valley itself, there is never a spring, never a
summer. Snow and ice cover the ground there, even
when the peasants not a league away have sheared
their sheep and planted their corn."
He paused again. Gawaine looked at him. "Oh."
There didn't seem anything else to say. His Master's
eyes were very bright. The trader turned from appren-
tice to Master and spread his arms wide, nearly
knocking over his cup.
"Well. Anyway, there you have it."
Naitachal caught the cup, set it upright and refilled it.
"And you saw this place, this valley, with your own eyes?"
'Well  --  " the trader temporized "Well, I spoke with
the natives. They don't actually go near it, you understand;
after all, what could cause something like that but a
terrible curse or something"  --  he lowered his voice
dramatically -- "something even worse than that?"
Gawaine shifted impatiently, snagged the pitcher,
and poured himself what was left of the ale; it wasn't
much and the jug had long since lost its chill. Flat, too,
probably, he thought gloomily, and sipped at it.
"Worse," he said finally. "Such as?"
"Now, lad, don't badger the poor man," Naitachal
said cheerfully.
"No, sir."
"Its all right, sir," the trader said. He drank down the
last of the ale, wiped his lips on his sleeve, and set the cup
down with a loud click. "As for what caused it  -- well, they
wouldn't say, and my experience with the kinds of nasty
critters that like coldis limited Avoid them, if you see what
I mean. But I did find one young man willing to take me to
a pkce where I could look out over it  --  not that he'd go
up onto that hill himself, mind!  --  and though it was a
goodly distance, I could see what looked like a tower of
some kind and definitely plenty of white surrounding it."
"White," Gawaine echoed. "Well, but early enough
in the year, that could be snow that hadn't melted yet,
couldn't it? Or, maybe salt, or a glacier . . ." His voice
trailed away; the trader was shaking his head gravely.
"It was high summer when I was there, not spring,
lad; there wasn't snow anywhere but on the high
peaks. If what I saw was that much salt, the peasants
would know about it. According to them, there was a
time that valley was simply another place for their
great grandsires to hunt in the summer, and ice-fish in
winter. So, no massive salt bed, no lake  --  and unless
someone has come up with a way to create a glacier
overnight and fill a valley with it for no good reason,
not a glacier, either."
Silence for several long moments. The innkeeper
came with another pitcher of ale, collected the empty
pitcher and departed. Naitachal stirred finally. "Quite
a mystery," he said softly. "And all within  --  what
would you say?  --  the last sixty years?"
"Perhaps that. They seem to be a long-lived people."
"I  --  see." His eyes hooded, the Bard sat in silence
for a while, lips moving; his companions watched him.
"And they know this for certain, that summer never
comes there?"
"So they tell me." Another long silence. The trader
poured for all three, then asked, "Sir, you'll forgive my
curiosity, but  --  if you are Naitachal, aren't you the
Dark Elf who traveled with Count Kevin, some years
back?'
"You know Count Kevin?" the Bard countered.
"Well enough." The trader shrugged modestly. "I go
that way once or twice a year and he always has me to
dinner, so I've heard a great deal about how he came
to be count, and  --  if you are indeed Naitachal  --  how
much of his present situation he owes to you."
Naitachal smiled faintly. "Well  --  I doubt I was as
much good to him as I fear he says; he took fairly good
care of himself, you know, and he was as responsible as
anyone for reverting Carlotta to the fairy form that was
properly hers. If it hadn't been for him taking on his
full Bardic powers just then, I am quite certain I
would not be here talking to you just now."
"I hadn't heard about that part," the trader said. "At
least  --  bits and pieces from some of those around
him, particularly that amazon warrior Lydia who cap-
tains his guard."
"Ah, Lydia. How is she, these days?'
"Impressive," the trader said shortly. He seemed
disinclined to talk further about her. He took a swal-
low of ale, looked around the inn. "I was going to ask,
since you are the Bard Naitachal, if you plan on per-
forming tonight?"
Oh, wonderful, Gawaine thought. A human bardling
and a Dark Elf Bard, performing in this particular inn.
But his Master was already leaning back in his chair to
look the room over. Gawaine shifted to look behind
him and along the far wall. Not surprisingly, the place
was jammed, but there were nearly as many humans as
elves at the moment, and over near the windows by the
door that led to the road, a few shadows that were
neither elven nor  --  quite  --  human.
The Bard straightened up, glanced at his appren-
tice, and gave a small shrug. "Perhaps." He grinned
suddenly, and his eyes gleamed with brief, amused
malice. "No one looks quite ready to feed me to the
wolves at the moment, anyway! More likely, I will let
my apprentice do the singing for this evening; this
would be a good place for him to perform, and in-
crease his reputation."
"If they don't feed me to the wolves," Gawaine
mumbled under his breath, but the Bard kicked his
shins once again and he fell silent, bending down to
pick up the mandolin case while his Master went over
to have a word with the innkeeper.
By the time he returned, Gawaine had the mando-
lin out and was bent over it, fine-tuning the lower
strings. Naitachal leaned across his shoulder to mur-
mur, "He says the entertainment will be welcome, and
assures me that no one in the neighborhood has sold
overripe fruit of late." Gawaine glanced up sharply,
and his Master gave him a positively evil grin. "Kjoke,
apprentice mine."
"Oh. Of course." And probably meant to get him
loosened up to sing and play comfortably; Gawaine
could feel his throat tightening the way it still did, now
and again.
"Start with something about warfare," the Bard
went on thoughtfully. 'To get their attention. Maybe
the new one you wrote about the sea battle, Amazons
against pirates, and that dragon?"
"Its not really finished  --  " Gawaine began doubt-
fully. Naitachal cleared his throat ominously and he
added with haste, "Yes, of course."
"From there, you can probably go to one or two of
the classic love ballads, maybe another heroic or
adventure song  --  nothing too long, mind, I don't
think at this hour you'll find much of an attention span
out there!" The Bard stood listening as his apprentice
finished tuning the mandolin, and finally shrugged. "If
anyone has any requests, use your own judgment. Fin-
ish with something humorous, always best to leave
them laughing."
"Yes." Gawaine shoved the chair back and got to his
feet. Silence from the tables around them, rapidly
spreading across the room.
He sang the sea-battle song first  --  even though it
made him uncomfortable, performing something he
wasn't ready to share with the outside world yet. But
when he finished, the room was very still; the silence
was followed by long and loud applause and even a
few scattered bravos. He stood, bowed to the room;
back in his corner, he could see the Bard giving him
that look that said, 'Told you so." He kept the smile in
place somehow, sat back down and the room went
quiet as he touched the strings.
Love songs  --  he sang one of the truly tragic ones,
followed by a humorous tale of lovers parted by a pair
of snooty fathers, reunited only after a series of wild
adventures involving disguises, misunderstood letters
and passwords, and counter-disguises. Midway
through, he executed a rather complex run on the
mandolin, and when he dared look up once more, he
could see that a few of the nearby elves were paying
close attention and  --  he would have sworn  --  even
smiling, while most of the humans were clapping or
tapping the table.
He finished with 'The Maiden, the Mage and the
Blue Earring." It was an ancient piece, and as far as
Gawaine was concerned, extremely silly  --  the vain
and arrogant young woman who covets something
she's never seen, the supposedly rare and wondrous
blue earring, and the young lovelorn mage who deliv-
ers it: a gold-colored circlet that turns her ear blue,
and a smack alongside the head that makes it ring....
Well, he might consider it silly, but his audience didn't.
Quite clearly some of them had heard it before and
others hadn't, but all of them laughed so much he had
to pick a repeat phrase on the mandolin at the end of
nearly every verse until the room was quiet enough for
him to go on with the next one.
He sang one very short song after that, a soft little
ballad that mothers used to put their children to sleep
 --  a sweet song that quieted the room and let him
escape before his throat went dry. He scooped up the
few coins from the floor before his chair  --  dropped
there by some of the men nearby, he noticed, though
he hadn't expected any of the locals to part with cash
for the apprentice of a Dark Elf, no matter how well
he entertained them  --  and went back over to the cor-
ner table. Somewhat to his surprise, there was a new
round of applause out in the room, and someone cried
out, "More!" Gawaine stood behind his chair and took
the full cup the trader had poured for him, but before
he could even raise it to his lips, Naitachal was on his
feet, the harp in his long-fingered hands.
As the Bard settled on the stool in the middle of the
inn's common room, there was silence  --  an expectant
hush on the part of the humans and some of the others
present, a wary, tight-lipped and glowering stillness on
the part of the nearest White Elves.
Naitachal ignored them all, ran his fingers over the
harp strings a few times, then began a pleasant, if
rather sad, song about a sailors widow. He followed
this with an instrumental, one his apprentice hadn't
heard before, and he listened as breathlessly as anyone
else present. The Bard continued to play very quietly
under the applause as the song ended, then broke into
a rousing run.
The bardlings jaw dropped and he stared. He
wouldn't dare sing "Althiorian's Last Charge"  --  in
the Moonstone? But that was exactly what his Master
was doing, and astonishingly enough, everyone in the
room, including the White Elves, was listening
intently, and with every sign of pleasure as the epic
wound up to the great battle and then down to the
moment when the great elven hero killed the last of
his undead enemy. Gawaine could feel his heart beat-
ing faster, the blood warming his cheeks.
And then it was over; Naitachal ran his fingers
down the harp strings, stood and bowed. Deathly, total
silence, followed by thunderous applause and the ring
of coins. The Bard bowed once more, smiled as he
straightened, and turned to take in the entire audi-
ence. He was still smiling as he returned to the table,
and as he brushed by his apprentice, he murmured,
"Just go and pick up the take, will you?"
Gawaine scowled. "You would take money from
those who have been looking at you like that all eve-
ning?"
"Why not?' The Master clapped him on the back.
"It spends as well as friendlier coin, don't you think?"
"Hypocrites," the bardling grumbled, but Naitachal
merely laughed, clapped him on the back again  --  this
time with enough weight behind the gesture to shove
him away from the table  --  and went to resume his
seat and repack the harp.
Chapter III
Naitachal leaned back in his chair and shoved his long
legs out before him as Gawaine settled into his first song
and the common room of the Moonstone went quiet He
sent his eyes sideways toward the trader, watched
thoughtfully for a moment or two. The man was
impressed by the boys skill with that mandolin, and by his
voice, no doubt of that  --  partly, the Bard decided,
because he had placed Gawaine somewhere around 15
and couldn't believe someone that age would have so
much honed talent. A glance the other direction assured
the Bard that his apprentice had the attention of most of
those in the room; even the innkeeper had stopped
washing cups and carrying ale, and had propped his
elbows on the bar so he could rest his chin in his hands and
pay heed to the tale.
Very nice. Very  --  technically correct. The Bard slid
a hand off the table to surreptitiously scratch his ribs. If
his bardling had been doing a real job of it, he would
have been able to lack off his boots and scratch his feet;
no one nearby would have paid the least attention.
But Gawaine's music, for all the flawless technique, the
constant practice, the voice that never broke or slipped
from a high note  --  his music was about as exciting as an
accountant's columns. This thing he'd just written, now:
Naitachal repressed a sigh. He himself could find half a
dozen places in the first few lines where he would be able
to send men's blood beating and have them flocking to
some lord's banner  --  three or four others in those same
lines where he'd have them all weeping, or cowering
under a bench.
Who would have thought two young humans could
be so very different? Kevin  --  now Count Kevin, of
course  --  had been the same sixteen years Gawaine
was when his Master found him and pulled him from
a very tricky situation. They'd both had red hair, both
had obvious talent and that undercurrent of magic
buried deep down that was enough to make any Bard
say, "Aha!" and grab the boy before another did.
But the similarity ended right there. Of course,
Kevin had been old Aidan s bardling  --  his loose can-
non, when Naitachal met him, because the Master
had sent his apprentice out on his own. To copy manu-
scripts. Kevin, mad for adventure and with a distinct
propensity for calling down all manner of bad luck,
had managed to get himself in hot water right up to his
neck from the first. Imagine, a bardling wanting to
fight with a sword. Worse, with his fists/ Well, one
good punch with his right had cured young Kevin of
that particular notion; so far as Naitachal was aware,
that first punch had been his last.
The real problem was that Kevin had been so inse-
cure, unsure of himself in so many ways  --  though he
did a good job of hiding from most of his companions
that he'd never done anything more dangerous than
sit at his Masters feet and learn bardry. Naitachal
grinned and settled even lower in his chair as the first
song ended and the room erupted in applause.
Couldn't hide the truth from a Dark Elf, though.
Unlike Kevin, Gawaine had not had all that early
training in voice and lute; Gawaine had spent his
childhood years feeding and currying horses, and his
musical talents had been very much undeveloped  -- 
raw talent, no skill  -- when Naitachal found him.
Still, both boys had grown up in backwaters, neither
had actually been inside a city in all his childhood.
Unworldly, both. A personal attribute, Naitachal
feared, Gawaine clung to as much as Kevin had
wanted to shed it. And there was a passion in Kevin
that was sorely lacking in Gawaine; Kevin had wanted
full power  --  even though it had frightened him so
much when it finally came that he'd nearly backed
away from it. Gawaine, on the other hand: Gawaine
had the power, Naitachal thought gloomily. Whether
he'd ever bring it to the surface was another thing en-
tirely. Gawaine would much rather sit at the feet of
some holy man and suck down Ultimate Truth. Poor
little thing; to think he actually once thought he'd get
that from me. On sober thought, Naitachal wasn't ex-
acdy certain Gawaine had stopped believing his
Master had the answers.
Laughter all around the room; the Bard roused
himself to check what his apprentice was doing now,
then rubbed his shoulders against the chair, leaned his
head into the hard, carved wood and settled back into
his thoughts. Maybe I've been pressing the kid too
hard in one direction  --  too much practice might be
what's keeping him at this level. What with Gawaine
longing to go in search of Ultimate Truth  --  and his
Master, older by far and much more sensible about
such things, doing his best to keep him focused on
what counted  --  maybe that was the whole problem.
A little excitement, a little adventure, something to
take the bardlings mind off Druids and other mystics,
magical sites where a man sat all night and came away
with all the answers...
Get him out of the cities anyway, out of the popu-
lated areas where con men posed as holy anchorites
and fleeced the unwary for everything they had.
Force-feed him a little real life, warts and all, and with
a little luck and some hard work on the part of his
Master, peel a little of that rosy veneer off his eyes and
his mind. To say nothing of his soul.
"Besides," Naitachal mumbled to himself as the
laughter rose around him, "I could use a little adven-
ture myself, a bit of travel, see some new people and
sights, maybe pick up some new songs or some odd
instruments." Like that long-necked gourdish thing
with four strings he'd bought out in Silver City a few
years ago, that was supposed to be from somewhere
well to the north. Pity he'd never been able to work
out how it was properly tuned. Or strung.
The mere thought raised his spirits, more than he
would have thought possible  --  as though he hadn't
realized himself what a rut they'd gotten into lately
until the consideration of new lands and a little travel
came into his mind. When Gawaine came back to the
table with a few bits of silver and copper coin and a
flushed face, Naitachal even felt pleased enough with
himself and the situation in general to take on a tough
audience.
The money the tough audience gave him was
enough to pay for a proper meal and a good room at
the Moonstone, and two nights at a decent inn on the
edge of Portsmith.
The road between the Moonstone and Portsmith
was a clean, broad and well-tended one; unlike some
places they'd traveled, Gawaine knew he didn't need
to worry about their being jumped by bandits any-
where along the journey, or attacked by unpleasant
beings. Between the White Elves and the King's men,
such instances were rare indeed.
His stomach had hurt the entire day, and he had to
keep rubbing damp hands down his breeches.
Portsmith. Of all the places I would really rather not
go/ Besides this northern valley, of course. Unfortu-
nately, so long as he was the bardling and Naitachal
the Bard, he didn't really have any choice.
Oh, leave his Master and strike out on his own  -- 
maybe. Gawaine had no intention of going off by him-
self, in a world like this (and unworldly as he knew he
still was, even after four years; in the company of a
Dark Elf) a young man wouldn't last long. At least,
wouldn't last long the way I am, Gawaine thought
gloomily as the horses plodded north. He'd wind up in
die company of thieves, or the prey of worse  --  and
there would go all chance of a pure soul and the quest
for Truth.
He shifted the harp case a little higher on his back,
kneed Thunder forward at a slightly faster pace. Nai-
tachal, who had been sitting with his right leg thrown
across the saddle so he could fiddle with the lute,
looked up as Star whickered. "Easy, boy! What's the
hurry?"
Gawaine reined back and sighed. "Just  --  to get
into Portsmith and away again."
The Bard considered this, then sent his fingers
down the strings in a complex minor run. "Ah. I forget;
your old Master's holdings are on the outskirts of
Portsmith. It's been four years, lad; surely you don't
think he holds a grudge, do you?"
"Not the squire," Gawaine replied gloomily. His
Master laughed, freed a hand and leaned perilously
sideways to clap a hand to his shoulder, hard; Gawaine
had to lunge across to catch him and the lute before
both fell to the road. Naitachal settled properly into
the saddle.
"Well, then! There isn't anything to worry about, is
there?" He glanced at the sky, slid the lute around to
his back and settled his feet in the stirrups. "All the
same, there is no point to spending two nights in
Portsmith, if we need not. The good inns are expen-
sive, while the inferior ones are definitely not worth
any coin at all." He looked over at his companion and
laughed once more. "You look as though you're riding
to that execution I saved you from. Don't worry so
much! I would not have bothered with the town at all,
but we will need things to go on north, there aren't
many places above Portsmith where strangers can
replenish their supplies. Besides  --  who knows how
far we will wind up riding, or how long it will take?"
Gawaine cast his eyes heavenward and did not answer.
Naitachal chuckled softly, kneed Star to a trot, and
Thunder came after.
All the same, Gawaine thought as he tried to relax
into Thunder's bone-jarring trot, there was plenty of
bad blood over the horse theft, particularly once Nai-
tachal found the real culprit. A Dark Elf, accusing a
squire's son, would have been bad enough; being
proven right, though . . . And it wasn't as though four
years had changed either of them enough; his Master,
like most elves of either White or Dark persuasion,
was so long-lived four years meant nothing to his
appearance. And I've grown considerably, but some
things just don't change. He ran a hand through red
curls and sighed heavily.
Their luck turned ill right from the first; Gawaine
saw two of the older stablehands in the company of
one of the old squire's armsmen, coming out of a
shabby tavern  -- worse, all three saw him. He didn't
dare turn to look at them, but the brief glance he had
was hardly reassuring: One nudged the second, who
exclaimed aloud, and all three stopped cold to stare at
the two riding by. It wasn't a nice stare. "Um. Master,"
the bardling murmured tentatively.
"Hmmm?"
'Those men just now, did you see them?'
The Bard had been staring into space and mum-
bling to himself. "See  --  oh. Yes. So?" Gawaine
explained. Naitachal considered this in silence for
some moments, finally shrugged. "Might have been
bad ale. Don't fret it; men who drink at a house as
poor as that won't be staying in a good inn, will they?"
Gawaine gave him a sidelong, baffled look and shook
his head. "Why don't you muffle the beacon," Nai-
tachal continued, a wave of his hand indicating his
young companion's hair. "And then even if the squire's
let all his stablemen come into town for the day, none
of them will recognize you, will they?" The bardling
gave him another of those looks, possibly to see if his
Master was kidding him; he sighed faintly then and
pulled the hood over his hair and right down to his
eyebrows.
It was the Bard's turn to sigh: Gawaine looked like a
furtive creature with something to hide now. Well, all
right, so he does have something to hide. With all that
carroty red hair, one can almost hear him coming.
He'd spoken lightly enough just now, but he had seen
those three grim faces  --  and a couple of other men
pointing right at them as they crossed a broad square
and turned down a side street. You know, there just
might be trouble. I surely do hope not  --  all I need just
now is a brawl. It wasn't so much that he couldn't take
care of himself in a fair fight  --  fair meaning face to
face and without having to resort to bruising up his
hands. It was the other thing, the side of himself that
he kept even from Gawaine: He knows I was a Necro-
mancer; he knows I was born a Dark Elf and raised in
the loveless, cold environment of such folk. What the
boy didn't know was the sneaking little core of self-
knowledge his Master harbored, the dreadful
temptation that had come upon him once or twice in
past years, since he'd become a full Bard but before he
took on this first apprentice: the temptation to use the
dark magic he'd known since his earliest days  --  par-
ticularly when he was in a situation heavily loaded in
favor of the opposition. Fortunately, there hadn't been
any situation yet he hadn't been able to handle with-
out using dark magic, and none so dire he'd even been
tempted to turn to necromancy once more  --  yet. If
things got ugly enough here . . . Well, he wouldn't let
himself think about that. Think about Gawaine
instead, about soothing his nerves; the poor boy's go-
ing to make himself ill with all this fretting.
He leaned over and touched the bardling's knee.
Gawaine let out an airless little squeak and he jumped
high enough that his body left the saddle. "Ah! Don't
 --  please don't do that!"
"Sorry. Wasn't aware you had gone away."
"Wasn't  --  hadn't," the bardling gasped. He sucked
in air, swallowed, and tried again. "I was thinking."
"Well, stop thinking. We're about to stop, consider
how much grain we'll need, and whether you have
enough spare coin from last night to help me cover a
pack beast."
There wasn't anywhere near so much coin as that,
and Naitachal knew it; at least it served to get
Gawaine's mind off their present situation.
The sun was nearing the western forest, and they
had already made several stops  --  for feed, for travel
wafers and dried meat, fruit and skins of a wine that
would survive leagues bouncing around on the back of
a horse; for thick woolen shirts, breeches and foot
wrappings, and extra blankets  --  when the Bard
turned down yet another side street and then down a
very narrow alley between two buildings, and drew up
in a tiny courtyard that was mostly smithy. "Weapons-
master!" he shouted to his companion; he had to
bellow, to be heard over the din. "If we're going into
the unknown, we'd better be armed against at least
some of the possibilities!" Gawaine, he was pleased to
see, was brought out of his funk at once by the mere
thought. More like Kevin than I thought, maybe.
Unlike most such shops, this one was not run by
dwarves, and the new pieces were of human-craft,
made by the smith and his help out back. There were
plenty of used items, though, from all parts of the
land.
Swords, daggers, spears, and ornate halberds ran in
ranks down the walls, with a few of the fanciest (and
most expensive) at a man's shoulder height, ready to
catch the eye and where they could be caught up and
tested. Gawaine stopped so short his Master nearly
ran him down; he was staring at a gold-hilted, single-
edged cavalry sword, the hilt an ornate basket
smothered in fine brilliants and rubies, the blade
slightly curved and etched. His fingers reached, ran
along the cross-grip, and he sighed. His heart was in
his eyes.
"Yes, lovely," Naitachal said, and gave him a little
shove farther into the room. "If you like, we can spend
the next fifty days here earning you enough gold to
buy the thing, and then another nine hundred and fifty
so you can learn how to use it."
"Oh." Gawaine shook himself, cast one last, longing
look at the marvelous blade, and let himself be pushed
on to the counter.
The man who stood behind it was so short and
stocky he might almost have passed for a dwarf  --  at
least, his shadow might have. His face was undeniably
human, though, and one of the ugliest human faces
Gawaine had ever seen. Even the broad smile when
he looked behind the bardling to see the Bard couldn't
make such a face even remotely attractive, Gawaine
thought. "Hey  --  I haven't seen you in years! Nai-
tachal, isn't it? Lost track of you  -- when?  --  six, eight
years ago? More than that, because I heard not long
after you went off on some fool's quest for Count Vol-
mar, rescuing his niece on account she was supposedly
kidnapped by some of your kind. How'd that turn
out?"
Gawaine smothered a groan and turned aside to
examine a tray of daggers. At this rate, they would be
here for what remained of the daylight hours, and
halfway into the night.
To his surprise, Naitachal merely laughed and said,
"It's a long story, Fritton; tell you when we come back
this way."
"Hah, another ten years from now."
"What's ten years?"
'Ten years to an elf, or to an old man like me?" Frit-
ton demanded. "You didn't come just to say hello to an
old fighting pal, though. What can I do for you?" His
voice dropped to an unfortunately very carrying whis-
per. "Say! Isn't that the boy who  --  ?"
'Just so," the Bard cut him off very firmly indeed.
"As to what you can do for us, we're off on a little jaunt
into uncharted country, and I thought we should prob-
ably go armed."
"You've gotten sensible in your old age," Fritton
said. "You still like knives?'
Gawaine turned to stare; his Master was grinning
broadly. "I still like them. What do you have  --  that I
can afford?'
What Fritton had was a strap that went from
shoulder to hip and held half a dozen wickedly sharp,
thin-bladed throwing knives and one pommel-handled
double-edged knife no longer than Gawaine's hand,
finger to wrist, and nearly as broad where it joined the
hilt. Fritton drew it, sliced a piece of thick leather he
kept on the counter for such demonstration purposes,
and grinned at the bardling. "Make a hole in someone
that will definitely slow them down, eh?" Gawaine, his
mouth suddenly dry, managed to nod. Fritton set the
strap aside. "Now then, anything else for yourself, or
shall we move on to your companion?"
"I'll do well enough with that," Naitachal said
mildly. The weapons dealer cast him a keen, sidelong
glance.
"Yes. Probably one would need to be deaf and fool-
witted not to know about the Dark Elf who gave it
over and became a Bard. I'd not quarrel with any
Bard, let alone one who  --  " He caught himself
abruptly, bent below the counter. When he came back
up, his face was red. In his right hand were several
wooden shafts. "Boar spears," he announced. "You,
lad, you're from these parts, aren't you?" Gawaine
nodded warily. "Well, then, you'll know how these
work, won't you?' The bardling nodded again. "Good.
Then let's find one to fit your hand and your muscles."
His eyes shifted. "He's riding, isn't he, Naitachal?"
"Riding. Yes."
"How's the horse, then, boy? Placid, or more like  --  "
The weapons-master caught himself again. In spite of
himself, Gawaine laughed.
"Nothing like the stallion I was supposed to have
stolen, sir." Fritton gave him a sheepish glance, busied
himself with spreading the spears across the counter.
"He's well behaved  --  a little excitable, but only when
he hasn't been ridden in a day or so."
"Ah. Well, then, what you need..." He sorted through
the spears, fished two from the stack. 'Try this first -- no,
forget that one, too long  --  try this instead. Main reason I
asked is because of the case; there've been a few horses
come through here simply won't have a spear case that
rests anywhere near the shoulder."
Gawaine hefted the spear, then another at the
man's insistence. He couldn't feel any difference, but
Fritton claimed to see one; he set the first aside, bent
down and disappeared below the counter for several
moments, to reemerge with a worn black leather case
and a set of straps and ties to fasten it to the saddle.
"Experiment," he urged. "Make certain you find a
place where you can free the spear without it catching
on anything; your life might depend on it."
Naitachal had been wandering around the room,
hands clasped behind his back. As Fritton pulled the
rest of the spears together and returned them to the
tub behind him, the Master said, "Better set him up
for a bow, also. Something I can use, if need be, but
primarily for his arm."
They emerged from the rear of the shop just as the
last rays of sun were leaving the roof and upper walls
behind them. Naitachal had already settled the strap
of throwing knives under his outer garments, where
he could reach them if necessary but where they
wouldn't show; Gawaine carried the bow and the
sheathed boar spear loosely in one hand, the quiver
containing arrows and two spare strings across his
back, where the harp usually sat.
He felt very self-conscious; even though the weap-
ons were used and the cases scratched and stained
with age, he had never carried such things before  -- 
had never thought to go openly armed. They rode
back to the main street in silence, and Gawaine fol-
lowed as his Master led the way through the center of
the market and out most of the way to the northern
gate. Fortunately for his peace of mind, it was almost
too dark for him to recognize anyone around them,
and probably therefore too dark for anyone to recog-
nize him; his hair was circumspectly covered once
more  --  though Naitachal, with a vexed little remark
under his breath, had pulled the hood back off his face
before they left the smithy yard. He finally caught up
with the Bard as they eased the horses through thick
foot traffic near an open-air ale stall. "I didn't know
you had fought with blades, Master. Or that you still
did." His eyes shifted toward the lute hanging across
the Bard's back. Naitachal laughed, and his eyes
gleamed.
"I never really did  --  I never needed to. And I still
don't. I just like knives."
Chapter IV
The Sylvan Glade was indeed one of the best public
houses in all of Portsmith, which was saying some-
thing, since Portsmith, as a large trading center, had
plenty of outside custom and therefore needed many
inns. Like many of its kind, Gawaine thought as they
dismounted and led the horses back to the stables, it
had been misnamed to the point of ridiculous: The inn
sat, as it always had, right in the midst of a very busy
avenue on the north highway, and there wasn't a tree
or even a scrawny bush in sight.
It did boast rooms where a customer could sleep
the night and not itch for the next twenty nights  -- 
and more importantly, be assured of waking at all,
whether in the private chambers or the larger and less
expensive common sleep room with its thirty pallets.
The food was not only clean and edible but excellently
prepared; the wines and beers of decent vintage, the
large common room comfortable and smelling only of
warm bodies, a little wood smoke, an excellently
herbed roast and a rack of spiced fowls currently turn-
ing on the spit. The cost of a private sleeping room
made Gawaine blink, but Naitachal merely paid and
gestured the bardling to follow with their bags as he
walked behind the innkeepers young son.
They remained only long enough to wash and shed
their cloaks; the smell of food reminded Gawaine how
long it had been since he had eaten anything. Not that
I could have kept anything down, earlier. The look of
the common room had gone a long way toward easing
his nerves, though  --  it wasn't a place one would asso-
ciate with brawls and barroom fighting. And unless the
squire had increased wages by an impossible amount,
it was well beyond the pocket of any of his stable-
hands. More importantly, Gawaine hadn't seen any
familiar faces here, and even though the Master had
shoved his hood onto his shoulders when they came
inside, no one had paid any attention to him, other
than the usual looks the hair got.
It isn't fair. All the tales about the great Druids, the
most holy of the Paladins and the heros  --  they're all
tall and lean and darkly handsome, every last one. And
maybe that isn't so important, but how far would Rey-
dun the Brave have gotten if he'd looked like a
freckle-faced lad often with too much height?
One of the women who did washing for the squire
had laughingly suggested a rinse concoction, he re-
called  --  something involving walnuts and sage. Back
then, he would never have dared such a thing, know-
ing the rest of the horseboys would never let him hear
the end of it. He cast a sidelong, thoughtful look at
Naitachal as they settled into a table near the fire. Save
the idea, he thought; Naitachal's sense of humor was
definitely elvish, which made it at least the equal of a
pack of rowdy young boys. Worse: The Bard had a
considerable wit to put behind his barbs.
Later, though, when he became Bard, and struck
out on his own ...
His thoughts were pleasantly interrupted by the
arrival of cups of a fruity red wine, a warm loaf, and a
platter of freshly sliced meat.
The innkeeper came over himself with a jug of wine
as they were finishing the meal, quite some time later.
He cast a would-be casual glance at Gawaine, inclined
his head in Naitachal's direction. "Some of those here
tonight bid me ask: Is it possible the Bard would per-
form for us tonight?"
Naitachal finished chewing, swallowed, and leaned
back in his chair. "Perhaps. Not just yet, with so much
good food in place." He looked across the table;
Gawaine's eyes widened in sudden horror, but the
Bard merely grinned. "In a while." The innkeeper
nodded, then bent his head again and hurried across
the room to replenish other cups. Naitachal leaned on
his elbows and laughed quietly. He glanced up, keen
eyes meeting those of his apprentice. "You saw his
purpose?"
'To make certain of me  --  that I was who he
thought I must be." Gawaine swallowed; his mouth
had gone dry and the excellent meal was sitting like a
rock in his stomach. 'Tor a moment, I thought  --  "
'Thought I intended to send you to sing in my
stead?" Naitachal's eyes gleamed wickedly, and so did
his teeth. "It would be an excellent learning experi-
ence for you  --  but, no. I do not engage in torturing
young men, you know that."
Oh, yes? Gawaine thought sourly. His heart was still
racing.
"I merely wonder whether the innkeeper was assur-
ing himself, since he got a look at you when we first
arrived, or if he was examining you for someone else.
Don't look at me like that and don't worry so; this is no
dockside hole. People who can afford an inn like this
tend to behave themselves."
'There are always exceptions to every rule,"
Gawaine replied pointedly. "As you yourself so often
tell me."
Naitachal shrugged and smiled. "Don't worry so,"
he said again. "And drink your wine. Unless the inn
master comes asking again, I intend to be curled up in
his nice clean bed before much longer, and asleep
long before the late drinkers come through that door."
He stifled a yawn neatly against the back of one long-
fingered hand. "We should get an early start
tomorrow. I would very much like to be beyond the
northern gates before the sun warms them."
"With that, I heartily agree," Gawaine said. He
shifted his chair so he could watch the rest of the room
a little better  -- without appearing to  --  and sipped
his wine with caution. A sweetish red like this would
give him a headache, if he drank too much or too fast.
And despite Naitachal's assurances, he didn't feel that
confident anywhere within Portsmith or within five
leagues of Squire Tombly s horse barns. Better, alto-
gether, if he kept a clear head.
It would certainly make the ride out at such an
ungodly hour a lot easier. Thunders trot, with a hang-
over . . . He shook his head, set the cup down. Didn't
bear thinking about.
He had nearly finished, washing down wine with
the last of the now cold bread, when the door
slammed open and four young men came in, laughing
uproariously and clapping. One of the group bowed,
accepting the applause; another, taller than the rest by
nearly a head and neatly bearded, elbowed one of the
others  --  an elegandy slim fellow in bright red, his
hair so pale as to be nearly white. "Hey!" the tall one
shouted. "I know that one! Seven Druids  --  one to
change the lamp-wick and six to share the Truth of it!"
Gawaine groaned and let his head fall into his hands;
there was scattered laughter but several voices topped
the four, bellowing, "Shut  --  the  --  door!"
"Shut it yourself, peasant!" came the high-pitched
retort. Gawaine sat bolt upright, as though he'd been
stung and the color left his face so abrupdy the Bard
leaned over to grab his forearm.
"Are you all right?"
"Uh." Gawaine swallowed, sent his eyes sideways.
"Uh. All right. Sure."
"I take it you know them?"
"Uh." He swallowed again; it didn't help much.
"Uh. Know them. Sure."
"Wake up, lad," Naitachal hissed, and long fingers
dug into his forearm. "Who are they?'
Gawaine winced, and the Bard let go of his arm. "I
don't remember names, really; they used to ride with
the squire's son. The one with the pale hair and that
voice, though; he was right there when the horse was
found missing. He was the one who got the squire
thinking one of the boys had been responsible."
"Oh." Naitachal considered this in silence. "Oho."
"I don't suppose," Gawaine asked casually, "that we
could simply go back to the room now, and get a start
on that fufl night's sleep?"
"Stay put," the Bard said flatly. "See where the
innkeeper's settling them?' Gawaine groaned As large a
room as this was, the four had been placed only two tables
away from them. "Move, and you'll draw attention to
yourself. Sit still; they're too energetic to stay in one place
very long." The bardling cast him a dark, disbelieving look.
Naitachal shrugged and went back to his wine.
Of all the low, rotten luck, Gawaine thought
gloomily. / knew we should never have come this way!
Try and tell his Master that, though! His stomach hurt,
and his digestion wasn't at all improved by the thing
he'd just remembered: The tall fellow with the neat
little point of a beard was called Eldon; Eldon even
four years ago had been a master fencer, and before he
was seventeen, he had already blooded his blades.
Worse still: Eldon and the fellow at his elbow, Waron,
had given exhibition fencing matches at the last
Harvest Fair Gawaine had attended, and Waron had
been at least as good as Eldon. Even worse: He had
taken care of both their horses often enough that
Waron had known him by name.
His throat was tight and beginning to ache in ear-
nest. He poured himself half a cup of wine and took a
deep swallow. Not much help; anything it might have
done for him was cancelled when Eldon got halfway
to his feet to call for more wine. Firelight glinted off
the finely worked metal of the sword-sheath that hung
low and efficiently on his hip.
But time wore on, and the four did nothing save
drink, laugh loudly and tell more of those awful,
groan-making lamp-wick jokes. Gawaine glanced at
Naitachal; the Bard shrugged gloomily, as if to say, "I
know, puerile humor, but what can you do?" and
applied himself to another cup of wine. With Eldon al-
most facing them and the dandy with the pale hair  -- 
Kirland, wasn't it?  --  staring straight into the flames,
Gawaine was nearly afraid to breathe, let alone try and
stand unnoticed.
If Naitachal got up first, and got between me and
them, we just might make the room without them see-
ing me. Of course, it might all be foolishness on his
part; no one had actively threatened him. Then again,
these were friends of the young squire, and at the time
his friends had been incandescently angry that a mere
servant had dared to be proven innocent, that a dirty
little horseboy had gotten away scot-free, that what
they tried to pass off as "just a silly prank" had resulted
in the young squire getting into very hot water indeed.
I have a swell idea; let's not find out how they feel,
Gawaine told himself, and tried to think himself invis-
ible against the stone and rough board wall behind
him while he considered how best to get the Masters
attention and make his suggestion about beating a
retreat.
Then again: Dark Elf and Bard  --  probably the
people glaring at me earlier out there knew full well
who he was, too. It's not exactly a common mix. And
Dark Elves themselves weren't that common in inns
like this. Get his attention, do it fast.
Before he could complete the thought, the inn-
keeper came by their table with another jug of wine,
and Waron, who had been impatiently waving an
empty cup over his head for all of the space of one
deep breath, jumped up and came stalking over.
"Master Redin, a man could die of thirst in your com-
mon room toni -- " His voice faded away and his jaw
dropped; his eyes went very wide. The innkeeper,
aware that something was wrong and quite possibly
aware what  --  but not quite certain how to deal with it
 --  murmured something no one could quite make
out, shoved the pitcher into the young nobleman's
hands, and practically ran all the way back to the bar.
Waron continued to stare for some moments; the
room had gone quiet as men stared after Redin or in
the direction he'd come running from, to see what had
upset the man so. Only Waron s other three compan-
ions seemed not to have noticed anything, but from
the sounds of their voices, they had reached a stage in
their drinking where they wouldn't notice much out-
side their own party and the bottom of a wine cup;
without some major event to distract them.
"Hey! Waron! Hogging the drink again?" Kirland
shouted. "C'mon, bring it here, share wi' your friends!"
Waron backed away one step, a second, then turned
and hurried back to the table, setting the winejug
down with exaggerated care. He gestured premptorily,
then, bent low and began talking. Gawaine sighed,
exchanged looks with Naitachal, who shrugged.
'They've seen us; we can leave now, right?" the
bardling managed at last
"We could," the Bard allowed. "Although I am quite
frankly loathe to allow myself to be driven from a com-
fortable seat by the fire and a pleasant cup by four
arrogant young sots. And," he shrugged again, "per-
haps they'll leave us alone."
"Perhaps," Gawaine replied sarcastically, "Druids
can fly."
The Bard's mouth quirked, and his eyes gleamed.
"Well, perhaps some can," he replied softly. "If they
are sufficiently pure." Gawaine looked at him in pat-
ent disbelief and the Bard's mouth quirked once more.
"It was a jest. Better than those lamp-wick ones, don't
you think?" He pulled the jug across and tilted it,
shook his head. "I wonder if the innkeeper plans to
come back over here; there's a little left, but not
enough for both of us."
"I don't  --  " Gawaine looked up as a shadow fell
across the table. A very large shadow, composed of
four very tightly grouped, grim-faced young men.
'Told you it was them," Waron said; his voice held
the edge of a whine, and Gawaine suddenly remem-
bered he had whined a good deal before his voice
changed. Eldon gave Waron a shove that sent him
staggering into the wall, and he pushed forward, stop-
ping only when he was directly over the bardling. Oh,
well, Gawaine thought, and schooled his face to a
complete blank before he looked up. Eldon's brows
were drawn together, his lips set in a tight line; unfor-
tunately, he was having a little difficulty standing up
straight and his eyes weren't quite tracking. Gawaine
bit the inside corners of his mouth, hard; laugh now
and Eldon would surely interpret it in a fashion that
would go hard on a mere unarmed apprentice Bard
"What are you doing back here?" Eldon demanded
rudely.
'Tassing through," Gawaine replied.
"Yah. Steal any good horses lately?' The other three
found this hilarious; Eldon jumped when they burst
into laughter, then squared his shoulders and looked
proud of himself. "Send any away  --  poof!  --  late at
night?" He looked around at his companions, who
dutifully laughed.
Gawaine waited until the general hilarity had died
down. "I was cleared of any part in that incident," he
said evenly.
"Incident!" Kirland shrieked. Eldon winced at the
shrill sound and gave him a shove. Kirland was a little
steadier on his feet than Waron, though; he brushed at
his fine shirt and then shoved back. "Keep your hands
off the fabric, you clod; I've already told you the stains
don't come out." He spun halfway around and planted
both hands squarely on the table, shoved his face into
Gawaine's. "How dare you call it an incident? Alaine
was locked in his rooms with only a cleric and a tutor
for company  --  for a full yearl And even now his
father keeps a close eye on him, and an even tighter
rein on his purse! And you call it an incident?"
"Yeah," Waron chimed in, and the fourth of the
company wobbled forward to nod vigorously.
"S'if the old man din't  --  didn't realize it was
because Alaine needed money in the first place  --  "
"Yes, yes, we know all that, Bertin. Keep still, can
you?" Eldon demanded. Bertin belched loudly and
stepped back. Kirland swore and sent him staggering
the other way, into the table.
Gawaine risked a glance at Naitachal, who was
showing every sign of enjoying himself. Beloved gods,
I can almost hear him sorting through the rhymes for
a new song out of this  --  yes, call this an incident, tool
He could feel the color warming his cheeks; his very
seldom temper was rising. Eldon had turned to look at
him and now folded his arms, as though awaiting some
further comment. "I was proven to have no part in the
horse theft," Gawaine said finally; a corner of his mind
wondered at how calm he sounded.
"Proven!" Eldon scoffed. "Ask me, it's a question of
one magician s word against another's, and what man
of sense will trust something like that?"
"Yeah." Bertin was still in the process of cautiously
righting himself. "How d'we know it  --  wasn' your
idea all along? N  --  n  --  an' maybe you took some a'
whatcha got for that horse to buy a magician, say you
din' do it, and Alaine did. Huh? How 'bout that, Car-
rots?"
Kirland visibly brightened. "Say! Maybe he did hire
that Bard, and everyone knows about Bards! He could
have done something to the ol' squire, make 'im think
Alaine responsible when all along it was  --  "
"Oh, but," a soft voice cut through his piercing one
with dangerous ease, "but then, my very drunk
lordling, such a Bard could sway four young fools to
perhaps think themselves  --  say, goats, in a field?" As
one, the four turned to stare; they had been so intent
upon harassing Gawaine, they had forgotten his com-
panion entirely.
"Hey." Waron blinked finally and licked his lips. "It's
that Bard fellow, the dark one."
"Really!" Naitachal applauded silently. "How per-
spicacious of you, dear lad. And now that we've all
introduced ourselves, why don't you go back and drink
your wine, and let two tired travelers relax a little?"
For a moment, Gawaine thought it might even
work; the Bard's speaking voice could be very persua-
sive. Two of the four  --  Bertin and Waron  --  actually
had stepped back from the table and looked ready to
turn away. But Eldon and Kirland, perhaps a little less
drunk than the other two, or at any rate less influ-
enced by it, didn't move, and Eldon caught his two
retreating companions by the arms. His narrowed
gaze remained fixed on the Bard; Kirland divided his
attention between Bard and bardling.
The room had gone very quiet; so still that Gawaine
could hear the fire crackling for the first time all eve-
ning.
"How dare you order a nobleman around?" Kirland
said finally. "We will go where and when we please,
and how we please. As for you," he spat in Gawaine's
direction, "we are not done with you, horseboy. Stand
up and come here."
"He is not your property," Naitachal said very softly.
"If anyone's, he is mine, and if I were you, I would
leave him alone."
Property. Gawaine felt his face flame, and he knew
it must be as bright as his hair; his hands clenched die
edge of the table. The Bard's foot crunched into his
shin; he pulled his legs under him and ignored the
warning. Waron nudged Eldon and laughed loudly.
"Hey. Lookit the horseboy, he din't like what you said"
"Awwww," Bertin chimed in. "Poor li'l thing, is it
angry?"
"Awww," Waron replied.
"Enough," Kirland shouted over their laughter. "I
said stand up, horseboy. Take what's coming to you."
Gawaine launched himself up and out, fists ready;
his hands and nose came into abrupt contact with an
unseen barrier. "Damn all, let me at them!" he bel-
lowed.
"Sit down and be still," Naitachal replied. He spoke
so quiedy, Gawaine should not have been able to hear
him, but the words echoed between his ears, ratded
his breastbone, and knocked the legs from under him.
He fell, a boneless bundle, and only by luck came
squarely down on the chair.
Naitachal flowed to his feet; the four youngnoblemen
blinked at him and stepped back as one man, but there
seemed to be some barrier behind them as well as before
them. The Bard smiled, a seemingly pleasant smile if one
were not near enough to see the look in his eyes, and
raised his arms. His lips moved, but for some long
moments, nothing else and no one else did. And then,
with a collective sigh, the four slid soddenly to the floor,
four sets of eyes closed.
The barriers dropped away, Naitachal lowered his
arms. There was a deep, long silence all throughout
the common room, broken by the innkeepers fright-
ened wail. "Ah, no! What have you done to them?"
The Bard resumed his chair and made himself
comfortable before he bothered to look up. "Oh.
Nothing much. They'll sleep a few hours, nothing
more." As if to prove his words, Bertin began to snore
loudly. Naitachal nudged him with a foot, and he
stopped. "If you have them taken outside, I doubt
they'll even recall the past hour or so." He drew a
deep breath and expelled it in a loud sigh. "If I did that
spell right, they won't. It isn't something I need very
often, though."
"Oh, no, oh, no." Gawaine wondered if the inn-
keeper had even heard half of that; he was gazing
down at the pile of young noblemen and wringing his
hands. But he finally knelt, tested all four pulses. He
drove both hands through his hair then, and looked
up. "I can't toss them out  --  I wouldn't dare! If they
remembered after all! Or if  --  or if someone on the
street robbed them, or did them harm  --  " They'd
have earned as much, Gawaine thought spitefully. He
shook his head then and forced such tainted thoughts
from his mind. The innkeeper drove his hands
through his hair again and tugged at it furiously. "But
even if they didn't remember, there are thirty or more
men in this room who heard everything that was said."
'That's true," Naitachal said thoughtfully. "But there
won't be any trouble, because we'll be gone at sunrise."
"Urn." The innkeeper blinked rapidly, and Gawaine
thought he had never seen such an unhappy man in all
his days. "Um, sir, I'm afraid that won't be possible.
You and the boy will have to leave at once. Now."
"Oh, dear." The Bard's voice was deceptively mild;
his very blue eyes boded no good for the innkeeper,
though. "Well, then, you will have to return my coin.
All of it."
The innkeeper nearly jumped through the ceiling at
the very thought. "You  --  I can't!  --  "
"All of it," Naitachal said firmly. "Of course, you
might let us stay the night. Consider that if I must ride
the night, I will need something to keep me awake  -- 
composing a set of verses about provincial Portsmith
and its so-called finer inns might just serve to do it."
"Oh, lords of light." The innkeeper let his head fall
back. Tlease, sir, please don't  --  "
"Consider a man such as yourself, catering to young
fools of nobles the way your grandsire must have.
Most of us have long since risen above such times, but
then, in a backwater such as Portsmith . . ." The inn-
keeper's jaw was hanging. Naitachal smiled and gently
reached over to shut the man's mouth. "Such songs are
always in demand, you know: humor, and the chance
to look down upon your rustic neighbor. ..." He
paused for effect; the innkeeper groaned and buried
his face in his hands. Bertin let loose with another
rafter-rattling snore, and half the custom in the still si-
lent room jumped convulsively.
"Master  --  Bard." The innkeeper's voice came as a
mumble between his clenched hands. "Sir, I'm truly
sorry, but  --  what can I do? This isn't Silver City. The
squire and the local nobles keep a tighter rein on
things here than where you're used to."
"I?" the Bard inquired mildly. "I am used to every-
where, innkeeper."
"If you stay the night, and some of their friends
come, if they were expecting others, or if someone
simply stumbled across them," the man droned on
through his hands, "or if someone here has already
gone looking for any of their friends in hopes of caus-
ing trouble, or if -- "
"Yes, yes," Naitachal said hastily. "I get your point,
you needn't continue. Oh, do stop, we'll leave! At
least," he added sternly as the innkeeper looked up
hopefully, "we will leave now, and before any more
trouble falls upon you  --  with a full refund, to the last
small copper coin I gave you."
"I  --  yes, all right." Having mentally relinquished
his precious profit, suddenly the man nodded so vigor-
ously his hair fell over his eyes. He got to his feet,
started to walk away, and stopped as though an idea
had just occurred to him. "And you won't  --  won't
write any verses?'
"Dear man, I am a Bard; I write what must be writ-
ten, when inspiration falls upon me."
"I'll be held to blame  --  " the innkeeper moaned.
Naitachal laughed unpleasantly and waved a dismis-
sive hand in his direction.
"Well, since you cannot win in any event, why don't
you fetch my coin? Before I become inspired right
here. We shall go retrieve our things and meet you by
the door."
"I'll be blamed," the innkeeper repeated unhappily.
He cast a glance at the four young nobles sprawled
across his floor, turned and fled.
"Poor thing," Gawaine growled. His Master
laughed, more cheerfully this time, and reached across
to pull him to his feet.
"Yes. You could almost see the cogs meshing,
couldn't you? Trouble now, or trouble later. Perhaps
he hopes I will forget the whole thing, and fears they
won't." He gave the fallen four one final indifferent
look, then turned away and strode from the room, his
apprentice right on his heels. As soon as they were out
of sight, Gawaine could hear the explosion of relieved
conversation behind them.
Chapter V
Gawaine wasn't able to take a deep breath until
they were actually on their horses and out of the inn's
courtyard. But once they had ridden past the Sylvan
Glade, Naitachal drew Star to a slow walk and turned
to his apprentice. "Well. I did get the entire price of
the room back. And the meal. We could see if there is
another  --  "
"No," Gawaine broke in, very firmly. The Bard
sighed.
"Yes, I suppose you are right. It isn't a good hour,
and if those four didn't come looking for us, it would
only be because they had gone for the authorities." He
sighed again, cast Gawaine a sidelong, appraising look.
"I fear we are somewhat noticeable."
"Yes, I fear so," Gawaine replied dryly. It was his
turn to sigh. "Well. NowwhatP'
"Now? If we have bad luck of one kind, the city
gates will be shut for the night."
"Otherwise?'
'They won't be," the Bard said gloomily, and kneed
Star forward. They rode in silence for some moments,
down the broad avenue and past two keen-eyed
guards who were keeping massive double gates
pressed nearly together. After a mere glance at the
two, one of the men shoved the right side open
enough to permit the horses through, and pulled it
closed again as soon as they had passed. "I truly
despise traveling at night," Naitachal said finally, the
first thing he had said in a long time. 'The only thing
worse than travel at night is camping at night  --  unless
you have time to prepare for the worst before the sun
sets."
"Yes, I know," Gawaine said. "We have done it
before, after all."
"Yes." Naitachal seemed to shake himself, and
when he spoke again, he sounded almost cheerful.
"Yes, we have  --  haven't we?" Silence for a distance;
the Bard broke it by chuckling. 'The look on that
young sot's face!" Gawaine, who had grown increas-
ingly tense as they left the lights of Portsmith behind,
let himself relax. If Master Naitachal showed no sign
of worry, after all...
At his side, and just a little ahead, however, Nai-
tachal was  --  if not truly worried, somewhat
concerned. Things in the night; things that prowl the
woods, things that bump across the sky. Things that
hunt the night. There were entirely too many of each,
and only two of them to deal with such things. And
one of them  --  despite his previous experiences with
camping in a woods  --  was totally untutored in the
possibilities out here. Naitachal, who had only put
aside necromancy a bare few years earlier, still
retained an active sense of what could be awaiting
them out here. Pray I don't need it. But I am glad I
took the lute out of its case and slung it bare across my
back. The strings and the instrument itself might take
harm from the damp, but if he needed the thing in a
hurry, having to free it up might cost him his life.
Fortunately, his inner sense really hadn't dulled
much; he was aware of the banshee before it struck.
Enough before to throw up a barrier that probably
saved Gawaine's life.
Gawaine had been letting Thunder follow Star,
keeping company with his own gloomy thoughts,
when Star stopped abruptly and reared. Thunder
danced sideways; Gawaine shouted in surprise and
tightened his grip on the reins. His knee and foot
slammed into something hard; he could see trees
through it. "What  --  ?"
"Get down and hold the horses!" Naitachal shouted.
"And don't meet its eyes!" He waited only until he
sensed his apprentice fall out of the saddle, and felt
the yank on the reins as Gawaine snatched hold of
Star's bridle and pulled at his head, trying to turn both
animals away from the threat bearing down on them
at terrifying speed. The Dark Elf threw himself to the
road, drew the lute against his chest, and waited.
Fair face, hollow eyes . . . and a voice to drive mad
any who listen to it. He heard the horses, Gawaine's
trembling voice as he tried to soothe them. Not very
successfully. Without daring to turn from the creature
nearly upon him, the Bard said, 'Take them back
down the road a dozen paces and no more! Wait and
do not look on it!" No answer, except the sound of
hooves retreating.
He drew his fingers across the strings, experimen-
tally. The banshee threw herself down upon him from
a great height, and the sound of that wailing, penetrat-
ing voice stood his hair on end and touched something
he had not realized still lived, deep within him. "Crea-
ture of night," he murmured. "I could take you, mold
you to my will, if I so chose. The power is in me, thing
of piercing beauty, to control you and set you to what-
ever tasks 7 choose." He could; oh, he could! A
banshee, the power to drive all living creatures mad,
all to myself!
The banshee withdrew a little, perhaps scenting the
once-Necromancers long buried power, perhaps even
hearing his words and understanding them. And then,
with a howl to break stone, she threw herself against
him.
"Master!" Gawaine's voice cracked like a boy's and
the horses screamed with terror. Naitachal shook him-
self and tightened his grip on the fret-board.
"I could  --  but I no longer wish for such power," he
said softly, and then began to sing. The Bardic power
smothered temptation, taking everything with it as it
always did; his voice gained strength and power as he
focused upon what he must do. Drive the creature
away, lest she drive us all mad; drive her hence and
leave quickly. He sang, and his hands drew song from
the lute for what seemed hours. The banshee hovered
before him, on one side and then the other, above
him, but could not find a way past his song. She
shrieked, howled, and wailed at him and showed no
sign of weakening. I do not, either, he reminded him-
self. And yet, I can feel the strength drainingfrom me.
She cannot hold forever. She might be able to hold
until daylight, though; Naitachal was not at all certain
that he could. But just as he was beginning to think
she could not be routed, with one final, horrid wail,
she vanished.
His ears rang and his knees didn't want to stay
locked; he shook out his hands, and with a sigh, sank
cross-legged to the road.
"Master?" Gawaine's anxious young voice  --  and
Star's cold nose against the back of his neck  -- 
brought him back to the moment. He took the
bardling's hand, caught hold of the stirrup, and used
both to pull himself to his feet. It was dark, but not
totally so, and he could see how anxious and drawn
Gawaine's face was. "Master Naitachal, it's gone. You'd
better rest a little."
The Bard shook his head, clutched two-handed at the
stirrup when the world around him wheeled sickeningly.
"As much noise as we made just now? I think not. It isn't a
good idea to stay where a banshee was anyway, but there
could be -- other things as well."
"Other  --  things." To his credit, Gawaine said noth-
ing else; he made a cup of his hands for the Bard's foot
and heaved him into the saddle. Naitachal managed to
shove the lute across his back and wrapped both hands
around the reins and Star's mane. 7 wonder how many
hours now, until dawn? he thought tiredly.
It wasn't very many. They followed the narrow road
through forest which began to thin as they climbed a long
slope. The road went down to a faint track once they
crossed this; the trees were replaced for the most part by
rolling meadow. A second hill, a third. The sky was
growing light, and the horses whickered, scenting water.
There was a stream running along the base of this last
hill, a series of flat stones to cross it, and the trail ran up the
far side, vanishing almost immediately in thick, bright
green brush. Gawaine looked at his Master. Naitachal
sighed, reined Star to a halt, and slid from the saddle. "It's
nearly day, there is shade here, and water, and I haven't
sensed anything anywhere about us for a goodly distance.
And we could use the rest"
"All right." Gawaine, Naitachal noticed with a cer-
tain degree of annoyance, didn't look as though he
needed rest. Ah, to be twenty, and full of oneself, and
to not have battled a banshee, he thought sourly, and
let his apprentice lead the horses down to the stream
for a brief drink.
Some adventure. He let himself down onto long,
soft grass, pulled the lute strap over his head, and laid
flat with a little sigh. / thought a little travel, a little
excitement. . . the wrong gods must have been hover-
ing over my shoulder when I thought that. He was
asleep before Gawaine came back with his blankets.
Gawaine stopped short when he saw his Master flat
on the ground, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He cast
his own eyes heavenward and sighed. "We could have
gone a little farther," he muttered. "Oh, well." He
broke out the packet of travel wafers and his cup,
walked back over to the stream to get a drink, sat for a
time with his back to a tree trunk with his fingers trail-
ing in the water as he munched and drank. The sky
brightened, the sun rose. He tended the horses. Nai-
tachal slept.
Gawaine got to his feet, walked up the stream a
ways, back the other way. He checked the horses,
moved them into shade where there was more
grass. Took them back for a deeper drink. Checked
their goods. Naitachal still slept. Gawaine sighed,
looked back the way they'd come, down and
upstream, at the horses, and finally made up his
mind. "I'll just go look around while he sleeps. See
if there's any better place to camp nearby, or if
there are berries ripe. What's on the far side of this
hill." He knew the likely answer to that: another
hill. But the distant ridge was beckoning to him.
He checked his boots, shed his cloak, and
practically ran across the stepping stones.
The hill was plenty steep, the air close where brush
hugged both sides of the trail. He was moving very
slowly and panting by the time the ground under his
feet began to level out. But now there were rocks
everywhere, a large outcropping of stone and fallen
stuff  --  everything from boulders edging the now
winding trail to loose rock in the middle of it, and
treacherous piles of scree everywhere. "Have to lead
the horses through this," Gawaine muttered to himself.
"Especially Star, poor old brute." For all his lean racing
lines, Star could be just as stumble-footed as an aged
cart-horse. He shook himself, looked back the way he
had come, shielded his eyes with one hand to glance at
the sky. "Well! Hasn't been nearly as long as I thought,
might as well see how far this mess extends  --  and
what's on the far side of it!" He swung his arms, drew a
deep breath, and strode on down the trail.
A turn, another turn, and a short, steep ascent, lit-
tered with hand-sized stones. Gawaine slipped back
every third step; he was sweating freely by the time he
reached the crest, and the shade of an enormous over-
hanging ledge of granite. The trail took a couple of
sharp bends around more of the same granite, then
dropped precipitously.
The sun was nearing mid-morning, and already the day
was entirely too hot for Gawaine's taste. "It's these
northern lands, the heat comes much too late in the
afternoon," he told himself, then jumped and nearly fell as
a large red-tailed bird screeched and took flight, almost
across his face. He fell back into the ledge, panting, then
caught his breath and held it. There had been voices  -- 
surely he had just heard voices down there?
Voices in the wilderness could be anyone; Gawaine
was nowhere near as experienced as Naitachal, by
many a long year, but he had enough wit to realize that
whoever spoke down there wasn't necessarily a friend.
He dropped to hands and knees and crept forward un-
til he found a place where he could see a large portion
of the valley.
Silence, save for the now-distant cry of that hawk.
He held his breath. Nothing to see, either. Gawaine
edged cautiously up onto his knees, and then got slowly
to his feet. Horses  --  six horses, attached to a cart
made up of thick branches  --  no, of metal bars. His
eyes didn't want to accept what they saw, at first. Bars,
and clinging to those bars, hands, human and other.
And behind the cart. . . He caught his breath. A long
line of men sat, heads down, close together. It needed
a keen, young eye, like the bardling's, to see the lines of
chain that bound the men together. Coffle. Men and
others, trapped inside a cart. It could only mean...
Two Slavers came into his line of vision. Horrid,
horrid, ugly  --  they slid smoothly along the ground
beside their sale goods: snakelike lower bodies,
human upper bodies, with human arms to hold
weapons and human minds to control those they
preyed upon. They said there were no more Slavers!
was Gawaine's first outraged thought. They had
been driven from the civilized lands  --  King Amber
had sworn they would be  --  and now, this! He
glared down the hill, a corner of his mind railing
furiously at his king, at those who had assured the
naive there were no Slavers to haunt the lives of the
honest. Fortunately, the rest of his mind was also
working, and it assured him that alone  --  even if
he'd brought his bow and boar spear, even if he'd
been good with them  --  he stood no chance of any
kind against "only" two Slavers.
But the citizenry of Portsmith and the guards who
served there would surely be just as outraged as he
was. And there would be enough armed men among
them to see justice done here. Gawaine cast one last
smoldering glance down the hill and cautiously with-
drew. He ran most of the way back to the stream.
Naitachal was awake, sitting with his feet in the
stream while he ate. He'd plunged his head in the
water, his hair and beard were soaked  --  and he'd
shed his cloak and the heavy overshirt he usually wore.
Very dark arms, as deeply near-black as his face,
showed almost ebony against the dark gray sleeveless
vest. He merely nodded as Gawaine slid down the last
of the hill and splashed across the stream without
bothering about the stones. "You have news of some
kind, I gather."
"News," Gawaine panted. Naitachal chewed his
breakfast and waited. "Slavers  --  there." He stabbed
with one hand, then bent over to catch his breath and
let his vision clear.
"Slavers," Naitachal said thoughtfully.
'They have  --  at least thirty  --  taking them  -- 
somewhere. If we go back to Portsmith, get help  --  "
"Your young friends of last night would like that"
the Bard said. Gawaine shook his head, flapped a
hand.
"Doesn't  --  doesn't matter! Get some of the guard
 --   Master, this is important] We can't let those  -- 
those filthy  --  "
"Yes," Naitachal interposed hastily. "Yes, those filthy
 --  whatevers. All the same. You might consider this,
apprentice mine: How near we are, still, to Portsmith.
And how distant any other town. And, therefore,
where that caravan might be bound?'
Gawaine lost color precipitously; he sat or fell flat
onto his backside and stared blankly at his Master.
"Oh, no."
"Well, why not? Are all the men in Portsmith any
more holy than men elsewhere, or do they put their
breeks on a leg at a time, like the rest of us? The city
guard should patrol out this far. According to the king's
statutes, it quite likely does, to protect those who farm
and herd outside the walls but still within the bounda-
ries held by the city masters. That a Slaver caravan
dares come so near the city says to me that caravan
quite likely has a guardian within the walls." Silence.
Naitachal finished his breakfast. Gawaine worked at
getting his labored breathing back under control.
"How many of them were there?" the Bard asked
finally. "Slavers, that is?"
"I saw two."
'Two of them  --  two of us," the Bard mused. He
grinned broadly. "I would say the odds were very
much against them."
"All right," Gawaine replied steadily after a
moment. He held up a hand and began enumerating.
"My bow, the spear, your knives  --  " But Naitachal
was already shaking his head.
"We won't need weapons against a mere two Slav-
ers." Gawaine stared at him slack-jawed as Naitachal
grinned. "We can take them much more easily  --  and
just by playing stupid." He explained; by the time he
was finished, the bardling was grinning as broadly as
the elf.
Chapter VI
It took a little time  --  repacking all the things that
Gawaine had taken off the horses to let them rest also,
getting them up that steep trail and through most of
the stone obstacle course of the flat top of the hill.
Finding a place where the horses would have a little
grass, and where they could again unsaddle them and
cache the supplies and their weapons. Gawaine gazed
down longingly at the boar spear in his hand, shook
himself and sighed, then set it with the other things in
the shelter of an overhanging ledge behind a few
stunted bushes. He patted Thunders warm withers as
he passed, and mumbled, 'Take it easy, old boy. And
keep quiet, all right?" Thunder brought his head up
and around, blew hot air over the back of his neck.
Gawaine rubbed damp palms down his breeches and
looked over at Naitachal, who was waiting for him.
Funny how great this plan sounded just a little while
ago, he thought sourly, but drew a deep breath and
followed his Master down the trail.
The wagon and the coffle were still there. At least
there was that, Gawaine told himself. Remember all
those sentient beings down there, held captive by those
filthy  --  those foul  --  His imagination couldn't con-
jure up the words at the moment, though he'd
certainly heard enough of them back in Squire Tom-
bly's stables. He followed Naitachal when the Bard cut
to one side, away from the trail, to slide down a very
steep dirt game track. They came out onto the road
the Slavers were using a bend behind the caravan.
Naitachal touched Gawaine's shoulder to gain his
attention, and his eyes held warning. The bardling
nodded once shortly. Naitachal smiled, very faintly,
and broadly bowed, gesturing to his companion to
precede him.
They made it all the way around the bend, and nearly
to the last man in the coffle, where the Bard halted with
loud exclamations of surprise and horror. The two
Slavers came out of brush along the side of the road to
grab them. "Nnnnhh! You  --  do not move, now!" The
words were hard to make out, the voice uttering them
was so gutteral. "Or  --  nnnnh!  --  we shall  --  hurrrrrt
you! Verrry much!" Gawaine gasped as hard humanlike
hands bit into muscle; he subsided at once.
Behind him, he heard the Bards voice soaring into
a dramatic falsetto: "Oh, no! Pray do not harm us!
Innocent travelers, we  -- !"
Shut up! Gawaine thought desperately. The Slaver
holding him turned, and he and his companion
barked, in unison, "Silence, slave!"
"P-p-p-please, don't hurt us," Gawaine managed to
stutter. "Let us go, we won't  --  "
"Ooooh, no! We are doomed!" Naitachal hooted,
topping him; he rolled his eyes heavenward and waved
his arms wildly over his head. The Slaver holding him
gestured imperiously.
'Take the youth with the fiery hair to the fore, I
shall keep this one at rear of line, where I can watch it.
You, slave, hold yourrr  --  nnnnh!  --  yourrrr tongue,
or I will have it out of your mouth! You, take the youth,
go! We leave at once!" Gawaine cast one despairing
and frightened look at his Master as he was jerked off
his feet and dragged to the head of the coffle; it was
not, precisely, acting on his part.
The Slaver prodded and slapped the half-unconscious
men at the head of the coffle until he had room for
another. He hooked Gawaine into throat and wrist chains,
then drew a nasty-looking whip from his belt, holding it
under the bardling s nose. "You  --  nnnnh!  --  you will
walk! As long as I say walk! Orrrr  -- !" He rolled the last
word dramatically and brandished the lash. Gawaine
swallowed audibly and widened his eyes as far as they
would go.
"Yes, yes, of course, whatever you say!"
"Yes, yes, whateverrrrr  --  nnnnh!  --  you say!" the
creature mimicked unpleasantly, and slid toward the
front of the wagon to get the procession underway.
Gawaine cast a cautious glance at the men next to him
but at once gave up any idea of forewarning them: all
three were overly thin, stoop-shouldered, and bore
the expressions of men who had utterly lost hope.
A sense of something buzzed at his ear, like an invis-
ible bee. The cart jerked forward, nearly jolting his
arms from their sockets and knocking his head back-
wards. It took a moment for Gawaine to get his feet
properly under him, to adjust  --  not to the idea of
being fettered but to the awkward actuality of walking
with his hands bound and a strap pressing uncomfort-
ably against his windpipe as the men behind him and
those at his side moved with a slightly different pace.
He put thought of that, together with the outrage try-
ing to force its way into his mind, all aside. More
important things just now: He began to softly hum.
The long line of bound slaves clinked and shuffled
along for several moments, then stopped abruptly.
Loud voices and extravagant curses filled the air as
those inside the wagon fell heavily onto one another.
Gawaine bit back an exultant grin as the prison cart
tottered under the double burden of all that
off-balance weight and the left rear corner that quite
suddenly had no support under it. The iron-shod
wheel that had been there rolled a few paces away and
toppled into the ditch.
Was that really his Master, already working dirty
tricks on this dirtiest trick of them all? Well, no time
like the present, is there? Gawaine took his cue from
the man next to him and crouched down as the two
Slavers met beside the cart and went into a lot of hiss-
ing, snarling and arm waving at each other, reminding
the bardling of nothing so much as the squire's breed-
ing master and his horsemaster carrying on over who
was responsible for the condition of the breeding pens
and the fences enclosing them. He had to lower his
head quickly, lest the two catch the amused look on his
face and turn on him.
The men and other beings in the cart were still
piled atop each other in the corner  --  those who
hadn't been shackled on short chains to the metal bars
 --  and those on the bottom were howling or cursing in
pain, while some of those on top were trying to extri-
cate themselves and cursing loudly, while still others
cursed all of their companions and tried to get enough
of the occupants to move toward the opposite side,
and those who had been fastened to short leads hung
helplessly and cursed in strangled voices. At last, the
two Slavers turned to snarl out, in unison, a nasty
enough sounding warning in their own language that
even the most hardened-looking occupants of the cart
fell abruptly silent.
The Slavers were quiet for a very long moment,
also; finally, the senior of the two  --  the one, at least,
who had held onto the Bard and ordered the other
around  --  set thick fists where a man's waist would be
and glared at the head of the coffle and then at the
occupants of the cart. "You  --  you, all of you inside!
You will  --  nnnnh!  --  will move away from the axle!"
It wasn't easy or fast; after all, the occupants of the
cart had been trying to get out of the corner for some
moments. Gawaine could see the patent disbelief and
the sense of, "oh really?" on the broad clean-shaven
face of one of the men. But when the second Slaver
came close to the tipped corner and began prodding
through the bars with a short-hafted spear, they sorted
themselves out right away. Unfortunately, even with
everyone who was free to move about the cart in the
far corner, the weight shift still wasn't enough to bring
the conveyance back to level.
And neither of the Slavers seemed anxious to dirty
his hands on a wheel. Another furious consultation;
finally the lead Slaver barked out orders. "You in the
cart!" He walked around it, pointing to first one and
then another of the occupants. "You that I choose will
be let out in two groups. The first will hold up the cart,
the second will put the wheel where it belongs. You
will  --  you will then return to the cart. Nnnnh! Or we
will hurrrt you! Very much!" Gawaine risked a look at
the still sloping cart. Most of the occupants were
either thoroughly cowed by the Slavers and their
whips  --  or very good at playing the part. Probably the
former, he thought unhappily. Just this short while
chained up had given him a sense of hopelessness that
was hard to fight.
On the other hand, there were some rather impres-
sive specimens in there; surely the Slavers hadn't
beaten the resistance out of all of them.
He felt that familiar buzzing sensation once more,
somewhere between his ear and his mind. He bent his
head to hide a smile. "Only" two Slavers. Quite
enough to control a coffle of beaten men, a collection
of chained and imprisoned creatures, of course.
Oooooh, no  --  to quote Naitachal. These two had left
the Bard to his own devices for an awfully long time.
The master Slaver moved back a distance and held
his whip prominently; in his other hand, he held a
throwing knife that reminded Gawaine of the broad-
bladed piece his Master had on that strap of his. Put a
hole in someone that wouldn't be easy to close, that
ugly friend of the Bards had said. The bardling shud-
dered.
The second Slaver already had his whip in hand
when he opened the cart and edged back to let ten
of the prisoners out. Shoulders slumping, faces
averted and heads lowered protectively, those who
had been inside lowered themselves to the road,
moving carefully as the orders were shouted at
them. Seven of them came around to the side of the
cart and braced their backs against it so they could
lift it when the order was given; two others fetched
the wheel, and one of them scrounged around on
the road, searching for the pin that would hold it to
the axle. The Slavers shouted; the underling sent his
whip cracking over heads and his superior yelled at
him furiously. "Do not mark that one! I have a buyer
for him, but only if the skin is  --  nnnnh!  --  undam-
aged!" He gestured; the prisoners backed against
the cart groaned and grunted, and lifted, then jock-
eyed for position and for better footing as the wheel
was rolled into place.
Now. He sensed the Bard back there, singing quietly
so the Slavers would not hear him; sensed the power of
what Naitachal was doing. Gawaine bent his head still
lower, and began to hum. Power tugged at him, invaded
him and drew on his strength; leaving him briefly giddy
and lightheaded; he shut his eyes, set both hands flat on
the rock-strewn surface of the road and continued. He
could feel movement at his side, sensed the prisoner
there turning to stare at him. Well, he must have
presented a strange sight, even without the soft hum,
even without his lips moving, forming words. "Open,
part, fall away, give these two a very bad day."
"Clink!"
"Clink, dank!" All the way down the line, he could hear
locks snapping open and chains falling from wrists and
throats to hit the hard surface of the road The chief Skver
looked up at the sudden and unexpected  --  but not
unfamiliar  --  sound, and found himself staring at men
who in turn stared blankly at each other or at their
unfettered bodies. He yelped as his mind took in what his
eyes saw. A moment later, both Slavers bellowed in
astonishment as the lock on the cart exploded in a flare of
green light and ear-ringing sound. The door slammed
aside; several suddenly unshackled and enormous men  -- 
and at least one lizardman  --  threw themselves onto the
road with a roar of fury and defiance. Gawaine jumped to
his feet, ignoring the blackness that teased his vision, and
pitched his voice the way he had to in a large crowded hall
"All of you! Join me, let us see an end to these two!" The
men who had been chained together rose as one.
He hadn't misjudged the coffle; most of the men
who had been chained together huddled well back
from the fighting, but there were still enough to over-
whelm the subordinate Slaver  --  he was still staring in
disbelief, jaw hanging, when five men hit him and
knocked him flat. He fought his way back up, but an-
other ten threw themselves into the fray, and the
Slaver went down once more. Someone yanked the
whip from his hand and threw it aside; another came
up with the short spear and a moment later returned it
to him  --  point first. Gawaine turned hastily away as
the attackers backed off, leaving the still-twitching
body in the middle of the road. Men looked at each
other doubtfully, and then, as if someone had given an
unseen signal, they ran  --  some up the road in the di-
rection they had been going, most back the other way.
The occupants of the cart had mostly vanished
already; half a dozen or so remained, dealing with the
master Slaver, who was apparently more of a foe than
his subordinate had been. Though not for very long.
In the end there was an empty cart, still listing badly to
one corner, a triple line of chain with shackles hooked
into it at close intervals, and two very dead creatures
that in death bore more resemblance to snakes than
they had in Me. Gawaine shuddered, then jumped as a
hand came down across his shoulders.
"Nicely done, apprentice," Naitachal murmured.
"Very nicely done." Gawaine nodded; the Bard's sud-
den and quiet appearance had taken the breath right
out of him. "I do trust none of those we freed went up
the slope," he added. "Or that, if they did, they leave
anything they find alone. Say, our things?"
Gawaine groaned and closed his eyes. "I don't think any
of the men in the coffle would have had the strength to
take on a path that steep. The ones I could see stuck to the
road. But I guess I had better go and  --  "
"Wait," Naitachal advised. "Catch your breath.
Likely you're right. Besides  --  we have company." He
gave his apprentice a sidelong glance and laughed qui-
etly. "Don't look like that! I meant these." He turned
Gawaine around and gestured broadly.
Gawaine blinked. Nearly all of the slaves and prisoners
had vanished, but a few  --  a very widely diverse few  -- 
remained a short boy who couldn't have been as old as
Gawaine, with an unlined and beardless face under a
thatch of poorly cut blue-black hair; a dwarf in what had
once been costly black silk; and looming over his shoulder,
a lizardman who still wore the painted red-leather crossed
straps of a nobleman, though the jewels had been pried
out of their fastenings. A brown man, clad in torn Druid's
dark green, most of his lower face hidden behind thick
brown beard and drooping mustache. Another,
broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, with blond hair cut
fashionably to turn under at his shoulders and a neat little
point of reddish beard, a brief line of ruddy mustache just
above his lip. His jerkin had been torn, but otherwise his
clothing was impeccable. The last of those who remained
was well built also, but less obvious about it. Probably less
taken with himself, Gawaine thought. You don't know any
of them, don't judge, he reminded himself. After all, so
many did that with him: the hair, the freckles...
He became aware he was staring and sent his eyes
sideways to look at Naitachal, but the Bard was rub-
bing his chin thoughtfully and gazing from one to
another. "I am the Bard Naitachal," he said finally,
"and this is my apprentice, Gawaine."
The muscular fellow took a step forward and bowed
extravagantly. "A Bard, is it? Was it your work some-
how broke the locks? The God told me it was, just
now. Sir, my undying thanks. I am Arturis," he bowed
again, "Paladin and hero, and I owe you a very great
debt."
"So do we all, if this is so." The lizardman spoke up;
his speech was surprisingly unaccented  --  at least to
Gawaine, who had met very few of that race. "I am
Tem-Telek, and this"  --  he turned over a hand,
extending a long digit in the dwarfs direction  --  "is
my valet and personal artificer."
"Wulfgar, at your service, oh Bard," the valet said
readily.
"Cedric," added the other blond man. He drew on
the strap that crossed his chest; an empty quiver rode
high on his shoulder, then dropped out of sight as he
let go the strap. He smiled ruefully. "Until recently, a
champion archer. Just now  --  well, a man alive, which
is something. My thanks to you, sirs. And this, if I
recall rightly, is Raven."
The dark man in green bowed his head and
Gawaine sucked in a sharp breath. "You  --  you're a
Druid, aren't you?" he asked in an awed whisper. Nai-
tachal scowled at him and then at the Druid, who
nodded. "But, I thought you all lived  --  "
Naitachal sighed heavily; Raven shrugged. "Most of
us live well to the south and east of here, yes. I have
spent the past several years in the north, studying the
vast wilderness and learning its mysteries. My thanks
also, for saving me."
The last of the group stepped forward and bowed
rather self-consciously; his cheekbones were red and
he alternately smiled and chewed on his lower lip.
"Urn, well. They call me Ilya in my village. I had come
south to sell hides and found that the tales we have are
true: This land is full of danger."
"Not so much as all that," the Bard replied mildly.
He clapped his hands together and rubbed them
briskly. "Well! Now that you are free to go about your
business, we two have a long way to go before the sun
sets today. So, if you don't mind  --  "
"But  --  !" Four of the six spoke at once, stopped to
look at each other. Arturis waved his hands for silence
and stepped grandly forward.
"Sir, such a debt as I owe you cannot possibly be
repaid with mere thanks, and so the God tells me as
well. Unfortunately, I had little or no coin in my pouch
when these creatures caught me off-guard and put me
in that cage, but I do have an undoubted skill with
weaponry, and though it is obvious you have great
power, could you not do with a sword to guard your
back? And the power of the God to aid you?"
Which of the gods, with so many to choose from?
Naitachal thought dryly. He stopped listening as the
Paladin ran on about honor and his God and holy
visions. Fortunately, he wasn't the only one irked by
the self-styled hero's God-on-my-side, holier-than-all-
of-you style (though a quick glance made it unhappily
clear to him Gawaine was gazing from Paladin to
Druid with the look of the desert-stranded coming
suddenly upon water). Before Arturis could get much
further with his impromptu combination sermon and
sales pitch, Tem-Telek closed the distance between
them, looked down his formidable nose at the Paladin
and suddenly barked out, "Be still  --  you make my
head ache!" And, while Arturis was gaping at him, too
stunned to form a reply, the lizardman turned to the
Bard and said, 'The man speaks for me, though I
would not prattle so. My valet and I do not know this
part of the world well, but it seems distant from any
cities, or any armed companies of King's guard. There
are always dangers upon the road, as Wulfgar and I
can surely attest now. All of us can. Might we not
travel together for the moment?"
"Whatever the Slavers took from each of us," Raven
spoke up diffidently, "will be in the front of the wagon.
At least, that was where they stowed my staff. And
likely," he turned to look at Cedric, "your bow and
arrows."
Cedric turned and ran to the front of the wagon;
they could hear the creak of hinges and the slam of
something heavy and wooden hitting something
ungiving and metal, and then the archer shouted, "I
found it! Come and look, all of you  --  there are
enough weapons here to arm a company!" Arturis was
already on his way. At a gesture from his Master,
Wulfgar went to join them, returning shortly with a
sword and a heavy-hafted axe, and a small leather
pouch, which he handed to the noble.
Tem-Telek peered inside, smiled and shoved the
pouch inside his tunic. "You can put the jewels back on
the straps when we stop tonight, Wulfgar."
"Of course, sir," the dwarf replied loftily. "Cannot
have you traveling about like that. Very  --  uncivilized
it looks."
Gawaine spared a look for his Master; Naitachal's
dark face showed nothing, as usual. He himself was
ecstatic: A holy Paladin and a Druid  --  and they wish
to company with us! My fate has taken a turn for the
better, all at once! He had just known it was the right
thing, to go after those Slavers. He just hadn't
expected the reward so soon  --  or for it to come in
such a form.
Naitachal fought a sigh. A Druid and a Paladin!
Weren't Slavers bad enough? Well, of course, in good
conscience I could not have turned aside and let the
nasty brutes go on with their wretched cargo. Any
more than I could have let the lad race back to
Portsmithfor help  --  odds are, he'd never had made it
out of the city gates a second time.
I wonder which of the nobles of Portsmith was
expecting a shipment of cheap dockside labor? Or
cheap field hands?
More importantly, why do none of these show any
distress at my presence? After all, a Dark Elf... Grati-
tude, of course. All the same, not even one sidelong
look, even from our holy Paladin, and such men are as
notoriously narrow of thought as they are broadly
be-visioned.
And most important of all, how do I get rid of these
characters  --  particularly that loud-mouthed wretch
of a so-called pure-minded hero  --  so the boy and I
can be on our way once again?
Chapter VII
With a visible effort, the Bard roused himself from
his dark thoughts and turned to his apprentice. "I will
consider how best to deal with such thanks as these
offer us. While I do that, and while they seek their
personal things and arms, why don't you go get our
goods and our horses  --  so we can be about our busi-
ness?' Gawaine nodded and repressed a sigh. He had
been more than half afraid that look on the Master's
face earlier meant he didn't want any of this additional
company. Including the Druid. It isn't fair, he thought
rebelliously, but a whole life of obeying orders told  -- 
he was already trudging up the road, looking for the
head of the regular trail that would lead to the rocky
crest. That deer track had been bad enough to slide
down  --  going up it would be next to impossible.
As he slowed, just around the bend, to begin exam-
ining the hillside, he heard a tentative call behind him.
The big pale-haired fellow now carried a long bow,
and the quiver slung over his left shoulder bristled
with brightly fletched arrows. "I heard the Bard tell
you to fetch your goods, and thought you might wel-
come help."
Gawaine hesitated, but the archer's smile was broad
and infectious. He smiled back and shrugged. "You've
let yourself in for a nasty climb," he said and pointed
toward the distant rocks. Cedric loudly expelled a
deep breath.
"After so long sitting in that cage  --  or trying to,
there wasn't really enough room for above four or five
of us to sit at once  --  I welcome the exercise." To
Gawaine's surprise, he made no attempt to lead, sim-
ply followed along as the bardling sought and finally
found the trail head.
"How long did they have you?" he asked breath-
lessly as they paused about halfway up. "If  --  if you
don't mind my asking, of course," he added hastily.
"Oh  --  I don't mind. It's Gawaine, isn't it? Cedric,
that's mine  --  in case you forgot. Well  --  hard to say,
really, but I was injured a while back and had to find
other work than archery, until I healed. Man has to
eat, you know. Well, I took on with the wrong caravan
 --  and when I realized what and who they were, and
tried to leave, they turned me from driver into mer-
chandise."
"Not very pleasant for you," Gawaine said. He
turned and set out up the hill again.
"Not very," Cedric agreed cheerfully.
The horses were where he and the Bard had left
them, and Thunder was very glad to see him. Star let
Cedric saddle him with reasonably good grace, and
before long the supplies, weapons and instruments
were stowed before and behind the saddles. Gawaine
glanced at the sky and sighed; it was already well past
midday. They wouldn't get much farther today. He got
Thunder turned and out onto the trail. "I would stay
back a little, if I were you," he cautioned Cedric. "Let
me go first. Star's not as graceful as you might think,
looking at him."
"Ah." The archer leaned back to give the black
horse a wary look. Star blew at him, shook his head,
and suffered himself to be led.
It was almost as bad as Gawaine had feared, getting
them down that narrow and steep trail, and he was
wringing wet by the time they hit level ground once
more. His legs were trembling enough from the exer-
tion, he didn't dare try to mount in front of this
stranger, lest he do something embarrassing like slip
and crack his chin on the saddle.
There was Naitachal, standing in the middle of the
road, face averted so he could stare at his hands. Still
sorting things out? Gawaine wondered. As they came
up, though, the Bard turned and Gawaine could see
what occupied his Master: another strap of knives,
only four this time, but fancy enough to have belonged
to some noble or other. Naitachal was virtually cooing
over a pair of gold-washed and ornately shaped hilts
that held very slender, highly polished steel blades.
The Druid was seated on the end of the cart, a long staff
in his left hand; off to one side, the boy Ilya was helping
Arturis shift the harness on the horses that had pulled the
cart, so they could be ridden. Gawaine went over to help;
after all, he probably knew more about harness than
anyone else here, and it certainly wouldn't hurt if he had a
good look at the poor creatures.
To his surprise, they showed no signs of ill treat-
ment or poor feeding. There were even several small,
coarse sacks of oats under the seat  --  sacks no one had
bothered to fetch, Gawaine thought tiredly. Of course,
if none of these five were horsemen, they might not
have realized the stuff was there. More likely, no one
had figured on Slavers providing good feed for their
horses. But Slavers had excellent reason to take good
care of the animals that pulled their merchandise to
market. Those  --  those filthy  --  those foul  --  Gawaine
remembered plenty of words now, but none low
enough to apply. He made some suggestions about the
rigging of riding straps and the judicious use of blan-
kets to protect both riders' backsides and legs and the
horses' backs, waited long enough to be certain Ilya
understood what he needed to do, and went back over
to check the cache box. Two spears rested in the bot-
tom; Gawaine shrugged, took them to put in the
leather case with his. Snug fit  --  but probably a better
idea than for the single spear to flop around loose the
way it had. He could envision half a dozen circum-
stances where the thing might catapult out of the case,
and every one of those was one where a man would
want his weaponry in his hand.
Tem-Telek's valet was hung about with several
sword belts, dagger belts, and a spear with a throwing
strap halfway up the haft was balanced against his
thigh. Just now, he had a double handful of thick-look-
ing fabric. The lizardman had already donned the
legging portion of this stuff, and with Wulfgar's help
was struggling into the sleeves. A small-looking hood
dangled down his back, straps hung loose at the wrists
and so did small, lumpy-looking bags. 7 wonder what
all that is? Whatever it was  --  some form of armor,
perhaps  --  the lizardman was certainly in a hurry to
don it, and he breathed a loud sigh of relief when the
dwarf clipped the last fastenings across his chest. A
crossed pair of red-leather weapon-straps  --  one for a
pair of long daggers, the other for a matched sword  -- 
went atop the odd suit, the spear into a special case
built into the suit that left it high enough on Tem-
Telek's back so he could easily reach it.
Arturis practically bristled with blades and a short,
thick horn-bow hung from his waist. He had neatened
the tear in his jerkin and now wore a helm and body
armor  --  a set of four connecting iron circles that cov-
ered his heart and belly  --  which he was busily
polishing. Ilya appeared not to have had any weapons
at all on him when he was captured; Wulfgar was
pressing a sword on the boy, and when he would not
take that, offered him a long dagger instead. Ilya eyed
it warily, finally shrugged, and let the dwarf hang it
from his belt.
They had all been talking in hushed voices; all at
once, all conversation ceased, and the six ex-slaves
turned to look expectantly at Naitachal.
The Bard sighed very faintly and let his eyes close
for a moment. When he opened them again, he let
them move from one to another of the waiting six,
back down the line the other way. "I gather you all feel
as Tem-Telek does  --  that traveling together will bring
a little safety." He paused and was answered by nods.
"Well, then!" He clapped his hands together and
rubbed them briskly. "There are six of you, all quite
well prepared for the worst, should it strike. There are
seven horses and six of you  --  if you do not object, I
think we will take the last horse ourselves as payment,
if you like, and also because we may have need of an
extra beast where we go."
Silence. The six eyed each other, turned back to
look at the Bard expectantly. "And that is  --  ?" Arturis
said finally, when it became clear Naitachal wasn't
going to say anything else.
Naitachal shrugged, shook his head. "Well, we do
not actually know. We go north, cross-country most of
the way, I think. Away from Portsmith, which is that
way and away from any town I know, come to that."
He waved a hand in a vaguely southerly direction. His
voice was a low, slow drone. "Well to the north," he
went on after a moment, and his eyes were now
slightly glazed.
"Well, yes," Arturis pressed after another silence.
"But why that way?"
"Oh, because . . ." The Bard's voice faded. 'There
may be things up there to give my apprentice
something to write about. Or  --  maybe not. It will be
cold, very cold, of course."
Gawaine fought a yawn, and then a grin. He could
tell what his Master was doing now  --  and a very
good, subtle job he was making of it. Dissuading them
all, making die journey sound so boring that none of
them would want to come along. The bardlings
amusement faded as he realized those being dis-
suaded included two who might well hold the key to
the Truth. If at least the Druid came with us, he
thought wistfully. But if Naitachal was dead set against
them...
Of course, the Master hadn't come out and told
them all to ride off; he was simply trying to persuade
them to do so.
And he had apparently, this once, met his match in
all six. And clearly he hadn't the heart to use his magic
to chase off the sad-sack lot of them.
"Oh, well, a little cold weather," Tem-Telek said
carelessly. He ran capable hands over the odd suit; his
skin stood out very dark green and nonhuman against
the pale fabric. "But consider, Master Bard, that
already I am far beyond the lands that would be mine
 --  well beyond climes where one such as myself
would be comfortable. This was crafted for me by my
valet, before we ever left those warmer climes."
"Cold," Naitachal droned on drearily. "Cold like you
cannot begin to imagine...."
"My imagination, if not quite the equal of a Bard's,
is not so poor a thing as all that," the lizardman broke
in coolly. "Nor is the extent of my honor. Will you
shame me, leaving me with a debt undischarged?"
The Bard spread his hands wide, finally turned to
look at the dwarf. "And you?"
"A little cold is no problem for me," Wulfgar said.
"Nor even a great cold. Besides, I too have a sense of
honor, and even if I considered my debt to both of you
discharged by a simple thank-you, I would certainly
never leave my Master. Someone has to make certain
his garb is clean and mended  --  and besides, I have to
repair his caste-straps, which will certainly not be ac-
complished in a single night." Gawaine did not think
loyalty required explanations, but did not say so.
"North, do you say?" Cedric mused. "I have heard
for most of my days that there are bows in the north so
powerful and accurate that they might as well be
magical. Think then, what such a weapon would mean
to one who earns his coin by shooting at tourneys!
No," he added hastily as Naitachal stirred, "do not
think of dissuading me, for such a bow  --  for even the
chance that such a weapon exists out there and I
might grasp it  --  I would dare much. And it may be
that my skills will be of use to you, Bard though you
are. For there are other stories from the north, of evil
things and evil men who haunt the roads, of beasts
that can tear a strong man asunder  --  "
"Yes. Well," Naitachal said hastily. "But where we
are bound, it is said there are no cities, no towns.
Where you expect to find such a bow  --  "
"Well, I need not stick with you forever, need I?"
Cedric demanded reasonably. "But where is this you
go, where there are no cities or towns?"
Gawaine opened his mouth to speak, but Arturis
got there first. His eyes were wide and he was waving
his arms excitedly. "Yes! What the archer says is true,
great evils and dire creatures, horrid beasts, and I
must go to fight them!"
"Must you?" Naitachal murmured, and he turned
his head away to cast his apprentice a broad wink.
"But I have never heard of such evils  --  "
"I am never wrong about such things," Arturis
announced confidently. 'The God has sent me so
many times upon quests against such evils and dread
beings, always he grants me a vision, to warn that I
must  --  must  --  aaaaaiiigh  --  !" His voice rose to a
sudden screech and he fell to his knees, swaying and
muttering unintelligible words; his eyes rolled back
and then closed. Gawaine, with a vexed and worried
little exclamation, started forward, but the Bard
caught his arm.
"Now, apprentice," he murmured, "it is a vision; did
you not hear him warn of it?"
"Vision  --  " Gawaine breathed, and his eyes went
wide with awe. Fortunately, his attention was fixed
upon the Paladin's working face and the sudden tears
running down his cheeks and into his beard from
under mostly closed eyelids, and so he did not see the
exasperated looks Tem-Telek and his valet exchanged,
or the tired expression on Ravens face. Arturis ram-
bled on to himself for a few more moments  --  or to
his God, if it was not the God using his voice and lips
to convey the message. He finally stirred, opened his
eyes and blinked, looking from one to another of those
around him. "Where  --  ?" he asked vaguely, then
tossed his head back to throw the long golden hair
over his shoulders and leaped to his feet. "Yes! There
are indeed dread beings and things of no form that
way, Master Bard, and against them you will have no
protection save that of my God and Master, and of my
strong hand! But even if I do not ride with you, that
way I must go, to make a valiant quest against such
things, that I may overcome them for the glory of the
God and for the purity of my soul!"
"Yes, yes," Naitachal said hastily. "Lower your voice,
please, you make my head ache now. Come, certainly,
if you must." He looked at the Druid rather thought-
fully. "You say nothing."
"No," Raven agreed, just as quietly. "But I would
say something now. The way you indicate is barely
inhabited, and there are few roads. I have lived many
years well to the north of this place, and there is little I
do not know of the lands, what can be eaten and what
not. I have traveled many of the forests where there
are no tracks, and a man might starve before he found
his way out again. I can guide you  --  if you will let
me."
The Bard cast another glance at his apprentice; he
could almost hear Gawaine's fervent thought: Oh, yes!
Guide me! But perhaps he and that Paladin would
cancel each other out; and there was no doubting the
Druids services would be useful if he knew half what
he said he did.
"Just where is it you go?" Raven asked.
"A valley," Gawaine broke in before Naitachal could
say anything. "A valley where summer never comes."
"But I know that valley!" Ilya cried excitedly. "I
know it well  --  it is not a days ride from my own vil-
lage!"
"Do you?" The Bard was actually smiling at the
young peasant. "Well then!" He glanced upward. "This
day is not going to last much longer, and I got little
sleep last night. I would greatly prefer some time to
prepare a perimeter before the sun sets, and  --  " he
glanced meaningfully at the fallen Slavers and the
mess all over the road "  --  I cannot imagine any rea-
son, including a holy vigil, that would keep anyone
here for the night." Arturis cast him a sudden, narrow-
eyed look. Naitachal looked back at him, smiling
blandly, then turned away to mount Star. He looked
down at the assembled company, and at Gawaine who
now sat on Thunder next to him. "Whichever of you
intends to come with us, let us go now."
He was scarcely pleased  --  but not at all surprised
 --  when all six of those they'd rescued mounted up at
once and fell in behind him.
It was nearly sundown by the time they found a
place sheltered from the night winds that Raven said
blew mostly from the east around here, where there
was water, and where a fire could be built without
drawing attention from a long ways away. It was fully
dark by the time Cedric and Wulfgar got a fire going,
Gawaine got the horses settled, and Naitachal set a
proper magical boundary all around the camp, the
horses, and right down to the water  --  a shallow, fast-
moving creek that dropped over a stone falls into a
pool and vanished into the ground not far below that.
The bardling came back from his tasks to find
Raven had already gone through the food packets and
had foraged before it got properly dark, and was in the
process of fixing some land of stewlike mess. Without
the meat, which was causing a little argument among
his fellow ex-slaves. "I can keep you fed and well fed at
that," he said flatly. "But not with meat. Not from liv-
ing creatures."
'This will do very nicely for tonight," Naitachal
interposed flatly, before Arturis could invoke his god's
views on the place of lesser creatures once more. "I
personally do not care if there is meat or not, so long
as the food smells as good as this. If you wish roast
boar or anything else, Paladin, fetch it yourself." Or go
away and eat whatever you please. The thought was as
clear as if he had spoken it aloud; the Paladin gave him
a wary look and subsided
"Yes. Well, certainly there are times a man does
without flesh in order to purify his soul for some
greater task." Naitachal sighed loudly, interrupting
him once more, then leaned forward and pointed
across the fire to where Ilya sat munching a piece of
dark, rather stale bread. 'Tell us about this valley, why
don't you?"
Ilya nodded vigorously, chewed and swallowed.
"Well, in my grandmother's day, she says it was a
meadow  --  grass, flowers, just like in our village and
all about it. Wild onions growing on the hillside, a
stream and a pond, where geese landed in spring and
fall. But there came a winter, a grandfather of all win-
ters, with snow up to the eaves of every roof and
wolves and white bears prowling the road, or scratch-
ing at the very doors. And in the very midst of this
dreadful winter, in the time when there is only so
much sun," he indicated with two hands held parallel
to the ground, a long fingers-worth apart, "on a long
and dreadfully cold night, there was a wind to rattle
the chimneys and send soot across the floors, that
scoured snow from the road right down to the dirt.
Well! People huddled in their houses and awaited yet
another storm which would surely crush every hut and
shed in the village, and yet, when morning came the
village stood as it always had, with only scoured places
in the snow to show where the wind had come and
fled  --  and there was a mysterious white wall all about
that valley.
"People were curious, of course, and a few went to
see what it might be about, a wall where there had
been no wall, and all overnight. My grandmama says
that there were those who went and touched it, and
came back to report that it was real and true, and that
it froze the hands of any who touched it. And there
were those," his voice dropped to a whisper, "who
climbed across it  --  and never returned."
Silence, save for the snapping of the fire and the
soft, plopping bubble of whatever Raven was cooking.
"Summer came," Ilya went on finally, and in a much
more normal voice, "but the wall remained where it
was, and there was ice upon it, still, even in the heat of
midsummer. Even now, there is ice, and when I was a
foolish boy, I stood upon the shoulders of a friend and
gazed across that wall. There is snow and ice, and
within there is a tower or a castle, perhaps. Difficult to
tell, for it is white and so is all the ground about it. But
others have also looked into that valley, and they, too,
have seen just what I saw."
"And those who go in there?" Naitachal asked.
Ilya finished the last bite of bread, looked into the
fire for some moments, then roused himself and met
the Bard's eyes. "I said I would take you there, Master,
and so I will. But  --  to where you can see that wall  -- 
only. To my village, and perhaps a little beyond. But no
farther. Because those who go beyond the wall do not
return, ever again."
Chapter VHI
The Bard lay open-eyed for some time after the rest
of his suddenly greatly expanded company slept.
Magic bows, he thought sourly. Well, as a lie it was a
lot better than that vision Arturis had. The look on my
apprentice's face when he went into that act! And act it
was: Gawaine might be young and unworldly, and ut-
terly mad for mystics, but his Master had been around
a lot longer. Naitachal knew a fraud when he saw one.
Perhaps not a fraud; Arturis could be deluding him-
self, also. The world held as many of that kind as it did
charlatans and false prophets. "All the same," the Bard
whispered to himself. "All the same, I think I will keep
a very close eye on this as-it-were Paladin, to make
certain that he does not make off with anything here
which is not his  --  including my coin and my
apprentice!"
One thing was certain  --  after that story of Ilya's,
there would be no getting rid of any of them; it didnt
take a Bards training to read all those faces and see
how intrigued every last one of them was.
Even Gawaine. Naitachal grinned suddenly. / will
wager my lute on it, the lad didn't believe the least in
that valley until he heard the peasant's tale! Well, he
certainly believed it now. The Bard shifted, reached
down to dislodge a stone from under his hip and tried
to get comfortable. Question was  --  did he believe the
tale himself?
Did it matter? It might be merest fable, like the one
about the drowned men in the haunted lake  --  he had
personally heard that tale from twenty different men
in twenty totally different parts of the land, each one
claiming to have known one of the women who had
been lured into the water. That one's so old it's grown
a long gray beard. Could be this was the latest one
making the rounds, like those gruesomely awful lamp-
wick jokes.
He grinned, settled his shoulders, and closed his
eyes. It really didn't matter; his main intent was to get
Gawaine away and give him a chance to see something
real, to force him to live life instead of just watching it
pass. If there wasn't an ice valley  --  if that had simply
been Ilya's way of joining them  --  well, fine. Besides,
if things went on as they had started, it wouldn't mat-
ter what was there, just getting there would be more
than half the fun.
"How many?" The Paladin stared blankly. They had
nearly finished the packing before Arturis asked Ilya
how many days it had taken him to come south.
The peasant lad shrugged. "I counted my fingers and
my toes and then began again, went through, and touched
this many"  --  he held up his right hand with the thumb
folded over index and middle fingers -- "before I came to
that village where I sold my hides -- and a woman told me
there that if I wished a better price for them, I should go to
Portsmith, but it would take me four days more to walk
the distance."
It was Gawaine's turn to stare now. "You came
within four days of a city that large  --  after coming all
that way south  --  and you didn't travel on to see it?"
"Why?" Ilya asked. 'There were seventeen houses
and a tavern where I sold, I counted them, a small
market once every five days. What more could this
Portsmith have than that?" He looked from one blank
face to another, finally turned to look at Naitachal. The
Bard's face was rather grim. "Did I say something
wrong?"
"Nothing wrong," Raven patted his shoulder and
turned back to the straps he was tightening. "For some
of us, there is more than city life  --  "
Arturis shook himself. "Well, of course there is!
Only look at the life I lead, following the ways of my
God and taking upon myself the wondrous quests he
sets before me  --  "
"Yes, yes, yes," Naitachal broke in hurriedly. His
forbidding expression had nothing to do with Ilya's
prattling; he had never much cared for early hours,
and having to get up before the sun made him cross.
"Why do you not save this wondrous tale for later  -- 
after we are ready to ride?" And after I am out of ear-
shot, his narrowed eyes said.
Somewhat to his surprise, Arturis immediately went
quiet, except for a chastened, "Of course, sir." The
Paladin turned, scooped up a cloth bag, and went to
load it onto the spare horse. The Bard stared after
him, frowning. He finally shook his head, turned away,
and knelt to finish rolling up his blankets.
"Forty days, or a little more." Cedric was thinking
aloud, quiver hanging loose and forgotten in his hands.
"And with not much food for eight of us  --  " He
blinked, became aware Raven had finished his pack-
ing and was watching him.
'There are a good many plants in the northern wilds,"
the Druid informed him. "Thick tubers and other foots
which make good soup, leaves and the like. I myself have
lived on the land for a long time and"  --  he gestured
broadly with both hands, indicating his person  --  "and I
do not think I look particularly starved"
"Well, no," Cedric replied doubtfully. 'Though
roots and berries are not precisely my idea of a proper
meal."
Raven sighed and cast his eyes upward. Naitachal,
having given his bags to Gawaine to fasten onto Star's
back, sighed in turn, much more loudly. 'The bardling
and I brought dried meat, and I must say, Raven, that
I have no objection to having fresh, if there is someone
able and willing to bring down game for us. In fact, I
am quite fond of a decent roast, or a few chops now
and again, or even a hot stew at the end of a long day."
The two scowled at each other for several long mo-
ments and the rest of the group looked at them; even
Wulfgar, who had paid no attention to any of them so
early in the day, came around his Masters horse to
watch. Raven shrugged finally. "As you will. So long as
it is not expected that I  --  "
"You, and anyone else, may eat what  --  and as  -- 
he chooses," the Bard replied, biting off the ends of
his words. He looked at each of them in turn. "If that
is settled, then? Can we be gone?"
Gawaine settled onto Thunder's back and let the
rest of the party precede him; by himself at the rear,
he heaved a sigh of relief. He had been utterly certain
Naitachal was going to find a way to get rid of the oth-
ers this morning; he hadn't managed it, though. A
Druid and a Paladin  --  and at least forty daijs to learn
from both! His Master turned to see where he was,
then reined Star in so they could ride side by side.
"You look uncommonly pleased with yourself this
morning," the Bard grumbled. Gawaine smiled. He
knew Naitachal's ways, and why he snapped at every-
one  --  mornings didn't bother him, and he'd long
since gotten used to avoiding the Bard until he was
properly awake.
"Well  --  yes. Do you know, I think I am." The Bard
mumbled something under his breath and gave Star a
nudge. For some time after, until the sun was well on
its way to midday, he rode by himself in the middle of
the company, spoke to no one, and was left severely
alone.
The land stayed hilly for some days, and despite
Arturis's assurances that he knew this area well  --  and
that his God would point the way to the nearest road
 --  they never did find anything but a narrow footpath
that wound around the bases of the hills. Eventually,
these became lower and lower, and full streams less
frequent, until by the fourth day they found them-
selves at the edge of a rolling landscape, dotted with
clusters of trees in the midst of tall, bright green grass.
The horses were pleased; the humans, the dwarf,
and the lizardman much less so. The trail went straight
for as far as they could see, toward a distant, jagged
line of something dark. Raven nudged his mount to
the fore and waved a hand across the grass. "Sensible
folks would cross this in one ride and be beyond it
tonight; sensible beings would also stay upon the
track. This is not precisely a bog, but the ground is
very wet; there are pools in places that you cannot see
for the grass grows atop some of them. There can be
boggy places, and if I am right about our current loca-
tion, there may well be places where a man and horse
could simply vanish."
"Oh." Tem-Telek shook his head. "I am not worried
by a swamp; I know swamps. However, this trail  -- 
who makes trails in such a place, and do those who
make them wish such as us well?"
Arturis nudged his horse forward and made as if to
dismount. "I can lay hands upon the dirt," he
announced, "and the God will tell me  --  "
"Yes, yes," Naitachal and Raven said in chorus. The
Bard had already slid from Star's back and was gazing
across the tall grass. "The trail itself seems to me to be
safe; this land may not be if we are caught in it after
dark. There are things which inhabit such places, but
are only freed by night."
"Well, but  --  " Arturis spluttered. Naitachal turned
to smile at him, rather unpleasantly, and his eyes
gleamed.
"Whatever your God tells you of this place," he said
evenly, "I can tell you of Dark Things, and things
which will eat your soul, favored of a god or no. You
know what I am, Paladin."
Gawaine held his breath. The Paladin ducked his
head and stayed put. It was Raven who responded.
"You are a Dark Elf  --  and were a Necromancer,
and are now a Bard. Even one who has spent long
years in the waste knows who and what you are, Nai-
tachal." The two gazed at each other, and Raven
suddenly smiled. "And were. I see no cause to doubt
your word. But we must pick a way across this place
before the sun has set."
"Of course not," Tem-Telek said calmly. "Even a
hide such as mine is not proof to insects, and let me
tell you, at dawn and dusk, you would not be able to
see anything from here, save clouds of them."
"Yes. Of course." Cedric waved aside insects and
stood in his makeshift stirrups to peer northward. "But
as we can see something now  --  What is that, Raven
 --  forest?"
The Druid nodded. "Forest. And again, if we are
where I think we are, that is a very vast wood, and
largely trackless. But I know it well, and will be able to
find my way through it from any side."
"Well, then  --  " The Bard came back and mounted
Star. "Since this is land you know, you go first." He
gave a subdued Arturis another of those rather mali-
cious smiles. "And since you may wish to commune
with your deity, why do you not bring up the rear?"
Arturis ducked his head again and mumbled, "Sir,
certainly." Gawaine gave him a puzzled look as he
rode by, but Arturis had closed his eyes and was paying
no attention to any of them. Communing already, no
doubt. The bardling scowled at his Master's back. Had
not Naitachal impressed upon him, often, that it was
not polite to make fun of another's beliefs?
Another thing suddenly occurred to him as he
pulled Star back into line and away from tempting
grass: If Arturis was as deeply devout as a Paladin
surely must be  --  particularly one so frequently smit-
ten with visions  --  why did he not take offense at the
Bard's tone of voice? For that matter, why not call
down his god with lightning and fire to fry this disbe-
liever? After all, an excellent Bard Naitachal might be
 --  but he was just that, a Dark Elf, a Bard, and even if
he had been a Necromancer still, he wasn't a god Nor
under the personal protection of one.
So why did Arturis show every sign of being afraid
of Naitachal?
Gawaine could hear the Paladin just behind him,
muttering to himself, and he repressed a sigh. And if
he is as holy as he surely must be to be a Paladin, why
do I feel nothing in his presence but a strong desire to
strangle him?
He set his teeth; almost as if he could read
thoughts, Arturis had come up close behind him. "Ho,
lad, how goes it?"
"Well enough," Gawaine replied neutrally. Silence.
He added, rather unwillingly, "And with you?'
Arturis sighed dramatically. "Well enough, though
the burdens I bear are enough to bury a lesser man.
And once they would have buried me, when I was but
an ordinary mortal lad  --  why, such as yourself,
bardling, given to wine and carousing, and  --  "
"I hardly have the opportunity to carouse,"
Gawaine broke in. "Before I apprenticed to Naitachal,
I was a horseboy in a nobleman's stable, and I worked
hard for my bread and four coppers a year."
"Oh, I didn't mean you," Arturis replied hastily.
"Personally. Though," his voice became rather tearful,
and Gawaine turned away, hideously embarrassed by
such a show of emotion by a grown man, "once / was
such a mortal lad, and what dreadful things did I not
do? I freely drank red wine, and comported myself at
taverns with the most vile of men  --  and women!" He
made a sound that brought Gawaine halfway around,
certain the man had swallowed something and was
choking. Tears had made streaks down the Paladin's
grubby cheeks and were dripping from his beard.
Reddened eyes fixed on the bardlings face; Gawaine
turned away hastily. "Women," the tearful voice
droned on. "I was one of those who sought low
women. I sank lower than the lowest, and yet, look
upon me now!" Gawaine nodded hastily and hoped he
looked busy keeping Star firmly on the trail. 'The God
found me, in evil company, and he opened my eyes,
and sent me upon my first quest to purify my heart,
and so I have kept it ever since." He sniffed loudly and
nastily. "And so you must think upon yourself,
bardling," he went on briskly. "And upon your own
life, whether you will keep a pure heart and avoid vile
companions, and so come to the Truth."
"Ah  --  yes, of course," Gawaine stood in his stir-
rups. The trail widened just a litde ways ahead,
enough so that three could ride abreast. "Ah, listen, I
think I hear my Master calling me. I had better go see
what he wants." Star protested as the bardling kneed
him; he had almost gotten his teeth in grass and wasn't
pleased at having it taken away. Gawaine patted his
neck as they left the Paladin behind. "Sorry, old fellow,
I'll see you get some later, I swear it." He sent his eyes
sideways, but didn't dare turn to see how far back
Arturis was. "But I fear that murder would do very bad
things to my purity level, don't you?'
Naitachal hadn't been calling him; he was glad
enough to leave off mediating an argument between
Cedric and Raven over whether Cedric should try to
bag a few of the ducks he'd seen and talk to his
apprentice instead. "I don't understand," Naitachal
mumbled. "From what Tem-Telek says, those two
were quite friendly toward each other in the Slaver's
cage, and now listen to them!"
Gawaine did. Raven was glaring at the archer, who
stood in his stirrups to gaze out ahead of them and off
to the west, where they could hear a large flock of
ducks. "You said you were a competitive archer, that
you won prizes with your marksmanship  --  not that
you killed things!"
"I don't  --  " Cedric dropped back into the saddle
and bared his teeth at the Druid. "I don't simply go
around killing things! Don't be so stuffy, and don't act
as though you've never been outside your Druids glen
before. You know full well that though you folk don't
ordinarily eat meat, others do. And I promise you,
there have been times when if I hadn't been a meat-
eater, I would very probably have starved to death."
"Nonsense," Raven replied warmly. "If you weren't
a meat-eater, you would know what plants were good
to eat, and you'd harvest them instead of murdering
innocent beasts  --  "
"Well," Cedric growled, "I happen to like the flavor
of some beasts, and I don't particularly care if they're
innocent or not."
Raven gazed down his long, lean nose at the archer
for some moments. "Have you considered," he said
finally, "that you might well develop better arm
strength and a steadier pull, if you didn't eat meat?"
Cedric gaped at him, completely at a loss for words.
Naitachal laughed. "Ah, yes. Pay no heed, archer. I
have had Druids tell me my singing voice would
improve if I didn't eat meat. It's a common flaw in an
otherwise pleasant folk. Raven, how much farther do
we have to go?" It was a definite and firm change of
subject; Raven eyed the Bard sidelong and finally
shrugged. "Will we reach forest by nightfall at this
rate?"
Raven turned to look out ahead of them. "Can you
not see how near the first line of trees is now?"
"You forget, I eat meat and so my eyes are not as
sharp as yours," the Bard replied sarcastically. Raven
turned to look at him for a long moment, then sighed,
and Naitachal flashed him a quick grin. 'To answer
your question, I am not a woodsman, and I have no
way to gauge how trees and woods look in what light-
ing conditions and from what distances. You, by your
own words, have."
'We should reach them well before sunset," Raven
said. He cast Cedric one last, sidelong hard look. 'That
is, if we have no long halts."
"I do not need a full company to shoot a brace of
ducks," Cedric said patiently. "And personally, I would
rather have no help at all, particularly not the kind of
help that glares at me the entire time. I thought you
said you were a holy man, Raven. Does not such a
man leave his fellows alone?"
"I am a Druid," Raven replied. "And I personally
prefer that all living things remain living  --  even those
which others see as convenient to eat, or to kill for gain
or profit, or for trophy." His lips tightened. "Even
those which enslave others."
There was a momentary, nasty little silence. Cedric,
to Gawaine's surprise, broke it by tilting his head back
and laughing. "Ah! Well answered! And unlike some
who shared that cart with us, and spoke alternately of
his god and of how he would murder those Slavers if
he had half a chance. Well, never mind. You are defi-
nitely a holier man than I, Raven. Go on, all of you. I
won't be very far behind, and there will be meat
tonight  --  for those who want it."
Chapter IX
True to Raven s prediction, they made it out of the
wetlands and nearly a league into the woods before
the sun went down. Cedric proved as good as his
word, also; he caught up with the rest of them just at
the edge of the forest, four large ducks dangling from
the back of his saddle. Raven pulled his mouth into a
disapproving line, but said nothing, for which
Gawaine was grateful. He was very impressed by the
Druids knowledge of the land, over and above any
hopes he had of learning from Druids in general and
this one in particular.
At the same time, he was hungry  --  and very fond
of roast duck.
Wulfgar, who had been largely silent since the jour-
ney began, came over to inspect them, and he
whistled thoughtfully. "Good shooting, that. Takes skill
to skewer a bird so neatly."
Cedric nodded shortly. "I don't like things to suffer;
I am a good enough shot that they don't  --  and I
would not shoot anything, if I could not kill it swiftly."
He cast Raven a dark look, but the Druid was already
riding ahead The archer sighed faintly. "Any we don't
eat won't keep, unfortunately, and there isn't time to
smoke meat, so we eat well tonight and finish what-
ever is left in the morning.
Wulfgar laughed. "Won't hurt my feelings one bit.
And my Master quite likes game bird."
They set up camp in a large clearing, flanked on
three sides by tall, enormously thick-trunked conifers,
and on the fourth by a stream and willows. Naitachal,
who had been growing restive as soon as the sun
began to near the horizon, breathed a sigh of relief
and dropped to the ground at once, letting his appren-
tice take their horses. He looked around the clearing,
nodded briskly. "All right, it's late and I have much to
do, to see to die safety of the perimeter. Cedric, you
have the meat to manage; Raven, why don't you take
young Ilya and gather whatever we need to go with it?
And for yourself, of course," he added hastily, to fore-
stall any comment the Druid might have had. Raven
merely nodded, gestured for the peasant lad to come
with him, and led the way down to the stream. "Just
don't go very far," Naitachal raised his voice so he
could be heard over the sound of the water, "because I
do not want to have to repair the wards once I set
them. Tem-Telek." He gave the lizardman his usual
nod in lieu of a full bow  --  a politeness that took into
account both the casualness of the present circum-
stance and that the lizardman was noble. "If you
would set up a firepit and stakes for the birds, and let
your servant help Gawaine with the horses ..."
The lizardman bobbed his own head once, polite-
ness itself, and glanced in the dwarfs direction. "You
do not mind, Wulfgar?"
The dwarf stretched. "I never mind caring for the
horses, Master. Besides, I need to get your cup."
Arturis shifted restlessly from foot to foot. Tem-
Telek barely glanced his way as he added, "And if you
will fetch firewood, Paladin, that should take care of
all for the night."
The Paladin shook his head. "I had intended to
spend an hour or so in prayer, before the food was
ready  --  to keep the God's watchful gaze upon us all
this night." He brought his chin up to give Tem-Telek
a down-the-nose stare; the lizardman returned it in
full, and from a greater length of nose. "Besides," the
Paladin added, "there is no need for me to risk splin-
ters to my sword hands when there are two here who
are servants, and  --  "
Naitachal interrupted him very firmly indeed.
'There are none here, Arturis, who are servants of all
of us. If you would eat and sleep with the rest of us,
you will do your share of the camp chores. Wood. And
should you fetch enough before the rest of us are done
with our share of the chores, you may bring water."
"Oh." Arturis stood very still for a long moment,
then sent his eyes sideways, cautiously. "Yes, of course,
sir. At once." Naitachal watched him out of sight
among the trees before settling himself cross-legged
on the ground. Every single time, every blessed single
time, whatever chore he is offered he objects. Well, for-
tunately the Paladin hadn't discovered the nerve to
object when I tell him what to do. Jet. The Bard
shifted around a litde until he found a more comfort-
able seat, and closed his eyes.
Gawaine, who had just come back from the horse-
tether with their instruments, gazed after Arturis; a
frown etched his brow. It really was odd: Very clearly
the Paladin did not like having to do anything for him-
self, and he argued with everyone about it when he
wasn't simply whining about whatever task he'd been
asked to handle  --  or taking any watch but the first, so
he could have an unbroken sleep once he was done.
Argued with everyone, that is, except the Bard.
Maybe, Gawaine thought, his god protects him against
anyone except a Dark Elf? He immediately pushed
the thought aside as improper  --  certainly more like
the sardonic Naitachal than himself  --  and went back
to help Wulfgar.
After all, yesterday or the day before, Arturis had
spent a very long hour explaining to him how the pure
in heart did not ever use sarcasm. "It is a weapon
whose sole purpose is to cause the pure and moral
man discomfort, and so the God does not smile upon
scoffers and the sarcastic." Gawaine sighed From the
sounds of things, Arturis s god was a rather humorless
sort, all around.
It was fully dark when they finished eating. Raven
had found leaves for a tart but pleasant tea, and had
gathered roots earlier in the day, as they rode, for a
sour bread while Ilya had located familiar roots along
the bank of the stream that he peeled and cooked in
the coals. The others ate most of the roast bird; Raven
contented himself with tea and bread, and a leathery
strip of dried fruit. Naitachal finally set aside his cup
and stretched. "Well, Druid. This wood  --  are we
where you thought?"
"I believe so," Raven said cautiously. "In fact, I am
nearly certain that I know this stream, though at a
point well to the west. Tomorrow will prove it. And if
we are, then it will take us four days of steady riding to
get through, but there will be safe places the next two
nights if I can place us."
"Good." The Bard smothered a yawn and stretched
"It sounds like a long ride, in any event. I suggest we
choose the watch and the rest of us get some sleep."
Arturis licked his fingers and spoke up. "I will be
glad to take the first  --  "
"You had the first watch last night," Cedric told him
pointedly. "And we all agreed the middle watches
would be divided so everyone could have a full nights
rest some of the time."
"But  --  "
Naitachal cleared his throat ominously and scowled
across the small fire; both men went very quiet. "That is
better. Cedric, you take the first watch tonight, both as
reward for the excellent meal, and because you had the
middle last night. Arturis, dear fellow, is it not true that
most gods reveal themselves to their beloved children in
the small hours, when no one else is awake to see? Or,
have you never heard of vigils?" The Paladin opened his
mouth, closed it again without saying anything. "I myself
will take the last; the rest of you portion out the remaining
hours however you will, my stomach is full and my eyes
about to fall from my head." He turned away from the fire,
wrapped his cloak around him and lay down. "I trust," he
added gently, "that you will find a quick  --  and quiet  -- 
means of deciding." Gawaine glanced back at his Master,
looked around the fire and shrugged. Raven gave him a
very faint smile. Cedric was busy stowing the last of the
meat, and Arturis had gotten abruptly to his feet. They
could hear him down at the stream, splashing noisily.
Tem-Telek reached into an inner pocket and drew
out several thin, brightly colored sticks of various
lengths. He chose six, put the rest away. "I doubt any
of you will want to gamble on this journey  --  "
Raven smiled again and shook his head "I seldom play
with tossing sticks, and I do not believe I would gamble  -- 
how can I put this politely? Absolutely never with one who
carries his own personal set of sticks." The lizardman gave
him a very toothy smile in return.
"For an unworldly Druid, you know considerable
about worldly things, Raven. And it is true that few who
are not of my race ever try to get the best of us at the
tossing sticks, and fewer succeed However, they may
serve another purpose." He turned to Ilya, who was
cracking a long leg bone with his teeth. "Here, youngling,
shortest two sticks take the hours flanking the gallant
Paladin, the others can choose from what is left." He drew
them sharply back as the young peasant reached for the
sticks; his fingers were shiny with bird-fat. "Wait. Better,
you name one, and I shall pick it for you."
In the end, Gawaine found himself holding the
hours between Arturis and Raven, who would in his
turn waken the Bard for the last watch.
It was cool under the trees, and damp; the sound of the
stream blended with a constant light wind in the high
boughs, just enough so he could never be certain if he
heard anything besides trees and water. "The Master set
wards, they will hold against anything," he reassured
himself. It was only a partially effective thought.
Really, though, with the protection in place all
around them, all the watch had to do was keep an eye
out for something trying to cross the boundary
Naitachal had set  --  and such an action, the Bard
assured them all, would trigger a very bright and
unmistakable response. Of course, Gawaine told
himself, Thunder and Star would certainly alert him if
there was something real out there, trying to get past
Naitachal's wards.
He wandered over to run his hands over Star, to
check Thunder's legs and feet and lean against him for
a moment or so, and finally hurried back to sit next to
the coals of the fire, where it was marginally warmer.
Arturis had been sitting just here, head sunk on his
breast, when Gawaine came awake as and when he
had ordered himself to waken. The Paladin had
jumped nearly out of his skin when the bardling
touched him  --  communing with the God, making
certain they all stayed safe, was what he said he had
been doing. If it had been anyone else, Gawaine would
have been certain the man was sleeping instead.
"Unworthy thought," he told himself firmly. "And
unpure. You cannot arrive at the Truth that way, by
scoffing. If Master Naitachal does not want to seek out
the Truth  --  well, that is his business, and I suppose
he has the right to give the Paladin a difficult time. But
I cannot let the Masters attitude influence me against
a holy man."
Gawaine glanced around the firepit, taking an
automatic count of his companions. Tem-Telek lay closest
to the fire, bundled into his warm-suit, an extra blanket
covering all of him but a little of his forehead, and the valet
slept between him and whatever might come across the
wards. Cedric dozed with his head on the empty quiver,
his bow and arrows resting on his cloak under his
outstretched hand, where he could reach them if there
was need Ilya snored softly a distance apart from all of
them, still rather shy, Gawaine thought; after that initial
candid burst about the valley, he had lapsed into a
disconcerting habit of mumbling and blushing whenever
spoken to, and never speaking otherwise.
Raven, he knew, had gone to sleep under the low
canopy of a willow, near the creek; the Druid had
pointed out his blankets so Gawaine could waken him
for his share of watch. Clearly he preferred to sleep a
little apart from others; he had said as much the first
night. Naitachal, of course, slept as he always did  -- 
on his back, hands folded upon his chest hike an onyx
stone engraving of a dead knight on the lid of a coffin,
utterly still, only the slow rise and fall of his breast to
show he lived. Arturis lay flat on his stomach, face
turned away from the firepit; Gawaine was glad for
that, for when the Paladin slept on his back or side, he
snored. And not anywhere near as quietly as Ilya.
The bardling sighed, very softly. Four days in this
large company, four long days. He had not thought it
would be so difficult, traveling with so many. After all,
he had heard about Master Naitachal's journey with
Count Kevin, all those years ago, and the Master had
never said anything then about all this bickering and
so many petty misunderstandings.
Including, apparently, his own. He certainly thought he
had made it clear to Raven that he was seeking Truth  -- 
that he sought not simply answers as so many did, but the
Answer, that he wanted to know himself, to raise himself
above the mundane, the petty, the everyday. So far, the
few times he'd had a chance to really talk to die Druid,
he'd learned about edible mushrooms ("assume none of
them are, unless you know"), how to find ripe tubers, and
what grasses were good to eat or for seasoning a tea. How
to start a fire with damp wood or in a downpour  --  but
nothing important. So far, the bardling had found himself
cautious of his Masters sardonic eye and a little too
abashed to simply ask direct and pointed questions about
the Meaning of Life. Those fewtentative questions he had
asked had either gone unanswered, or Raven had talked
all around them, leaving him momentarily certain he had
a grasp on something vital  --  only to discover kter that
he'd learned nothing at all.
Arturis, on the other hand... He'dbeen wildly eager to
convert Gawaine  --  or anyone else, including Raven, to
his own brand of religion and his god. But  --  "Oh, drat,"
Gawaine mumbled softly. "He speaks religion and a god
and nothing else, except to parade his own previous
unworthiness and evil ways and weep over them, and to
prate that his god and his way are the only proper ones. If
he is right, then what he tells me holds the Answer, his way
and his god must be my way to purity and good, and from
there to the Truth. And yet  --  " And yet The things
Arturis said seemed to have nothing to do with anything
Gawaine wanted; Arturis and his shameless
breast-beating and weeping made him excruciatingly
uncomfortable. And this afternoon, when they first
started down that trail into swampy ground, the Paladin
had gone right over the edge.
Not that the previous day had been any better; in
answer to a simple question about how pure was
sufficiently pure, Arturis had spent the entire morning
telling Gawaine how pure he himself was and repeatedly
assuring the bardling that what he really needed was a
good role model  --  Arturis himself. "Pattern your
behavior and your thoughts even as I do, lad," he had
concluded, "and you, too, can achieve a clean heart and
pure thought." After a very long morning of that, the only
rational thought Gawaine had was, / would rather die. He
had kept that to himself, though, and Arturis apparently
had not noticed how quiet his companion was. Of course,
he noticed nothing but himself, once he got on one of his
tirades.
The Bard had noticed, Gawaine thought resent-
fully. He cast his peacefully sleeping Master a very
black look indeed. Had noticed and had turned, fre-
quently, to give his bardling an amused glance that
clearly said, "If you will ask a fool a simple question  -- 
particularly that question of this particular fool  --  look
to get the answer you deserve."
It had been midday before Naitachal had finally taken
pity on him and had sent Arturis downhill to the stream
they all could see to fill their water bottles. Arturis, halted
right in the middle of a word, hadn't reacted furiously the
way he had when Cedric had ridden by some time earlier
and muttered, "Give the poor lad a break, you're wearing
his ears to nubs." No, Arturis had ducked his head at once,
said, "Of course, at once, sir," and gone off with the string
of leather bottles.
At the time Gawaine hadn't felt anything but relief -- 
and just maybe a leftover ringing in his ears. Now it struck
him as quite odd, and the question that had occurred to
him early on came back: Why should Arturis be so
seemingly afraid of another mere mortal, if his purity was a
tenth as great as he made it to be, and his god that
powerful? Somehow, it didn't seem likely that the
Paladins mother had instilled such nice manners in him
 --  particularly not when one balanced his behavior
toward all the others against his extreme agreeableness
whenever the Bard set him a task, or a watch.
All the same ... Gawaine turned matters over in his
mind for a while longer, then brightened. "Maybe he
just has difficulty voicing the Truth that has been
revealed to him. Maybe he hasn't served his god long
enough; when someone argues with him, he isn't able
to form a proper response yet." There, now that made
better sense. If the Paladin were still searching for the
Answer himself, or if he had it but still felt unworthy of
the god's attention  --  well, he might simply be
embarrassed to say so. "I will not give up," Gawaine
told himself firmly. "A Paladin is a holy man, even I
know that much. And  --  yes!  --  maybe this is a test!
One which he has devised for all of us, to see which has
the strength to pursue knowledge, whatever the
barriers he raises." Yes, that must be it. He leaned back
from the warm stones around the firepit to look into
the sky; the stars had moved enough; it was time to
rouse the Druid.
He checked the horses on his way down to the
stream. Star was stamping his feet resdessly, but
Thunder stood phlegmatically and the other horses
gave no sign of anything amiss or untoward. It was too
bad that a time like this was the only one when he and
Raven were alone; with all these sleeping around
them, he wouldn't be able to talk to the Druid. Raven
seemed rather distant anyway. Gawaine waited until
he had splashed cold water on his face and looked rea-
sonably awake, then sought his own cloak and lay
down next to his Master.
Chapter X
The Druid had been more off course than he'd
thought, but less than he and Naitachal feared; by late
afternoon the next day, he was able to find a trail he
recognized that took them to a good place to camp.
They rode into the clearing well before dark and the
Druid waved an arm that encompassed the area.
'There are plenty of roots, and it is still early enough in
the season for ground berries. There is water that way"
 --  he indicated a narrow animal trail which went
north into thick brush  --  "and there are cresses, or
were the last time I stopped here."
Naitachal dismounted rather cautiously  --  he had
found himself stiff when the Druid woke him early
this morning for the final watch, and he hadn't yet
been able to ease the discomfort. He cast a dark
glance at the back of the bardling's head as Gawaine
threw one leg across Thunder's back and dropped
neatly to the ground
"I will tend the horses, unless anyone objects," the
bardling offered.
Raven smiled and handed his makeshift reins over.
"When you care so well for my poor beast, why should
I mind? Unless  --  Bard, if you have a better sugges-
tion?" Naitachal leaned on Star's back and looked at
them both blankly. The Druid repeated his question.
"Eh? Oh, certainly, whatever you like. " As Gawaine
turned away, hands full of reins, the Bard caught
Raven's eye and beckoned. "As soon as I have set the
wards and eaten I will sleep until my watch. Unless
you have a difficulty with this holy man of ours," he
added very softly. "If so, then rouse me."
Raven s brow puckered. "Is there any problem? You
seem  --  distracted."
Naitachal managed a faint chuckle and a smile he
didn't particularly feel: The Druid had put his finger
on the problem all too neatly. 'Just a feeling of some-
thing about that does not wish us well, nothing more
specific than that."
"I see." Raven considered this in silence for some
moments, opened his mouth to speak, but closed it
again as the lizardman and his valet passed close by.
He sent his eyes one way and then the other, made
certain they were alone again, and lowered his own
voice prudently. "Perhaps there is nothing I can do to
aid you, but if there is, please tell me what  --  and how.
Meantime, I will make my own watch. Though," he
shrugged, "we are in the midst of a very old forest, one
which was old when my many-times great-grandsire
was born. And in such a woods, particularly so far
north  --  well, there are always things which do not
understand the likes of us, and others which actively
ill-wish us." He smiled, spread his hands in a shrug.
"Still others which might consider us and our mounts
a fine meal." Naitachal cast his eyes heavenwards,
though in this clearing the treetops were so far over-
head and so thick, there was in truth very little sky to
be seen. The Druid looked around. "Here comes your
apprentice and the peasant lad. I will fetch water and
cresses," he said a little more loudly as Gawaine and
Ilya came up to unsaddle the remaining horses.
"Are you all right, Master?' Gawaine eyed him curi-
ously. Naitachal nodded sharply.
"Thinking,   apprentice,"   he   added   pointedly.
Gawaine reddened and hurried away, taking Uya and
the horses with him. They nearly tripped over Arturis,
who had gone to his knees right in the center of the
clearing and closed his eyes. Naitachal smiled as the
two lads tugged at tired horses; Gawaine finally had to
hand over two of those he led to Ilya, so he could drag
Star well o,ut and around the Paladin. Star could see
Thunder tethered not far away and was in no mood to
be led away from his companion. The look Gawaine
gave the unseeing Arturis as he passed . . . Naitachal
grinned broadly and settled down where the Druid
had left him, well to the east edge of the clearing,
where the ground was thick with dry needles and
leaves. He still winced as his backside made contact
with the ground.
Maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea to let Arturis
travel with them, after all. Gawaine was rapidly losing
his glassy-eyed awe of the supposed holy man, and this
past afternoon at least had gone well out of his way to
avoid another of the Paladins lectures. Now that the
bardling's seen most of the way through this clod,
though  --  how do I get rid of him?
Raven wasn't nearly the same problem, and as time
went on, Naitachal found himself more and more
approving of the Druid. He'd proven useful in finding
trails, avoiding soft sand and bogs  --  providing food,
which would have definitely been a problem with so
many and only those supplies he and Gawaine had
picked up in Portsmith. Raven was soft-spoken and
polite, pleasant in a company that included the out-
spoken Tem-Telek, the one-sided Wulfgar, the
extremely narrow-minded Arturis  --  and two inno-
cents like Gawaine and Ilya, who all too often brought
up subjects any experienced grown man would know
better than to mention in such mixed company. Raven
had even managed to keep a cap on any temper he
might have, even when Arturis prated at him. (And so
far as Naitachal knew, temper wasn't something the
Druids gave over as against their religion, the way
some sects did. His experience with Druids had cer-
tainly been otherwise.)
More importantly, this Druid had had a gift tossed
right in his lap  --  Gawaine's almost puppylike eager-
ness for Truth  --  and he hadn't gathered it up. Oh, he
was polite enough when Gawaine spoke to him,
answered whatever questions the bardling asked, but
had never said anything to Gawaine that would even
hint the Druids had a corner on the Truth market.
Naitachal knew: He'd made very certain he was close
by whenever the two were together, and he kept an in-
ner sense tuned to his apprentice when he slept.
And unlike Arturis, Raven gave no signs of fearing
the Bard. Useful as Naitachal found the Paladin's atti-
tude, he sometimes wanted to strangle the man out of
sheer frustration at his timorousness. At the very least,
to give him a real cause for fear.
He cast an eye heavenward. It was darker up there,
suddenly, and he'd been wasting time  --  nearly as
much of it as Arturis, who hadn't moved an inch from
his trance pose. "And pose it is," Naitachal assured
himself grimly, "or I'm a Paladin myself!" Well,
someone else could deal with the man for the moment;
he had a spell to work for the overnight safety of the
camp. Not that it would keep out anything determined
to get through, of course. But most of the others didn't
know that, and so slept better because of it; and
anything that did manage to cross his lines would find
it difficult to simply step over and enter the camp.
Besides, the ripples cast by anything even coming close
would bring the Bard awake at once. Particularly since
he'd bested that banshee, he didn't doubt he could
take on anything that might be out there.
"Pleasant thought," he growled. The hairs on his
forearms lifted, laid back down as he drew a deep
breath and let it slowly drift away, and ordered himself
to relax. The spell was time-consuming at best; it was a
royal, exhausting pain to work if he was tense.
He wasn't halfway into it when Ilya s distant, terri-
fied shriek brought him to his feet. Gawaine's
Bard-pitched yell topped the peasant's cry as easily as
his singing voice could rise above a tavern full of loud
drunks: "Wolves! There are wolves, across the stream,
coming  -- ! Ilya, get up, come on, now!" A crashing in
the brush: Both lads pelted straight back to camp,
ignoring the trail, and an empty bucket hung forgotten
from Ilya's fingers. Moments later, Raven came sprint-
ing up the trail; he spun back around as soon as he
reached open ground and raised his hands above his
head. Cedric came from the other direction, dropping
large chunks of wood possibly in an effort to trip or
slow whatever might be behind him; hands now
empty, he knelt and dragged the bowcase across his
shoulder.
Arturis was climbing slowly to his feet, as though
dazed. Tem-Telek nudged him so hard the Paladin
staggered and swore a most unholy curse. A moment
later, Wulfgar brushed by him, and this time he fell,
flat on his back.
Gawaine raced over to where Naitachal sat, to fish
out his boar spear and quiver from their pile of
belongings, and the Bard snapped, "Next time set
them atop the rest!"
"S-s-sir," the bardling stuttered.
"Never mind that, get it out and ready  --  and tell
me where I set the lute case!" Naitachal came to his
feet as Gawaine wordlessly pointed; the boy yelped
and he nearly dropped the case from a height that
would be deadly to the instrument. But when he
looked up to shout at his apprentice, the words died in
his throat. I surely cried out like that, the first time I
saw so many wolves. The Bard threw the cloth lute-
bag aside, swallowed hard, and settled his fingers on
the strings. There were at least twenty wolves  --  large
wolves.
Gawaine's knees shook, and so did the hand holding
the boar spear, but his voice sounded steady as he
shouted for Ilya. "Come over here, by me, we have to
guard the Master until he can come up with a spell!"
"Hurry, then!" Tem-Telek shouted over loud voices,
terrified horses, and the howling of wolves. The lizard-
man ran sideways, caught hold of Ilya's arm and shook
him, gave him a shove in the right direction. Gawaine
shook his head as the young peasant nearly careened
into him; the boy had no weapon of any kind.
"Here!" Gawaine shoved the boar spear into his
nerveless fingers and knelt to string his bow. "Can you
use that?"
"Use?" Ilya was staring at the spear as though he'd
never seen one before; Gawaine rapped his arm with
the bow and he nodded. "I have used such a weapon,
against wolves, but so many  --  "
'Then kill them one at a time!" Tem-Telek roared.
He and Wulfgar were back to back a short distance
away, the lizardman brandished a broad-bladed,
double-edged sword while the dwarf held a
long-hafted axe and practiced laying about him with
vicious half-circle arcs. Arturis had drawn both his
swords and stood waving them in the middle of the
clearing; he was shouting something, rapid words in an
unfamiliar language. Cedric had his bow strung and a
dozen arrows stuck in the ground before him, and he
knelt to begin firing as the beasts came nearer.
Gawaine gave the archers back a nervous look and
hoped he'd manage to put himself at a safe distance
from Tem-Telek s sword and the wild-looking swings
Arturis was taking.
And then, he had no time for further thought; with
a wild howl and a bound, three of the wolves found a
way around the front line and leaped straight for him.
Somehow, Gawaine remembered the object in his
hands was a weapon. He drew back on the bow and
released his arrow; the wolf howled and fell right at his
feet. Dya fell upon the next nearest with the spear, but
was nearly taken himself when the third attacked as he
was trying to free the point. The wolf he'd pinned
wasn't dead; a massive head that looked to be half
teeth came snapping around after him. Ilya squawked
and leaped back. Fortunately, he'd kept his grip on the
spear, more by accident than intent, and it came with
him. He brought it through in an underhand arc, and
this time the wolf went down and stayed down.
Gawaine's hands were shaking as he fit another arrow
to the string, but before he could loose it, Cedric bel-
lowed, "Down there, you lads!" and his own
red-shafted bolt came streaking across the clearing.
The wolf fell over, twitched and lay still.
Gawaine pulled himself partway up once more,
eyes searching the clearing as his hand felt across the
dirt for the arrow he'd dropped. Ilya knelt next to him,
spear caught between two trembling hands. Behind
him, he could hear the Master, his fingers running
across the strings, his low voice working up some spell
or other. The air crackled with magic; Gawaine was
too shaken to follow what the Bard was doing, though.
Across the clearing, near the path he'd taken to the
stream, he could hear Raven shouting furiously at
Cedric. "You're killing them! You do not need to mur-
der them all!"
'Then do something," the archer bellowed back.
"Arturis, watch that sword, you nearly had my head!"
The Paladin was still shouting, or chanting, in some
alien tongue and apparently heard nothing save him-
self. Cedric slew another of the wolves and the Druid
screamed at him in helpless fury. "I do not intend to
die for your beliefs, Druid!" Cedric yelled. A moment
later, though, the remaining wolves drew nervously
back as Naitachal's voice filled the clearing. A bubble
of red formed midway between Cedric and Gawaine,
and enlarged to encompass all of them, driving the
wolves into the woods. A moment later, the company
heard frightened howls and a crashing that faded into
distance.
Arturis dropped his swords and fell to his knees, let
his head fall back and said something unintelligible.
Cedric gazed down at him, a look of disgust on his
face. "Our thanks, most blessed God, that heard his
humble Paladin and  --  "
A crash of discordant strings silenced him; Arturis
turned partway around, jaw hanging and eyes wide.
Naitachal stood and closed the distance between
them, lute still cradled in his arms. "I had no idea your
blessed God went in for Bardry," he said pleasantly,
but there was an unpleasant gleam in his eye. "And
what was that language you were using, that disrupted
my concentration for so dangerously long?"
"Uh  --  uh, language?" the Paladin asked. He man-
aged a weak smile, but it faded as the Bard continued
to look at him. "I  --  I was not aware I spoke, I  --  oft-
times the God speaks through my humble instrument,
in his own many tongues."
"Ah." Naitachal's teeth gleamed white in the
encroaching gloom. 'Tongues. Of course. Why did I
not realize? Well!" He turned away and started back
toward the edge of the woods where he had been
seated earlier, stopped as if he had just thought of
something, and looked over his shoulder at Arturis.
"All the same, perhaps you would suggest to this God
of yours, that the next time we entertain such  -- 
guests, if he uses your instrument to speak in tongues,
I shall use mine to give you some other gift. One I do
not think you will like at all." And with a final gleam of
teeth, he walked off.
Arturis gazed after him in silence for some
moments, finally rousing himself and getting to his
feet. "He mocks the God," he began in a resentful un-
dertone. Wulfgar tapped his arm, and when the
Paladin came around to look down at him, the dwarf
shook his head.
"Wouldn't say anything, if I were you," he suggested
flatly. "I was distracted myself, and I do not like dis-
traction when I am helping my Master protect
himself."
"Nor I," Cedric added grimly. He had slung his bow
across his shoulder so he could drag dead wolves from
the clearing and a distance away from the camp. "If
you need something to occupy yourself, Arturis, I
could use your aid in removing these. Unless you think
they make good companions for the night."
"I  --  I thought to seek guidance," the Paladin
began, but the look in the archers eye stopped him.
"Yes, all right. But it is getting dark out there  --  "
"Well, then, close your mouth and move your feet,"
Cedric replied. Arturis cast him a resentful look but
said nothing else. Cedric went to another of the dead
beasts, pulled his arrow free and dropped it with the
rest of his points, then caught hold of the beasts hind
legs and dragged it away.
Gawaine looked around and made certain no one
was paying any attention to him before he tried to get
to his feet. He was shaking so hard, he wasn't certain
he'd be able to stay on them once he did get upright.
Ilya was a little ways away, helping Wulfgar gather the
wood Cedric had scattered earlier, and Tem-Telek was
gathering stones to build a firepit.
The bardling started and caught his breath in a gasp
as a hand touched his shoulder, but it was only Raven.
The Druid nodded in Naitachal's direction  --  the Bard
was sitting cross-legged at the edge of the trees, lute
held in still hands, his eyes closed and head bowed,
finishing the surround-spell. "Unless he needs you to
help him with what he does, why do we not go and
fetch water?" Gawaine could feel the blood draining
from his face at the very thought of broaching those
dark woods, following that narrow path. The Druid
patted his shoulder and nodded. "It is all right; I have
no magic like your Master has, but I can sense when
living things come near to me. And we need water, for
ourselves to drink and for the soup. For the horses."
'The horses!" Gawaine said with a pang; he had
completely forgotten the horses. But when he hurried
over, they were all still where he had tied them  --  one
and all restless, and Star was prancing back and forth
as far as the lead would allow him to move.
'They are less frightened than I would have ex-
pected." Gawaine ran a hand over Thunders flanks.
"I did what I could, just now," Raven said, "to
soothe them." He caught hold of the bardlings shoul-
der and led him back over to the head of the trail. "I
will help you tend them once we have water."
They had to step aside as Arturis and then Cedric
came out of the woods. Raven cast the archer a very
black look indeed. "You misled me, back in that
Slavers cart. You said you were a man of gaming skills,
not a murderer!"
"Murderer, is it?" Cedric drew himself up to his full
height. "And what would you or I have been just now,
if I had not had the talent I have, to hit a fast-moving
target?"
"Those were not targets, those were living beings!"
Raven snapped.
"Oh, yes?" Cedric snapped in turn. "And what am
I? Am I not also a living being? Do I not have the right
to defend myself against beasts? Beasts which would
eat me?'
"You  --  we might have frightened them away,"
Raven replied sharply.
"Well," the archer huffed, "you think on that, and
sort out a way, and next time put your plan into prac-
tice before I have to make moral decisions about
whether I live or a wolf does! Though I warn you, it
will still be me that lives and the wolf that dies, if there
is a choice!"
The two glared at each other. Gawaine cleared
his throat, and when they turned to look at him he
said rather timidly, "Uh, Druid  --  Raven? About the
water  --  ?" Raven muttered something under his
breath and turned to lead the way down the trail.
Behind him, Gawaine could feel Cedric glaring
after them and heard the archer mumbling  --  too
quietly for what he said to be clear, fortunately.
Ravens shoulders stiffened, but he kept on going.
Chapter XI
Gawaine didn't sleep at all well; a part of his mind
jibbered away at him, another part jumped at the least
noise, and in the few moments of sleep he did catch,
his dreams were all wolves and teeth, and wolves'
blood everywhere.
The camp reeked of wolves' blood, of course; it was
amazing the horses weren't in a heat of panic the
entire night, and no surprise his stomach was so
queasy. Even more amazing that all the other crea-
tures in the wood which ate meat did not come down
on them, with blood so thick on the ground.
They were on their way very early the next day,
before the sky was fully light, taking only enough time
to saddle the horses and restow their supplies. Raven,
who knew these woods at least a little, led them as
they marched, on foot and in single file, until the sun
rose and they could all see the narrow trail leading
north. A short time later, they came to a waterfall and
pool, and Naitachal called a halt to allow them to
water the horses properly, to make a small fire and
brew tea, and to let Wulfgar soak his Master s overshirt
from the previous night, for both sleeves were darkly
red and stiff with wolves' blood. But the right arm of
the silky thing was ripped from cuff to shoulder, and
the dwarf mumbled over it vexedly as he scrubbed.
Once the fire was put out and the company ready to
move on, the Bard handed around travel wafers, two
each, and said, "Conserve these; one at midday, the
other some hours later; we will make no stops the rest
of this day save briefly for the horses."
"For which you have my blessings," Tem-Telek said
shortly. His arm was bound near the wrist, and
Gawaine shuddered as he looked at the narrow white
band on that dark green, thick-skinned arm, knowing
his own would have been sliced from the fingers all
the way up, probably right to the bone. Tem-Telek
huddled back into his thick cloak, wrapping wool
snugly around himself once he was mounted: Wulfgar
had immediately stitched the rent in his Master's cold-
weather garment, but Tem-Telek had been unable to
bear the pressure of the snug cuff against the bandage,
and Wulfgar had had to roll up the right sleeve. It was
not particularly cold, Gawaine thought, though he
himself had left his cloak across his shoulders even
when the sun rose to midday, and he gazed at the
lizardman in wonder: to have such blood that one's
body could not bear even pleasantly cool air. And for
the first time, it occurred to him to wonder  --  why
would Tem-Telek bear such discomfort to journey
with them? What dire purpose would send him north,
when anyone of his kind (and anyone with a sense of
self-preservation) should have gone south the moment
he'd been freed from that Slavers cage?
One thing was certain: Neither Tem-Telek nor
Wulfgar had given the least hint of their purpose, and
it was unlikely a mere bardling would tease it out of
either.
He brought himself back to the present moment as
Naitachal mounted Star and took the reins from his
apprentice's hands. "I agree, no unneeded halts,"
Raven said flatly as he emptied his tea-making tin onto
the ashes of the fire, filled it with water, and poured
that all around the edges. He shifted blackened sticks
with one toe and turned away to put the tin in his
pack. "Let us go. The next camping site is a distance
from here, and the sooner we are free of the woods
the better. There has been a change in this forest since
I was last here, and besides," he added with a resentful
glance in Cedric's general direction, "I do not wish any
further loss of life of any kind upon my conscience."
He mounted and rode off. Cedric rolled his eyes but
said nothing.
That night, Gawaine was at least as stiff as Naitachal
had been the day before and nearly too tired to stay
awake for the evening meal  --  another of the Druids
soups, his own portion topped with a broken-up stick
of dried meat. The whole mess was singularly taste-
less, but he didn't have the energy to hunt through his
pack for the tiny paper of salt.
He didn't sleep much better with a day's ride
between him and the last camp; wolves were notori-
ously fast and tireless runners, and anyway there were
other wolves  --  and other worse things than wolves  -- 
about in these woods.
All day he had dreaded his share of the watches, but
once they had eaten, Naitachal spoke up. "We will
watch in pairs tonight."
"But that will mean a longer watch at a time  --  "
Arturis began. The Bard turned to look at him, and he
subsided.
"In pairs," the lizardman said thoughtfully. "Yes, I
think so. A bad night for the guard to fall, I think."
"If you mean to imply that I would sleep on my
share, knowing my responsibility to the  --  " the Pala-
din began frostily, but Wulfgar merely laughed.
"I am certain your god would never let you sleep on
the watch," he said sardonically. "But I am merely
mortal, and very tired to boot." He glanced at his Mas-
ter, who was using a sharpening stone on one of his
daggers. "I shall watch with you, of course, sir. And
you should let me do that sort of work."
'There is a rent in my cloak, besides the one in my
sleeve, if you need a task," the lizardman replied. 'The
edges on my weapons are a matter for my tending
which you well know." The dwarf made a rumbling tch
and fished in his belt pouch for his sewing kit.
"You should tell me these things," he said reproach-
fully, "rather than going about with your garb in
disarray. It reflects badly upon my tending of you, and
upon your regard for your own noble rank. Hand the
cloak here, move nearer the fire. If no one objects, we
will be first pair. Set the rest as you will, Bard."
Gawaine had the middle night hours with a quiet
and clearly nervous Ilya, but the largest and loudest
thing either saw or heard was an owl, diving on a small
rodent that had crept from its hole  --  lured out per-
haps by the smell of the sour flat bread Raven had
baked, or by the travel wafers Arturis had left loose in
his open bag next to his blankets.
Naitachal came awake at the bardlings first light touch
to take the next watch with a silent and self-contained
Raven, who vanished into the woods now and again. The
Bard was aware of him, though, moving between the
trees, stopping to look at the horses, stepping back into
deep wood-shadow to commune with some night bird or
other, perhaps testing the night air for some message. The
Bard stayed near the embers of the fire, for he found the
air chill, and he had no need to move about to sense any
possible presence. Just now, there were plenty of small,
timid beasts out there that wouldn't be within leagues of
this camp if there were wolves or other unpleasant things
about. Besides, he'd know if there were wolves.
This time. If he hadn't been caught in the middle of
all that bickering, he'd have sensed them well before
they'd attacked the camp. If he'd been left alone to set
the wards around the camp. Wretched Arturis; he was
proving to be nothing but trouble.
Finally, Raven came back to the fire and Naitachal
sent him to his blankets; he went then to waken
Cedric and drew him off to one side. "It's been very
quiet," he whispered. "And I doubt you'll have any
problems. All the same, keep an eye to your watch-
mate." Cedric sighed heavily, and went to waken the
Paladin.
Another day and night of woods; midmorning the
day after, they came out of thick forest and into heavy
brush and tall cottonwood. A swift-running river cut
across their path, its water the opaque, bone-chilling
green that meant it had come straight from a not-too-
distant ice field. But Raven said he knew for certain, at
last, where they were, and to prove it found a shallow,
rocky ford not far upstream. He led them across and
up a crumbling bank to a broad track, nearly wide
enough for a cart and definitely for two to ride abreast.
The trees thinned a little, and changed from cotton-
wood to low alder and silver-green bushy things with
dark berries the Druid said were good to eat. Gawaine
tried them, and found them rather tasteless but filling.
They were better than the tart red knobs growing at
the ends of thorny rosebushes, but he obediently ate a
few of these as well when the Druid insisted. 'They
keep you from falling prey to the small illnesses that
plague the cold regions. They taste better in a tea, of
course."
"Of course," Gawaine echoed, "I  --  Master Raven,
why do you spend so much of your time gathering
knowledge of this sort? Learning about plants and
dumb beasts, when there is  --  I mean, when you
could  --  I mean  --  " He faltered to silence as the
Druid gazed at him in mild curiosity, and he could feel
the heat in his throat and face. I must be the color of
my hair, he thought miserably, and would have kneed
Thunder forward or reined him back. But the Druid
touched his leg to get his attention, and when he
risked a glance, Raven didn't look at all as though his
young companion had asked too personal a question.
"Why do I not spend my time instead seeking the
one great Truth, you mean?" Head ripped to one side,
Raven studied him; Gawaine, his face still very red,
nodded. "Well, I enjoy discovering the things I learn
about plants and animals, and how things grow and
what purpose they serve in the greater scheme of
things. You could look upon that as part of Truth, if
you like." Gawaine eyed him, openly sceptical, and the
Druid shrugged. "Besides, if I do not keep myself alive
and in good health, how will there be any Raven to
search for this greater Truth?"
"You are laughing at me," Gawaine protested
unhappily. "I deserve it, of course, I know  --  "
"No," the Druid said. "I do not call you a fool for
wanting to know the things you want to know. I merely
tell you what is, and if you seek for an answer behind
the answer I give you, I fear you will seek in vain."
There was a small silence as they rode on. "Well,"
the bardling said finally. 'Thank you for as much
answer as you have given me, Master Raven." A short
distance behind them, Naitachal watched his appren-
tice ride ahead, and he smiled
Raven, ever sensitive to his surroundings, waited
until the bardling struck up a conversation with
Cedric, then pulled his horse up to let the Bard catch
up with him. They rode in companionable silence for
some time. Naitachal stirred, shifted uncomfortably. '1
am not half so elderly that a simple ride such as this
should wear on my backside. I think I must look out a
better saddle when the lad and I return to civilized
lands."
Raven smiled. "You can call them civilized if you
like."
"Yes. As long as I have spent wandering about
them, I should know better." Another silence. Raven
broke out his water bottle, drank and proffered it; the
Bard took it, drank and handed it back. "My thanks, by
the way."
"What  --  for not attempting to steal the boy? But
he is your apprentice  --  and even a mere Druid can
see that the gift he bears is suited to your teachings,
and not ours."
"Not everyone can see it," Naitachal said. He ges-
tured up the road, where Arturis had turned halfway
around on his horse so he could join the conversation
behind him. Just now, he was speaking in a voice too
low to carry very far  --  for once  --  and waving both
arms wildly. Gawaine and Cedric, beneficiaries of this
one-sided conversation, cast each other a resigned
glance; the archer shook his head but Arturis appar-
ently didn't notice. The Druid laughed softly.
"No, not everyone can see it. But the Paladin's
blindness is  --  well, why bother to speak of it, since
such speech changes nothing? Though, if I could wish
a change in our company, one only, I would send those
two  --  Arturis and that archer elsewhere. Anywhere
else."
"Oh, Cedric is not so bad," Naitachal said mildly.
"I  --  oh, well," Raven replied. Gloom seemed to
settle on him, all at once. Terhaps not. All the same,
he is entirely too free with those arrows."
"He has not actually killed more game than we
would happily eat, you know; and as for the wolves, he
stopped shooting once they fled." He glanced at the
Druid, but could tell nothing from his face. 'Think on
that, why don't you?" Naitachal urged. "While I go and
rescue my poor 'prentice."
A short while later, with Gawaine at the fore, Ilya  -- 
who claimed to recognize the distant line of hills  --  at
his side, and Arturis safely on rear-guard, Naitachal
rode for a while by himself and let his mind wander.
He was roused by a hard, dark finger poking at his
forearm. Tem-Telek's face was grim indeed; the Bard
blinked at him and tried to collect his thoughts. "Your
pardon, Bard, but I may not have such an opportunity
again for who knows how long. I suggest to you,
strongly, that we find a way to be rid of that wretched
Paladin."
The Bard opened his mouth, but before he could
speak, Wulfgar had reined back to his other side and
demanded, "Here, you, Bard! Isn't life looking short
enough, without the kind of help Arturis is? Why don't
we dump him?"
The Bard let his head fall back and began to laugh.
"Ah, the minds of the great!" he managed finally.
"Never mind, my friends. I was not laughing at you, I
promise you that! As to this so-useful Paladin  --  well,
I will speak to him this evening. I cannot think he is
comfortable among us. Perhaps he only needs the
least of shoves to be pushed upon his way."
But when they finally halted for the night, at the
very northern edge of the woods, Arturis was not at all
eager to leave them. "No!" he announced loudly, and
flung his arms wide, nearly knocking down Ilya who
had come up behind him with a load of sticks. 'The
God has set a higher purpose for me than mere per-
sonal comfort, and that is to aid you in this quest! To
fail in my bounden duty  --  "
Doubtless he would have gone on as long as he had
breath, and ready tears already edged his voice; Naitachal
hastily forestalled him. "Yes, yes, yes, as you say, bounden
duty, of course, yes, I understand, it was only a thought for
your ease. Well! Yes! If you will have no thought for
yourself, then, why do you not go help fetch the water?"
Arturis opened his mouth, closed it without a word and
went looking for the buckets. The Bard glowered after
him, then turned away mumbling, "Bounden duty.
Bounden duty, my grandmothers feet!"
But the Paladin, for all his wildly dramatic
speeches, did seem to be sincere in his belief, the
Bard thought gloomily. It was enough to make him
feel the least, tiny bit sorry for the poor fellow, and
because of that, when he portioned out the watches,
he gave the first to Arturis.
It was cold out here between the northern edge of the
woods and the undulating, brown scrubby plain that
sloped up and up toward distant snow-tipped mountains.
Gawaine found himself uncomfortably chilled despite the
thickness of his blankets, and he had left on his
foot-wrappings and wrapped his toes in his spare shirt.
More man that, he was restless: always a little stiff from
sleeping on hard, cold ground and riding so many hours at
a time. He tried to remember the last time he had
practiced the mandolin and couldn't, and then wondered
if his hands would even move properly across the strings.
Tried to remember the last time they hadn't been so
miserably stiff that it was nearly impossible to make fists of
them the first hour or so he was awake of a morning. His
lower back ached, and there was a cold wind blowing
across his neck
He rolled to one side and drew up his knees, tugged
at the blanket to get it over his shoulders. The arm
under him was going numb. He sighed, rolled over the
other way, fought the blanket around him again, tried
to recall the lyrics to that war-song he'd sung in the
Moonstone, hoping the exercise might ease him into
sleep. But only fragments came back to him, and now
with his mind scurrying and chattering busily after the
rest of the tines, sleep was gone for good.
A small distance away, he could see Arturis sitting at
the fire, which still burned, though it had sunk a ways.
The Paladins shoulders and perfectly combed hair
were unmistakable, even in outline; he was apparently
staring into the flames or just beyond them, not mov-
ing at all.
He didn't move when Thunder and Star nickered
softly, or when one of the other horses at the opposite
end of the horse line began moving restlessly.
Gawaine came silently up onto one elbow, then pulled
the blanket snugly around his shoulders and got to his
feet. Thunder nickered again, and Star thudded into
him, snorting nervously.
Something was wrong, something  --  Gawaine
turned, picked out his Master, and hurried over to
grab his shoulder. Naitachal came awake and alert at
once. "Something out there," Gawaine whispered.
'The horses  --  that's odd," he added as he turned
back. The Paladin still hadn't moved. He did jump
convulsively, and yell in what was clearly surprise,
when Gawaine shouted out, "Wake up, die camp!"
Thunder screamed at nearly the same moment and
reared. With a yell of their own, half a dozen men
charged the clearing from six different places.
"Bandits!" Raven shouted. "Wake up!" He was on
his feet, staff held between his hands at the ready, and
the first man to come within striking range caught the
end under his chin. He went down in a boneless heap
and lay still. Raven leaped over him and went for the
man who was trying to break the bardling s horse line
and steal the horses, but before he could get there,
Thunder reared once more and knocked the would-be
robber flat. The man who had caught the Druids staff
on his chin came moaning to his hands and knees and
began to crawl away; Tem-Telek, with a horrid oath in
his own language, spitted the fellow.
Gawaine stared in brief horror at the limp body,
then forced his eyes away as he scooped up his strung
bow and fit an arrow to it. Cedric's idea  --  keep the
weapon ready throughout the night  --  but he'd have
done it anyway, after the wolves. His first shot went
wild; the second and third sent a dark, short man with
wild hair and tangled beard screaming and staggering
back into the woods. A moment later he heard him
crash to the ground and become blessedly silent.
If there were more than that six, they never showed
themselves; after four fell dead, the other two turned
and fled.
Chapter XII
"Well." Naitachal stalked over to the dying fire,
where he squatted and concentrated on feeding it
small sticks until it caught once more. He came part-
way up, looked around the clearing, grimaced with
obvious distaste. 'There is a mess here. Is there no one
who will clean it up?"
Cedric cleared his throat; Gawaine jumped and let
out an airless little squawk. The archer barely glanced
in his direction. "Apologies, lad; didn't mean to startle
anyone. Arturis, perhaps you can explain how the mess
came to be here in the first place?" Gawaine turned to
follow the archer's grim look. Arturis sat hunched over
his knees on the far side of the firepit, to all
appearances completely spent. Cedric folded his arms
across his chest and waited for a reply. The Paladin
looked up, his eyes narrowed and his color was high.
"Do you accuse me? You dare accuse a holy man of
consorting with such  --  such creatures?"
"Now, Cedric," Raven began mildly, but the archer
waved him to silence.
"Of consorting? Not necessarily. But I find it inter-
esting that it was your watch when those men attacked
us. In fact, Arturis, more than once I have wakened
during your watch  --  or shared one with you  --  and
you have been so still and so limp, one might think you
slept, instead of guarding as you ought."
Arturis gaped at him. Naitachal glanced over at the
Paladin and sent his eyes heavenward. 1 -- you dare]"
the Paladin spluttered finally, and he leaped to his
feet. "But what else can one expect of such a godless
man and such a godless company, that they do not see
what is there before them to be seen?"
"I see dead men," Cedric replied grimly. "Four of
them. Who were not part of our godless company, but
a godless company of their own."
The Bard stirred. 'They woke me when they
crossed the barrier, but with so much dry brush and,"
his nose wrinkled fastidiously, "and considering that
none of them has bathed in the past year or more,
from the message the wind brings me, I do wonder
myself that my barrier was the only warning."
There was a nasty little silence. Arturis looked from
one grim face to another, and his own showed nothing
but bewilderment. 'It wasn't  --  exactly the only warn-
ing," Gawaine volunteered. As one, the rest of the
company turned to look at him, and he stuttered, "I  -- 
I wasn't sleeping very well, and  --  and, well, I heard
Thunder, the  --  you know, Master, how he gets when
there are those about that he doesn't know."
Naitachal nodded once, sharply. "Restless. And
noisy enough to warn anyone already awake."
Wulfgar was bending over one of the men, peering
into his face. "I myself heard the brute, lad; wouldn't
ordinarily have wakened me, but I was only dozing
just then."
Arturis's eyes were shifting rapidly from one to an-
other of his companions, and now he began shaking
his head. "You  --  you ill-speak me, if you say that I
slept through the watches! I was praying, seeking an
answer from the God, how far this my quest follows
your own secular search. He vouchsafed me a vision,
and lo! I was unable to break free of it  --  "
"Which am I to suppose," Wulfgar broke in testily,
"that your god did not see the peril creeping upon you
and your godless companions, or that he did see but
did not care to warn you?" He made an uncouth noise
and turned to stalk away, but added across his shoul-
der, "I myself would prefer to worship a god who cares
for the welfare of those who pray to him."
"Blasphemer," Arturis hissed. 'The God did warn
me! But before I could declaim his warning, the boy
began yelling  --  and quite shattered my vision," he
added, staring at Gawaine in sulky discontent.
Gawaine turned away without even trying to come up
with a reply, and went over to help Wulfgar drag one
of the dead bandits out of the clearing.
Cedric looked around, met Naitachal's level gaze, and
both shrugged. Tem-Telek had turned his back on them
all, and Raven had vanished from camp somewhere in the
past moments. Wulfgar and Gawaine were dealing with
one of the bodies; Ilya had another by his feet and was
dragging him away from the firepit.
Silence for some time, except for the whispery sound of
doth being dragged over dusty ground, and the horses
shifting back and forth on their line as they settled down
once more. "Arturis," the Bard said softly, and the Paladin
jumped "Surely you are not happy in our company. We do
not worship your deity or -- byyour lights  -- respect him.
We are all obviously very different folk, but you alone
seem to have great difficulties in fitting in with the rest of
us. I will not blame you if you choose to leave andfind your
own way."
But Arturis lifted his chin and gazed at Naitachal,
and there was defiance in his eyes. 'Will you send me
into the night alone, with wolves and men abroad?"
Naitachal sighed heavily. "You must know all of us
better than that by now! You fool, of course we will not
force you away. I merely said  --  "
"My God has spoken, and his word is above yours.
Though I would not remain where I was not wanted.
But if you will not throw me out to die at the hands of
rough men, or by the teeth of demons and wolves,
then I will not leave," Arturis said flatly. He got to his
feet and stalked off into the darkness. Bard and archer
gazed at each other helplessly. And then Cedric
grinned broadly, and quite suddenly began to laugh.
"It is not amusing," the Bard said.
"Much you know," Cedric replied. He considered
this, laughed some more, and came over to the firepit,
lowering his voice cautiously. "Obviously we dare not
leave the man to hold a watch by himself again; one of
us will have to either sit up with him or remain awake
at his blankets. But I think I know how to get rid of
him during the hours we ride." He glanced cautiously
over his shoulder, lowered his voice and spoke rapidly.
Naitachal listened in silence, but a wide grin split his
face, and then he, too, began to chuckle.
The next morning, the Bard approached Arturis,
who eyed him warily across a saddled and partly laden
horse. "You know, Paladin, I fear we owe you an apol-
ogy." Tem-Telek and Wulfgar came upright from their
places at the fire and stared. Wulfgar would have spo-
ken, but Cedric reached across to touch his shoulder
and when the dwarf looked his way, Cedric shook his
head warningly.
"If you say so," the Paladin said shortly, but Nai-
tachal thought he could see pleasure in the man's eyes.
"After all, it is not often a man of your piety and
your strength comes along," the Bard went on. "And it
is only natural that the rest of us might  --  well, resent
is possibly too strong a word, but you take my
meaning, I am certain."
"It is something a man such as myself must live
with," Arturis said, and he shook his head sadly.
Gawaine, who was busy checking Thunders legs, bit
the corners of his mouth to keep from laughing aloud,
and he could see Cedric bend down, ostensibly to deal
with the fire but actually to clap a hand across his
mouth. 'That I am stronger than most, and  --  not
more holy, of course, but mat the God has singled me
out for  --  "
"Yes, yes, quite," Naitachal said quickly. "My con-
cern, you see," he lowered his voice a little, "is that the
dangers against us have multiplied in the past few
days, and the road north is growing unsafe. And  -- 
well, look at us. None of us are so weapon-crafty as
you, and some like myself and the bardling, and the
peasant lad, we have no real skill in fighting at all. So I
wondered how you would feel about riding in the fore,
to scout out the dangers for us?" Arturis gazed at him
blankly, and Naitachal smiled a deprecating smile,
spreading his arms wide. "I would not blame you, of
course, if you said you would not. After all, we have
not given you an easy time of it recently, and you
would be within your rights to say to me nay, and
rudely at that."
"Ah." The Paladin shook himself. "But for a godly
man, a moral and upright one who serves the God and
seeks purity and the True Way  --  oh, no, Bard, that
might be your way, but it would never be mine! I will
do what you ask," he added grandly.
"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," Naitachal
murmured fervently. "We will be some moments see-
ing to the packing still; and of course, it would never
do for you to get too far ahead of us  --  "
"Well, if I am to scout," Arturis began doubtfully, "I
should be a fair ways ahead of you."
"But not so far mat you cannot call upon us for aid,
if you need it," Naitachal added quietly. The Paladin
snorted inelegantly.
"Aid! The God is my aid in all things, and so it
should be for all who are pure in heart!" He threw the
last of his goods onto the horse, and threw himself into
the saddle, drawing his sword as he caught up the
reins. "I shall ride along the road north, and by afl that
is right and holy, I shall protect you all with my very
life!"
It spoiled the effect a little that he had to wait for
Gawaine to come and undo the hobble ropes that
bound the horse's front feet. Arturis feigned not to
notice anything but a spot some distance away, and
when the bardling stepped back, he urged the horse
forward at a canter, and shortly vanished down the
road. There was a long, deep silence as the hoofbeats
died away, followed by the sound of many laughing.
They hadn't lost him entirely, of course; as Nai-
tachal said, it would have been too much to hope for
that. Now and again they could hear him in the dis-
tance, flushing game, and once bellowing out a
warning as he found men waiting at the side of the
road. At that, Cedric sighed and drew out his bow and
an arrow. "I suppose I really had better go and rescue
the fellow. Otherwise, he'll probably find a way to
come back and haunt us all."
"What a horrid thought," the Bard said, with an
affected shudder. "Go, then, but be careful."
"Ho  --  you should take company to watch your
back," Tem-Telek said. "Wulfgar, go and aid him. And
call if you need me as well."
"Your wish, my command, Master," the dwarf said
easily, and drew his axe as he spurred after the archer.
The rest of the company came up a short while later
to find several men dead along both sides of the road
where it rose above the rest of the landscape and there
were deep ditches. Cedric and Wulfgar waited for
them; there was no sign of Arturis. The archer
grinned. "Said he had a vision, more trouble ahead, he
would go and  --  "
"Enough," the Bard said firmly. "Bad enough I
must listen to Arturis talk that way, there is no need
for you to quote him."
"Yes." Cedric sighed. "The only difficulty, really, is
that he has frightened all the game away from the
road."
"And that," Raven said, "is the best reason so far for
sending Arturis on ahead" It was the first thing he had
said since kte the night before  --  and for the first time
Gawaine could remember, the Druid sounded abso-
lutely cheerful.
Arturis came back to join them at sundown, his face
flushed and his hair rumpled. He chattered on for a
while, and finally was persuaded to go with Ilya, who
claimed to know the land hereabouts very well.
'There is a stream just a little that way, and in it, very
large fish. I can catch a fish for us, if you like, sirs." He
gave the Druid a doubtful look from under his thatch
of black hair and turned to Naitachal. The Bard nod-
ded.
"I would not mind fish. And perhaps Raven will not
mind quite so much if it is fish instead of deer or bird."
"I will not be baited," the Druid said mildly. "But if
there is a stream, then there may be cresses, and I
might also find root for flour. We could use bread."
"We could use food," Naitachal corrected him. "Of
all lands. Ilya, how much farther to this village of
yours?'
The peasant considered this in silence, finally
shrugged. "I would need two full days afoot to reach it.
With these horses, it may be we can come there by
evening tomorrow. I do not promise this. But  -- yes, it
may be."
He led Arturis and Raven around a stand of willow
and off toward the setting sun. The Bard sighed and
sank to the ground. "It may be I will strangle him if he
does not give me a straight answer."
Cedric looked up from the rock ring he was build-
ing for the fire, and he grinned. "I think, Bard, that
you have had enough of travel for the moment."
"I think you are not wrong," Naitachal grumbled.
He stretched cautiously, mumbling to himself when
joints and muscles protested. Finally, he stretched out
his legs before him and watched Gawaine, who had
unsaddled the horses, hobbled and tethered them,
and was now running a curry brush over Star's black
flanks. The bardling was coming along, he thought.
Still far from ready to strike out on his own, but Nai-
tachal thought he could finally begin to see the Bard in
the boy. Just keep him away from Arturis and his kind.
Then again  --  of all die things the Bard had
intended to expose Gawaine to on this journey, the
Druid and the Paladin would have been the last on his
list. The Druid and his influence on the boy were still
a question mark; but Naitachal was nearly certain that
Gawaine had already begun to question whether
Arturis was what he said, whether the man's god and
religion were what he said, whether what Arturis
offered should be swallowed whole, or taken apart and
examined.
Naitachal knew something himself about the quest
for truth  --  not the Paladin's Truth, nor yet the Truth
the Druids normally pushed, but the one a Bard
sought all his life, through his music, his magic, just
from living and experiencing life. With any luck,
Gawaine would come to realize that what he sought
would be a very long search indeed  --  and worth
every moment of it.
He roused himself as the bardling finished groom-
ing the horses and came over with an armful of their
goods, the mandolin case dangling by its strap from
one hand "Where did you wish to sleep tonight, Mas-
ter?" Naitachal pointed, Gawaine carried the things,
set the mandolin carefully aside and dumped the blan-
kets. 'Think of it," he said, and fetched a little sigh.
"We might have a real bed to sleep in tomorrow."
"Aye, we might." Wonderful thought. "But don't set
your hopes too high; consider our friend Ilya. He does
not look to me as though he knows what a properly
soft, clean bed is."
"Ohhhh." The bardling groaned, knelt to spread out
his blanket, and set the mandolin atop it.
"I just warn you," Naitachal said mildly. "So you
aren't too disappointed."
"Believe me," Gawaine said, "anything will be bet-
ter than rocks and tree roots. Anything at all."
The Bard laughed. "I hope those words don't come
back to haunt you. Where did you put the other
instruments?"
"There. With the food bags." Gawaine pointed.
"Stay, rest a moment. I will fetch them. I want a
word with Tem-Telek anyway." And I hope you didn't
call down one of those minor curses on yourself, boy,
he added to himself as he walked away. Anything at all,
indeed! Nothing like asking for trouble, was there?
How much trouble, he couldn't have possibly fore-
seen.
Late the next afternoon, when they rode into Ilya's
village, a deep foreboding struck the Bard, though at
first he could see no reason for his unease. There were
peasants everywhere: abandoning their plows and dig-
ging sticks and coming at a run to see who came
calling; coming from drafty-looking little huts, and
from a pen where a clutch of young pigs were rolling
in mud. And then from all directions, calling Ilya's
name excitedly.
The Bard looked all around. Odd, there seemed to
be no lord's house  --  no mansion, of course, but there
should have been at least a house better made than
the rest, larger certainly, where the village master
lived. Gawaine, who was riding at his side, leaned over,
his brow puckered, and asked in a low voice, 'There's
nothing here but people like Ilya! That isn't right, is
it?" Naitachal shook his head, but before he could say
anything, they had reached the square  --  a broad
stretch of muddy ground as opposed to the long nar-
row stretch of muddy ground that was the street. Ilya
drew his horse to a halt and threw himself from the
saddle; he was surrounded at once by farmers and
herders and the muddy boys who had been in the pen
with the pigs.
"Oooooh! Oh, Katya, lookl Look at his lovely red
hair!" Gawaine looked down, and his jaw dropped.
Naitachal looked all around their horses and closed his
eyes. The two of them were surrounded, at least two
deep, by young women.
Chapter XHI
"Oh, my," the Bard breathed reverently; there was
a gleam in his eye. But Gawaine stared in wide-eyed
horror at the sea of apple-cheeked, blond-braided, sol-
idly constructed peasant maidenry surrounding
Thunder, and seemed beyond hearing.
Ilya waded back through the mob of young women,
caught hold of his knee, and shouted out happily,
"Now, my friend, do not be stuffy, I have told my
uncles all about you, and you must come down and
meet all my lovely cousins!"
"Your  --  cousins?' Gawaine said weakly.
"Go on," Naitachal urged from his other side, and
shoved him off-balance. "Nothing could possibly be
worse than sleeping on hard ground, after all  --  go
and be friendly!" Gawaine shot him a nasty look; the
Bard smiled blandly and gestured. "You are being
stayed for," he said pointedly. Gawaine drew a deep
breath, fixed a smile on his lips, and slid from Thun-
der's back. The concentrated odor of onions nearly
dropped him in his tracks, and only a determined
effort kept the smile in place as Ilya clapped him on
the back and turned him to face the expectant sea of
young women. At ground level, they were even more
daunting  --  the smallest of them would make two of
him, and they were one and all smiling at him in a
most unnerving manner. "My cousins," Ilya
announced cheerfully, and he pointed as he raided off
names: "Kayta, and her sister Marya, and the daugh-
ters of my uncle Ivan, Marya and Katya ..." Gawaine
blinked at him in astonishment; unless his hearing was
going bad, most of the girls were named Marya or
Katya  --  or if there was some subtle variation, it was
beyond him. Hard to tell, when he was being eyed like
that. "And the daughters of my uncle Ivanya," Ilya fin-
ished triumphandy, "Katya, Marya, and Greta!"
Twenty or so young women and one boy gazed at him
expectantly. Gawaine smiled weakly.
"Ah. Greta! What an  --  unusual name!"
"Well, they are triplets," Ilya replied at once. "We
are not so far removed from civilization as all that, you
know  --  of course they all have different names!"
"Gawaine," Greta cooed, and fluttered pale eye-
lashes at him. He held his breath, nodded. "Oooh, you
do have the most beautiful hair, all the color of carrots
and so curly!" One pudgy hand reached out toward
the hair that had fallen across his forehead; another
slapped hers away. Onion. I shall never eat another so
long as I live. They must use them for perfume!
"For shame, Greta, he did not give you permission!"
"Now, Katya, he spoke to me," Greta replied in a
very injured voice. "And not to you."
"Oh, but he has not had the opportunity to speak to
poor little Katya." The slapper pouted and edged
neatly between Greta and the bardling. "Ooooh, but
his eyes are such a pretty green!"
Ilya beamed. "I knew they would like you, my
friend."
"You  -- you did?"
"Well, even if you had been quite plain, which you
are not, of course!" He leaned close and murmured,
"After all, it is difficult for the girls here within the vil-
lage. If a man is not unwedable because he is an uncle,
it is because he is a cousin." Wed? If Gawaine had not
been held up by so many warm, solid young women,
his knees would have given way. Ilya flung his arms
wide. "Such wealth! Such a splendid choice for any
man, how I could envy you  -- !"
"Now, cousin," one of the Maryas  --  or was it a
Katya?  --  put in with a shrill giggle. "Go away, and let
us set the young man at his ease. You make him
uncomfortable."
"Ooh, yes!" someone well back in the crowd
squealed. "Look, he has gone all red in the face!"
"Oh, like his hair\" someone else cried out, and the
whole pack dissolved in shrill giggles. Gawaine looked
about wildly, but Naitachal and Star were no longer at
his side; somehow, in the past few moments, the Bard
had left him and he hadn't even seen him go. Master!
I'll get you for this! There  --  Naitachal had reined
Star in so he could dismount; Gawaine could see him
in earnest conversation with one of the older men. /'//
get you  --  if I don't die of onion first! If he did, he'd
haunt the Bard for the rest of his very long life.
In the meantime, the girls were all trying to talk to
him at the same time  --  those who weren't whispering
and giggling with each other and eyeing him sidelong.
/ knew what Ilya was  --  why didn't I think it through,
what his village must be like? He knew the type, of
course; he'd been country himself, if not small-village
peasant. These should have an overlord somewhere
 --  obviously not living in this village, unless he was
less lord than most, for there was nothing in sight but
pig sheds, tanning sheds, the piled-dirt-slanted-doors
configuration that meant root cellar (probably full to
the brim with onions, Gawaine thought gloomily), and
huts where people must live but that in truth didn't
look much better than those storage and beast sheds
in the middle of the small pig fields. He looked over
the sea of solid, massive, blonde pulchritude, and a
rude old saw of his fathers came back to him: "Strong
like bull, dumb like ox, hitch to plow when horse dies,
good hips for babies..."
Be fair, he urged himself. They were probably nice
people, most such villagers were  --  share their last
loaf with you (or their last onion), give you shelter (and
a marriagable daughter). He was breathing a little too
fast and despite the cool afternoon breeze could feel
sweat breaking out on his brow.
One of the Katyas  --  a Marya?  --  slipped her arm
through his and patted his cheek. "You aren't paving
attention, you silly boy. I asked if you would like to
take a walk with me this evening." Several of the other
girls began to protest, the rest to giggle and whisper
among themselves.
"Walk." He blinked as she leaned close to his ear to
whisper; her breath made his eyes water.
"Walk. Or do you not know how, and instead ride
that great horse all the time?' More giggles. "There is
a very nice field 1 would like to show you, this very eve-
ning." Someone behind him gasped.
"Katya, how dare you?"
"I asked!" Katya shouted over his shoulder, blowing
a gust of onion all over him. Gawaine freed his arm
and coughed into cupped hands. Katya and half a
dozen others began pounding him on the back with
strong, meaty hands. "I have a right to ask, just
because I thought of it first, and you did not  --  oh,"
she finished in a small voice as he looked up question-
ingly. She smiled then. The wolves smiled a lot like
that, Gawaine thought nervously, and now his hands
were sweating, too. "What do you say, Gawaine of the
lovely red locks?" Her voice had gone all coy again.
Who told these girls that fluttering eyelashes was at-
tractive? He had never seen anything sillier, and with
so many of them, he could almost feel the air swirling
around him, the way they were fanning it. "Will you
walk with me this evening, across the fields, and tell
me of your world?"
They were all waiting. With baited breath, Gawaine
thought gloomily. Waiting, though, it suddenly and
unnervingly occurred to him, like so many cats waiting
for a single mouse to poke his head from the hole....
Trap.
"Urn. Uh. Well." He had never thought faster in his
life. "My Master will need his musical instruments
readied for this evening, so we may sing and play for
you all," he improvised rapidly, "and I must make cer-
tain of the strings, or he will beat me."
"Ohhhhh," from a dozen or more throats, and one
of the Maryas ran her fingers down his near arm.
"Oooh, not beat such lovely, lovely skin? Oh, what a
horrid and cruel man he must be, this Master!"
"Um, well, he does not usually  --  I mean  --  "
"Oh," the Marya said, and leaned close to his other
ear. "If it is that you do not wish to walk with my cousin
Karya, I will meet you at sundown. There is a place  --  "
"Well, ah, I  --  "
"Marya!" Another of the girls grabbed her arms and
pulled her away, but before Gawaine could catch his
breath, she had neatly interposed herself in the other
girl's place. Closer to him, if anything. "Pay no heed to
her; she is a terribly forward girl," this one murmured.
"My uncle is a strong man. If you wish to be rid of this
Master, he will aid you. Let me take you to him, and
while he is dealing with the man, you and I can stroll
about the village  --  there is a field of flowers, just over
there, and from it the sunset is so lovely  --  "
"Ah, yes, I am certain it is." Gawaine bent his head
to cough and surreptitiously blotted his brow. "But  -- 
but the Master is my own uncle, and I am quite fond
of him. Besides, my father who is his brother would be
greatly distressed if something befell his brother."
"Oh. A brother. Family. Oh." Girls looked at each
other and frowned, as though uncertain how to con-
tinue. The only Greta (so far as Gawaine could tell,
anyway), giggled then and tugged at his arm. "Why do
you not come with me? You must be tired and thirsty,
there is my house just yonder, and my mother will give
you soup while I fetch fresh milk for you."
"Why, how kind of you to offer. But I am not hungry
or thirsty just yet, and  --  "
"My mother raises the finest pigs in all the village,"
the Greta topped him, and a discontented murmur
ran all around them. "And her pasture backs upon the
field of flowers my cousin just spoke of. I am certain I
could show you a much finer view than she  --  "
"Oh, yes, well, how very kind." Gawaine could see
Ilya a short distance away, talking to one of the grubbi-
est old men he had ever seen  --  save for the two even
grubbier old men flanking him  --  and the boy, as
though aware of the bardlings gaze, turned and smiled
broadly, then spread his arms in a very wide shrug.
Gawaine only just managed not to shake his fist in
reply. Think, he reminded himself hastily. The young
women were pressed against him, and he was uncom-
fortably aware of the presence of more (fortunately
clad) female flesh than he had ever felt before in his
young life; two of them were fingering his hair again,
and now someone was running chubby fingers lightly
along the back of his neck 'Well, yes, what a wonder-
ful offer! And I cannot thank you all enough, but my
Master has need of me just now."
"I heard no call," one of the Maryas  --  a Katya?  -- 
replied wonderingly.
Gawaine shook his head, winced as several strong
fingers caught in snags of his hair. "I instinctively^efe
it," he said.
"Oooh, what a wonderful gift!" a Katya  --  or possi-
bly a Marya said, clapping her hands together. "How
seldom it is we poor girls see a man with such sensitiv-
ity!"
"But your hair is so tangled, you must let me comb
it," another murmured against his ear. I thought I had
lost my sense of smell for a moment there, Gawaine
thought as onion washed over him in waves.
"Ah  --  yes  --  well, no, you cannot do that, it is  --  a
 --  yes, it is an oath I have taken, not to comb my hair
until a certain event comes to pass," he improvised
rapidly.
"An oath  --  ah, perhaps," another said, "until you
have wed?" The whole group dissolved into shrill gig-
gling and began to whisper to each other. Gawaine
gaped at them in open horror, but rapidly composed
his face as women turned back to him.
Remember how the squire used to be rid of men,
that voice he used. "Well," he said, brightly and firmly
at once, "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to meet
all of you, and I trust we shall have an opportunity to
all meet later." AH is the word for it, he thought fer-
vently. "But I really must go now, so that there is such
an opportunity, otherwise my Master will not give me
any time to myself." Discontented young women
gazed at him; some pouted openly, none of them
moved. He added, "Really. But later  --  "
"Of course!" One of them clapped her hands
together and jumped up and down. "It is not as
though he will vanish overnight, girls! If you will not
go walking with Katya this evening, though, fair
Gawaine, then do think of me, and remember that I
was the next to ask if you would wf'k with me."
"I  --  well." He spread his hands and shrugged help-
lessly. "It is for my Master to say  --  "
"Oh, but surely, he does not take up all your time?"
another asked, and batted very round blue eyes at
him.
"And if he does ..." said another, and dissolved into
giggles before she could get another word out.
"And if he does, you can always sneak out when he
is asleep," two others finished for her, in chorus.
"Well. Well, yes, but that is a greater difficulty, since
he sets me a task each evening, and if it is not done
when he wakens ..." He pulled such a very grim face
that two of the girls who were still running their fin-
gers through his curls skipped back, squealing.
Gawaine took quick advantage of the opening to wade
toward Thunder, who stood just out of reach a few
short paces  --  a few very solid bodies  --  away.
"Oh, how dreadful  -- !"
"  --  awful  --  !"
"Horrid!" one of them finished loudly, then bent
her head and clapped both hands across it as the rest
shushed her.
A moment later, a gruff male voice shouted out,
"And what is this? Do the cattle drop milk in the buck-
ets by themselves, and does the milk turn itself to
cheese?" Shrieks and giggles enough to set his ears
ringing; Gawaine found himself suddenly able to
move and breathe once more as girls scattered in all
directions. But as first one and then another passed
him, they paused to hiss against one ear or the other:
"If I please you, a walk this evening?"
"If my looks gladden your heart, will you walk with
me?'
"Remember, I asked you first!"
"Oh, Katya, you lie, I asked him first!"
"No, I did!"
"Let them argue, sweet, while you and I go forth
this evening. I know of the loveliest walk  --  "
The older man cast him a furious glare and
shouldered by without speaking. The smell of him
was nearly enough to knock the poor bardling flat,
even after such a surfeit of onion: He could not
have bathed in months, or even possibly years.
Gawaine mumbled a very uncouth remark under
his breath. As if I had encouraged them!
One thing was certain  --  walks were out, and so
was this field, mere mention of which set them off the
way it did. Any Bard or bardling worth his salt knew at
least a handful of songs about such places and such
walks, after which the parties were as closely bound as
if the words had been spoken over them and the mar-
riage knot firmly tied. By all the gods, including that
Paladin's, I'd rather die, Gawaine thought devoutly.
His knees had finally stopped trembling; he gath-
ered up Thunders reins and set off to join the Bard
and the rest of his companions. A grinning Ilya came
across to clap him on the back once more. "So! How
do you like my village?'
"Um. Ah  -- very nice."
Ilya chuckled appreciatively, nudged him stealthily
in the ribs. "Very nice, yes! And such lovely, ah  -- 
scenery, don't you agree?" he added meaningfully with
another nudge.
"Oh. Ah  -- yes. Of course. Very nice."
"We know how a woman should look, hereabouts;
not like those skinny poor creatures to the south. Any
of my cousins is solid enough that when you hug her
you know you have hugged something  --  and on a
cold winter night, what better than two blankets and
such a wonderful  --  heh  --  bolster?" Gawaine backed
off hastily before Ilya could elbow him again. 7 wonder
how those girls like being thought of as spare blankets
and bolsters? he thought in sudden indignation; his
shoulders sagged then. Probably think they were
being given the greatest compliment possible. He
blinked; Ilya had been babbling on, but now he looked
up expectantly. "I understand," Ilya said, nodding sym-
pathetically. He laid a hand on the bardling's arm. "So
much beauty, so unexpectedly, my mind would be in a
whirl also. If you need to get away this evening  --  you
know"  --  he winked broadly  --  "I will do all I can to
distract the Bard. If you wish it."
"Oh." Gawaine forced a smile. "Well. I will  --  ah  -- 
certainly keep that in mind."
"I am so glad you like my village," Ilya went on ear-
nestly. Gawaine began to look around, openly
desperate for Naitachal  --  or anyone who might res-
cue him. As if in answer to a prayer, Cedric came up.
"Ilya, the man who lives there wants to speak with
you, a matter of his hides and the coin you got for
them?' Ilya glanced at the door in question and nod-
ded.
"Oh! Then, I must go at once. That is my uncle Ilya
and it would not do to keep him waiting. Remember,
though," he added meaningfully, and winked at
Gawaine once more. Cedric waited until the peasant
had vanished through the black opening into the win-
dowless little hut, then chuckled
"Remember?"
"I have already forgotten," Gawaine said grimly.
"Get me away from here."
"Away? How far?"
'Take that silly grin from your face," Gawaine
replied, too upset to hold his usual courtesy for the
archers greater years and undeniably greater talent
with a bow. "Portsmith would be preferable at the
moment  --  but wherever my Master is will do."
Unfortunately, there were four of the young women
in the house with the Bard, two bringing him refresh-
ment while the other two stood against the back wall
of the room and giggled behind chubby little hands.
Naitachal merely glanced at the girls and then at his
apprentice and remarked under his breath, "Serves
you fair for your unthinking remark last night. Next
time, watch how your words come out."
Gawaine groaned very softly and held his head in
his hands, but all four girls immediately crowded
solicitously around him, and a babble of questions  -- 
and the accompanying fragrance of onion  --  smote
him. "Bard, is he well?"
"Gawaine, you are not ill, are you?"
"Sister! A great, strong lad such as he, ill?"
"I but asked, sister! Bard, is he  --  "
"Yes, yes, yes!" Gawaine stayed where he was, this
time to hide a smile. Naitachal sounded as harassed as
he himself felt, and he sounded much as he did when
he was trying to shut Arturis up. "Everything is fine  -- 
my apprentice is fine."
The smile faded; there was absolutely nothing
funny about the situation. Wonderful, Gawaine
thought wearily. He might have at least said I had
some dread disease, preferably something that could
be spread about, particularly by close contact! Well,
but unless he had greatly misjudged his Master all
these years, Naitachal wouldn't actually abandon him
to the tender mercies of this bevy of plump beauties.
Not that he wouldn't have his fun first. His idea of fun,
anyway. Gawaine bit back a groan and, greatly daring,
brought his head up once more. Four young women
were eyeing him closely, but as he looked at them,
they squealed and giggled shrilly, and blessedly scat-
tered.
The hut itself was windowless and dark, but still far
from airtight. Fortunately. Gawaine wondered how
long he could hold his breath. The Bard nudged him
in the ribs with a sharp elbow. The girls were gone,
though he could hear them outside, and what must be
their parents were outside, conversing rapidly just past
an unusually broad doorway that led into a small
fenced area holding an enormous pig and a number of
piglets. Beyond that, there was a slightly larger fenced
area where a bony cow and two goats grazed. The two
older folks came back toward the house and the rea-
son for the oversized entry became obvious: the wife,
at least, could never have made it through an ordinary
doorway, and the husband had not much less girth
than she. "Think," Naitachal murmured against his
ear, "what you would have to look forward to in a few
short years. They say many women become their
mothers, given time." Gawaine cast him a look of pur-
est horror; the Bard grinned.
A shrill shout from well out in the cow pasture, and
the couple turned aside to see what the matter was.
"Short?" Gawaine sent his eyes toward the low ceiling.
"Short years? Two days in this pkce will be more than
all my previous life!"
"Never mind, we have a moment," the Bard said
soothingly. He glanced toward the doorway and patted
his apprentice on the shoulder. 'That was a bit rough,
wasn't it? And unkind of me, I know."
"Yes," Gawaine said grimly.
'The look on your face, though! My poor unworldly
apprentice, did you not know what sort of women
such a village breeds?"
"And how would I have learned this?"
"A little worldly experience  --  which," the Bard
added cheerfully "I am seeing that you get. Well, relax
a little, Gawaine. I promise I will not leave you alone
with any of them, if I can help it. Do avoid being alone
with any of them, if you can." Gawaine turned to look
at him, and the Bard smiled
"Alone  --  with any of them? Are you mad?"
"Yes, well. I see you have already gleaned the
importance of avoiding  --  compromising situations,
shall we say?"
"Yes. Let us say that."
"We will stay here the night, but no longer; Ilya will
guide us to the valley tomorrow early. Watch your face
when the farmers brother comes back in."
"How am I to know which is the brother?"
"Or any of the unwed men," Naitachal said
patiently. "Many of whom will come for soup tonight,
to see the outsiders and to hear music, which I have
promised from both of us. Most of these bachelor men
do not bathe, or wash their clothing or their bedding
until high summer."
"Ah."
"Compose your face, here comes the farmer and
one of his daughters! Of course not; a man could die of
drafts across damp bedding, you know! At least, they
know it, and act accordingly."
"Ahhh  --  ah, sir." Gawaine managed to pull himself
together enough to scramble to his feet and extend
both hands for the older man to clasp between rough
and chapped ones. "Thank you for your kind hospital-
ity." The man nodded, turned as his wife came in,
stepping aside to let one of her daughters pass with a
heavy crockery bowl on a painted wooden tray. "And
soup  --  onion soup." Gawaine kept his voice deter-
minedly bright as a by-now familiar fragrance hit him
from several directions. "What a surprise! And how
very, very kind."
Chapter XIV
Naitachal and Gawaine performed later  --  or, at
least, Naitachal did, and Gawaine attempted to. There
was so much whispering and giggling throughout that
it quite put him off his stride, and he had to put in
extra measures of strumming more than once while he
recalled the words, or read die Bard's exaggerated lip-
ping of them across the crowded, torch-lit square. His
hands were stiff, as though it had been a year instead
of merely days since he had last properly practiced,
and after only two songs, his fingertips began to throb
from pressing strings to the board. Fortunately, his
Master was lenient with him for what had been surely
his worst performance in all his four years. Easier than
Gawaine could be on himself; he could have crawled
from the dusty square into the night, and never come
back.
The villagers didn't seem to notice his slips; prob-
ably it was the first entertainment they'd had in years,
and he was all too unhappily aware that as far as the
village maidens were concerned, anything he did sim-
ply shone with perfection.
Their traveling companions came with the rest of
the village for the concert, and they spoke briefly
afterward, before splitting up and going to the individ-
ual houses where they would be sheltered for the
night. "We leave very early," the Bard said as the
square finally began to empty. "So I suggest any of you
who might otherwise sit up gossiping and drinking
with your hosts forego that pleasure."
"Pleasure," Tem-Telek said fastidiously. "Do you
know what they make their liquor from here?"
"Onions?" Gawaine asked in a small voice. The
lizardman snorted.
"Worse soil  --  from ugly brown tubers!"
"Yes, but they drop small onions in the cup," Raven
put in, "with the liquor."
Arturis stirred. "Well, I certainly do not need such a
warning, since I do not indulge in such an unwhole-
some substance as  --  "
"Yes, yes, we don't doubt it," Naitachal broke in,
and under his breath added, "Why does it not surprise
me he does not drink?" Aloud, and with a sidelong
glance to make certain none of the villagers were
within hearing of his very low voice, he added, "And I
would avoid the young women, as well. If you would
press on tomorrow, that is."
'They are not likely to speak with either of us,"
Tem-Telek said, a wave of his hand taking in himself
and his valet.
"I would not wager that, sir  --  not in this place."
Cedric grinned, Raven cast up his eyes. Arturis merely
looked puzzled.
"Well, but I was asked to take a walk this evening to
explain about the God, and the quest he has set before
me  --  why do you laugh?" he demanded "Bard, your
apprentice needs instruction from you on the defer-
ence due one such as myself...." His voice died away
as he realized the Bard was grinning broadly. And so
were Cedric, Tem-Telek, and Wulfgar.
"I would avoid the young women." Naitachal wiped
his eyes and chuckled.
Arturis gave him a long, dubious look, but finally
nodded reluctantly. "Of course, one such as myself -- "
"Yes, yes, of course. I believe your host is awaiting
you; perhaps he also would learn something of your
quest?" Naitachal gestured across the square. Arturis
turned and peered into the gloom  --  with the torches
guttering out, it was getting hard to make out individ-
ual faces. He finally shrugged and went. Cedric
clapped a hand over his mouth.
"For shame, sir Bard! A perfect opportunity, and
see how you wasted it!"
Naitachal was still grinning, and his eyes were wick-
edly bright. "Yes. But at what cost to my own soul to
put a man in such peril as that? I could not do it,
tempted though I was. Where do you sleep this
night?"
'The archer and I have a corner in the house of
Ilya's uncle Ilya," Raven answered for them both. He
considered this, shook his head doubtfully. "Do they
know only seven names in all? I would swear in this
entire village there are no more names than that."
"What matter, since they all look the same anyway?"
Cedric laughed cheerfully. He clapped the Druid on
the back and they set off. Tem-Telek smothered a
yawn.
"Wulfgar, have you my knives?"
"Master, of course. And my own." The dwarf
glanced at the empty square at the few dim outlines
farther up the street, lowered his voice anyway.
"Impolite, to distrust offered hospitality. All the
same  --  "
"Polite, impolite  -- " The Bard shrugged. "Who can
say what hospitality means in a place like this, so far
from anything any of us know  --  save, perhaps,
Raven?" He cast his apprentice a cheerfully malicious
glance. "And when nothing more than a walk across
cowpats and mushrooms and damp grass equals
betrothal  -- "
"Don't," Gawaine implored. "Please don't!"
"It was a jest, bardling. Besides, have I not already
agreed to let you sleep against the wall, with me
between you and whatever  --  but I see the subject
distresses you. Come, they surely rise with the sun in
such a place as this; we must be keeping them up long
past their usual hour."
Gawaine groaned as he trudged in the Bard's wake.
He himself would not sleep the entire night; he was
certain of it.
He did sleep, but very poorly indeed, and his few
fitful moments were broken by nightmares  --  most a
replay of his arrival in Ilya's village, though there were
other horrors, nearly as dreadful. He could only recall
one of those the next morning, but in daylight it held
no terror, and was now merely a puzzle: something to
do with an enormous, white and fanged cloud that
swooped low across him and sent him falling into snow.
It had been decidedly odd, sleeping within four
walls and under a roof; most unpleasant to share such
quarters with constant chill drafts and the by-now
nearly unbearable odor of onions: cooked onions,
heavily herbed onion soup, raw onions which their
host had eaten like apples die whole evening.
Ilya was waiting for them, mounted on the horse he
had taken from the Slavers' wagon, when they stum-
bled into the first rays of a rising sun and a very cool
morning. He waited nervously for them to saddle up
and stow their goods. A silent crowd of villagers had
gathered by the time the company was mounted, in-
cluding a bevy of tearful young women. "You will
come back this way?" one of them asked tentatively,
but half a dozen others vigorously shushed her.
"Ill fortune, to speak of such things!" one of them
hissed, and the men who stood nearby and had heard
the interchange glared all of them into silence.
Naitachal thanked their hosts very prettily, avoided any
comment about return trips. For some reason the
mere idea of return seemed to cause a
disproportionate upset among the older villagers.
The sun climbed the short distance from horizon
into thick, gray cloud that now covered most of the
sky. "I hope that isn't an omen," Wulfgar growled.
Tem-Telek shushed him. They ordered^ themselves
out, then: Ilya at the fore, Raven at his side, the Bard
and his apprentice, then Cedric and the Paladin. The
lizardman and his valet brought up the rear. With
Ilya's horse already cantering, space opened quickly
between the pairs of riders.
They rode past the last houses at a near gallop,
slowed only a little as they turned onto a deeply rutted
cart track. Gawaine was mumbling to himself, "Come
back this way? I'll die first."
"Now, apprentice," the Bard murmured, "speak not
ill-omened words. Besides with so much open land all
about us, why should it be necessary for us to return to this
village? Unless you would like to restock there  --  ?"
"I think," Gawaine said, clipping his words, "that I
have enough onion bread and onion pasties and onion
pie in my bag to last me for two lifetimes." He cast
Naitachal a dark, sidelong look and added, "Master."
"But, bardling, you took none of the onion pudding,
or the herbed goat cheese." Cedric had ridden up next
to him, unnoticed. Gawaine closed his eyes and
shuddered; the archer laughed quietly. "I took a net of
the cheese, should you change your mind. It has the
most interesting aroma  --  I think they may have put
onions in it." He stood in his stirrups to gaze ahead,
and turned to look behind them, to where Arturis was
regailing Wulfgar and Tem-Telek with some adventure
or other. "It is a wonder to me he does not fall from
that horse, the way he flings his arms about," the
archer said thoughtfully. Naitachal turned to look, and
turned back shaking his head.
"More a wonder to me that our scaly friend doesn't
knock him from it"
"Hah," Cedric replied "He is noble; he would tell
Wulfgartodoitforhim.Look -- we seem to have run out
of even the cart track." Ilya led them on, across a meadow,
over a rock-strewn slope, and through another meadow
covered in very low, waxy-petaled yellow flowers and a
deep red, ground-hugging plant that looked like rust
rather than vegetation from even a short distance. There
was not so much as a goat trail here. "I think I will go ask
how much farther this valley is." Cedric touched his
horse's flanks and rode on ahead, catching up first to
Raven and then to flya, who first shrugged, then shook his
head, and finally nodded and pointed toward a low, brown
hill some distance ahead
It was nearly midday when they reached the crest
of the hill and rode along a face that sloped gently
toward the north. A short distance on, the face took a
steeper angle down, flya halted, let the company catch
up to him. He pointed down the ridge.
'There  --  can you see where the trail is? You can
see the head of it just there."
"I can," Raven said.
"Good. And that way  --  " He waved an arm,
snatching it back almost as soon as he'd pointed out
across cool midday air, generally toward the north.
Almost as though he feared something would catch
hold of his extended finger  --  or bite it off.
They turned as one and looked At least two leagues
away, in the midst of a brown, rolling land dotted here and
there with patches of grass or the rusty red plant that
covered most of the last meadow, was an enormous blotch
of white. It seemed to be fogged, by distance or perhaps
by the overcast, so that however long they stared, they
could not, quite, make out the shape of what they saw. "A
spire, in the middle, I think," Naitachal said finally. "And a
great wall about it, perhaps."
"Ah, sirs," Ilya broke in nervously; despite the cool
breeze and the lack of sun, there was sweat on his
cheeks and his hair clung to his brow. "Sirs, I think you
can see your way clear from here, and so I have done
what I said, to bring you in sight of that cursed place,
in exchange for your company upon the road."
"You have fulfilled your promise," Raven told him,
but his eyes were fixed on that distant patch of white.
'Then," Ilya said anxiously, "if I may leave you now?
My grandmother Katya has made me a pot of her best
onion soup as a welcoming gift, and I would really like
to get home to it." With an effort, Naitachal roused
himself and turned to clap the boy on the shoulder.
"You have done just as you said, and you are free to
go  --  with my thanks. It may be we will not come back
through your village when we are done, and so, this is
farewell, I think." The peasant lad gave him a very odd
look, but in the end merely turned and rode off. "Yes.
Well." The Bard rubbed his hands together and went
back to his study of the distant valley.
"Superstitious peasants," Arturis muttered. "A true
man of God would never  --  "
"A true man of sense would hold his tongue," Tem-
Telek said mildly, but with an unpleasant gleam in his
eye, "so that others might think and decide how best
to approach this wonder." Arturis scowled at him but
closed his mouth with an audible snap.
"Approach  --  yes, well, why not simply do that?"
Naitachal asked. No answer, except for a shrug from
Raven, who turned his horse and started down the
narrow trail. It was farther than it looked, both the
distance to level ground and the distance to the valley.
It was midaftemoon before they reached it.
A last, low ridge hid their goal; they had to dis-
mount and lead the horses across broken stone and
loose rubble. At the top, Cedric, who was leading,
stopped short, blocking the way until Wulfgar's
growled curse got his attention. He climbed up,
started down again, and was abruptly still. The Bard
came next  --  he uttered one mild, very astonished
oath. Then Arturis, who stopped mid-track as Cedric
had, and had to be pulled aside by the archer.
What manner of thing  --  ? Gawaine thought nerv-
ously. But when he reached the crest, he, too, stopped
cold and stared The narrow rut of a trail they had fol-
lowed led down an incline and across flat ground. It
came to a dead end against a wall  --  a white wall as
high as three men standing upon each other's shoul-
ders. And by the feel of the breeze that blew across it
and down from the north, the stuff he could see coat-
ing that wall and hanging here and there in long,
vicious-looking points was indeed ice.
They stared at it in utter silence for a long time.
Finally, Naitachal pushed past Cedric and Wulfgar to
take the lead; the others followed him, stopping and
spreading out as they came up to the base of the wall.
"How curious," the Bard murmured, "that the track
seems to have been here before the wall  --  for look
how the wall crosses it!"
"And look how old this wall appears," Raven said
softly.
"And how tall," Cedric said quietly.
"But there is no snow or ice anywhere else in sight
 --  save upon this wall," Arturis protested, but even he
spoke in a whisper.
"How very, very odd," Naitachal said.
Gawaine glanced at his Master, at Cedric and Raven
standing just beyond him, at Arturis who stood a little
apart, past them and nearer the wall, and the other
way, where Tem-Telek and Wulfgar stood like
pose-matched statues, arms folded, heads tilted, faces
very thoughtful. He turned back, took a step forward
"Such a wall," he breathed. "I wonder what does lie
beyond it"
"You speak for me, bardling," Cedric said readily.
Yes/ What was on the other side  --  a tower? Treas-
ure? And yet, Gawaine thought, what sensible man
would want to scale such a dreadful, treacherous sur-
face? You do, an inner voice replied readily. But,
another voice whispered, This is not right, not  --  nor-
mal Why should you want to perform such an odd
thing as to climb a wall in a place where no watt should
be? "Because it is there," he whispered, and the inner
debate was silenced. He took a step, another, laid his
hand against cold, white stone.
"I wonder ..." The Bard rubbed his chin thought-
fully. 'There must be a way over this, don't you
suppose?"
"We might look further on; it might not be so high
in another spot," Raven replied at once.
"But we might not find such a place right away,"
Cedric put in.
"Very true," Naitachal said. "And I want very much
to see what is on the far side of this height, now that
we are so near."
"You speak for me." Arturis was running his hands
over the wall as far to each side and as far overhead as
he could reach. "I would like to climb this now. Surely
there is a wondrous adventure awaiting  --  "
"Or great treasure," Cedric said.
"Or knowledge," Raven said, and took a step for-
ward.
"Or knowledge," Gawaine echoed. He was feeling
for handholds, and finding none.
"Or only the top of an ice-laden wall, where none
should be, but even that would be quite wondrous,"
Naitachal said. He strode down to the wall. "Yes, I
think I must see what is there."
"There was a tower  --  I thought," Raven corrected
himself carefully, "that I saw the tall spire of a tower.
Or a palace. If there is indeed such a tower, I would
look upon it, and if it was a trick of distance and my
eyes, I would still look, to see what I mistook for a pal-
ace where none should be."
"You speak for me. After all," Cedric put in, "it is
still daylight, and the wall is not that high."
"High enough," Naitachal said, and Gawaine held
his breath, afraid the Master would change his mind,
but just then Tem-Telek spoke up for the first time.
"Wulfgar, have you those metal points? If you could
put those together with some of the spare leather
straps, we could bind them to our feet and hands  --  "
"I can make climbing spikes," Wulgar replied readily.
Cedric came back "Here, I will aid you."
"And I," Arturis volunteered. Everyone stared at
him.
The dwarf hauled down his bags, the two men
came to join him, and all three squatted over the pile
of straps and clinking metal pieces. Tem-Telek
remained where he was, a little apart from the others,
gazing at the wall with a curious half-smile on his face;
Gawaine saw both that and the puzzled look on Mas-
ter Naitachal's face as he gazed at the lizardman. He
forgot both then, as the wall claimed all his attention.
A short while later, a jingling of metal roused him.
Cedric tapped him on the shoulder and held out a set
of straps studded at intervals by solid-looking metal
spikes. 'Tut one on each of your feet; I will help you
with the hand ones, if you like." He had to  -- 
Gawaine's fingers were so cold from running them
across the icy wall, it was a wonder he had enough
feeling left in them to grip anything. Cedric gave him
a boost up and held him in place until the bardling
found a hold for his feet and hands, then sat down to
attach his own straps.
Gawaine looked back only once; it made him feel
dizzy, looking down from even a short man's height off
the ground, for some reason. Besides, he couldn't
climb like that. He tilted his head back, banging it
against the mandolin in its heavy cloth bag. The wall
loomed steeply, but fortunately not quite straight up
and down. He could see gray sky above it, and when
he brought his eyes down to the surface in front of his
face and a little above it, he could see fine cracks  -- 
and others not quite so fine that might take the spikes.
They did; he moved his feet cautiously, but after a
moment or so discovered that they seemed to have
eyes of their own  --  at least, they quickly sought out
cracks, and in no time, his hands were curled over the
top of the wall.
He hauled himself up, hooked a knee over the
smooth edge and only then looked back. The Bard was
to his right and nearly to the top, Cedric was only just
behind him, and as he looked the other way, Arturis
grunted and pulled himself over the top and onto his
belly. Raven had one hand upon the top of the wall
now, and Wulfgar was on his feet, turning back as he
stripped off one of the sets of spikes so he could
extend a hand to his Master, who was the farthest back
of them all. Gawaine brought the other knee up, stood
cautiously, and gazed northward.
A truly amazing sight met his eyes, and his jaw
dropped. "It's  --  there's another wall, look, and it goes
on  --  "
'Taller," Naitachal said, and he sounded nearly as
surprised.
"But look, between!" Arturis shouted. "Look down
there  --  a passage, and it fades into a point either way.
It must go on for twenty leagues in both directions  -- 
why, surely this is a most wondrous quest  -- !" He fell
silent. All of them stood in that silence, looking toward
the newly revealed wall or up and down the corridor
that lay between them.
'There is snow down there," Raven said thought-
fully.
"Or ice," Cedric said.
"Or both," Wulfgar added rather impatiently. 'Well,
now what do we do?
Arturis turned to stare at him rather blankly. "Do?
Why, we go on, of course! Into that alleyway, to find
what there is to be found  --  "
"Well, certainly," the Bard broke in impatiently.
"But  --  "
"Well, then, let us go!" Arturis shouted joyfully, and
practically threw himself down the wall. He slipped
and skidded and went flat on his face at its base, but
picked himself up a moment later, apparently unhurt.
Gawaine was not far behind him, the Bard right on his
heels. The rest followed. "I say we go that way,"
Arturis began importantly, and pointed to his left.
"Why?" Cedric got between the Paladin and the
way he wanted to go before he could simply take off.
He pointed the other way. "Why not that way? It looks
flatter to me  --  "
"How can you possibly tell?" Gawaine demanded.
"It looks flatter," Cedric replied stubbornly.
"But I am sworn to fight in the honor of the God,
and left is the direction of all evil things!" Arturis
shouted.
"All the more reason to go the other way," Naitachal
said. "Since I have less interest in evil things than in
discovering what else may be here." He looked
around. 'Tem-Telek, what do you think?"
The lizardman shrugged and drew the hood of his
suit closer over his brow. "Whichever direction the
rest of you think. I hardly care."
"I go with you," Wulfgar said immediately. "Of
course."
Tem-Telek smiled very briefly. "Of course."
"And Raven  --  ?" the Bard went on. The Druid
shrugged, rolled his eyes heavenward. "Well, then, I
say we go  --  "
Gawaine sighed as Cedric and Arturis shouted him
down  --  less shouting at the Bard, he thought, and
more at each other. But now Naitachal had taken
offense and was shouting impartially at both of them.
Raven sighed heavily, stepped aside, and folded his
arms. Gawaine was reminded of the old squires horse-
master, coming upon a pack of squabbling boys. "We
might be here forever at this rate," he muttered
resentfully. He looked around, avoiding Ravens overly
patient eye and the lizardman s amused one. His eye
lit on the far wall. Why bother with left or right, when
there is forward? he decided, and without further
thought crossed the corridor and began climbing.
Halfway up, he glanced down at his companions: The
archer, Arturis, and his Master were now nose to nose,
each waving his arms and trying to shout the other two
down; Wulfgar had joined in and was jumping up and
down, trying to be heard, and Tem-Telek was trying to
get his servants attention, without success. Raven
remained where he had been, a little apart, except
now there was a sardonic smile on his lips.
The ground seemed to shift and blur; Gawaine
hastily turned his attention back to the wall before
him, and a few short moments later, he was atop it.
"Master," he called down. "Hey  --  Master!" Naitachal
turned all around, and finally looked up. The others
fell silent and gazed at the bardling expectantly.
"What's on the far side?' the Bard demanded But
Gawaine had come up onto his knees, and in turning
to get to his feet had caught movement out westward;
he was staring wide-eyed along the corridor.
He pointed. "Urn. Better ask what's out there, to
your left." As one, Naitachal and the others turned to
look. At some distance, but nearer them than the far-
thest point they could see  --  uncomfortably nearer  -- 
the space between the two walls was filled with enor-
mous, ugly men in black leather and heavy armor, and
every one of them held a drawn sword.
"There must be fifty of them," Cedric whispered.
"Where did they come from?"
"Unimportant," Naitachal snapped. "Where we go,
that's what's important right now. Up and over the
wall, everyone!"
But he reckoned without Arturis. The Paladin gave
a great and convoluted cry in his "tongues," then
shouted, "For honor, and the greater glory of God!"
and, drawing his sword and a long knife, ran straight
for them.
"They will kill him!" Raven cried out.
'They had better, or I will kill him myself," Nai-
tachal said grimly. 'There won't be time for all of us to
clamber up either wall before they're on us."
"No," Cedric said calmly.
"And no sense in dying for no cause," Naitachal
added.
"No." The archer had reached for his bowcase, but
he let go of the strap and his hands fell to his side.
"Not when we do not know what their intentions
are," the Bard finished. He glanced briefly up, met
Gawaine's frightened eyes as several of the armed men
surrounded Arturis and the Paladin went blessedly
silent; the rest were coming toward them across ice,
snow, and faded brown grass at a ground-eating trot.
"Boy, drop down to the other side, out of sight  --  don't
you argue with me, just you do it!"
"Sir!" Gawaine was suddenly trembling so hard he
had to crawl across the top of the wall. He sat on the
far edge, scrabbled with his feet for a toehold, then
turned and began letting himself down as carefully as
he could. A yell from the other side startled him; his
hands skidded off thick ice, and before he could stop
himself, he was sliding at high speed down the wall.
And then falling. He never remembered hitting the
ground
Chapter XV
The Bard heard a slithering, scraping sound, muted
by the wall to his right. He winced as Gawaine's star-
tled shout faded rapidly and was abruptly cut off.
Hope he's all right, he thought worriedly. There wasn't
time for anything else; they were surrounded and two
of the black-clad guards grabbed him.
"Rope!" one of them shouted hoarsely. A coil of it
was passed over. Come, that's a heartening thought,
Naitachal decided. Men armed like these didn't carry
rope unless they intended to capture, rather than kill.
A short distance away, he could see Arturis, who was
trussed like a game bird, gagged, and thrown across a
massive shoulder. The Bard held his arms wide, hands
extended so their captors could see he held no weapon
 --  just in case  --  and let one of them go through his
clothing without comment. The man ran his hands
across both straps of knives, touched the short sword
Naitachal had appropriated from the Slavers' cart, felt
down his leg and brushed the boot dagger. But he took
none of them. He also left the lute where it was, across
his back, then bound the Bard's hands together before
him and left a length as a lead.
Naitachal glanced at the inner wall and sighed as he
was tugged to a brisk walk. Hope the boy's all right.
Anyone's guess what was across that wall; probably
another, the way things looked. He gazed thoughtfully
at the outer wall then, watching it slide past. I can't
think why it was I wanted to cross that in the first
place. Odd. Extremely odd. As though something had
invaded all their minds  --  his included (and I should
be proof against such a thing), and made it irresistable.
It certainly wasn't irresistible anymore; Naitachal felt as
though he'd just ridden out of a thick fog, and the wall on
both sides of him was all at once nothing more than a
puzzle. Interesting, certainly; mysterious, to be where it
was, with no explanation. Not worth dropping their guard,
leaving their horses and food, and crawling over it Or
standing and yelling at each other, clear targets for anyone
who wanted to take them.
He glanced ahead, and then to his right. One of the
guards still carried Arturis, who was struggling feebly.
Raven walked just before him, with Cedric at his
elbow. The bowcase still bounced on his shoulder.
They did not take any of our weapons. They carry
weapons of their own, so they know what the things
are. This is not good, if they do not fear what we might
do. Perhaps they simply had no specific orders to deal
with weapons, and would not act on their own. But
that was as foolish as  --  well, as foolish as leaving
strangers armed whom you clearly regarded as enemy.
More likely, these men had no cause to fear their small
company, armed or not. Depressing thought, that.
Naitachal forced his mind elsewhere.
Wulfgar trotted along next to him, and at his side, the
lizardman, who was positively smothered in coils of rope.
As if aware of the Bard's contemplative gaze, Tem-Telek
turned his head, managed a faint smile and the least of
shrugs, then turned back to watch his footing.
Not a bad idea, Naitachal thought; there were small
stones here, half-buried in frozen ground, making footing
suddenly hazardous. He applied his eyes to the path
before him, but his thoughts were still with Tem-Telek. Of
all the curious events of this cL-y, this had to rank high
among them: He himself had been caught off-guard from
the first, but the lizardman did not seem at all surprised.
And what is he up to? I wonder. . . . What about that
cold-weather suit Wulfgar had constructed for him, or his
refusal to part company with them.
Oh, most folk thought of lizardmen as having
expressionless faces  --  it was why most humans would
not play games of chance with any of Tem-Telek s kin-
dred. But Naitachal knew better than that: He had
spent the better part of a year in one of their villages,
gathering magic and songs, and he knew the great
Tu-Turo well. Tem-Telek wasn't keeping a gamblers
face on a startling situation; he simply wasn't startled.
He expected this  --  or something like it. Well, if
there was any opportunity at all, Naitachal thought
grimly, he would find out what it was that Tem-Telek
had expected. He might have warned us  --  warned
me! He hadn't  --  and Gawaine was back there. Some-
where. In who knew what condition, provided the boy
was still alive. The Bard sighed faintly. He is young for
his years, and naive; I must not forget he was also self-
sufficient at a very young age, and can physically take
care of himself as well as anyone. It wasn't as comfort-
ing a thought as it might have been.
The guards slowed, then stopped. Naitachal stirred
and would have asked a question, but the guard who
had the other end of his rope turned such a fierce face
in his direction that he prudently closed his mouth and
waited. After a moment, they began moving once
more, up a low slope and then through a broad open-
ing in the right-hand wall. There was a thick fog here,
as though it had been trapped under the heavy arch  -- 
or as though someone or something wanted to keep
some secret from the prisoners. When he blinked the
last of the fog from his eyes, Naitachal saw they were
in the middle of an enormous, bare stone courtyard.
In the distance, all around the perimeter wall, stood
statues: men, beasts, and there, surely, a lizardman.
No grass, no tree, no bush grew here, and the air was
winter-cold. Tem-Telek shuddered and rubbed one
side of his face and then the other against his shoul-
ders, as though to warm it.
'The Great One wiM see them, at once." Unnoticed,
another of the guards had come toward them. He
wore a tunic over his black leathers that bore a curious
device: a large and intricately faceted crystal that gave
off glints of light as the pale, wintery sunlight touched
it, and surrounding this, a white coiling shape, some-
thing like a snake and yet  --  not quite. Before
Naitachal could get a better look at it, they were hus-
tled across the courtyard toward a broad, low set of
steps, up these and through a massive set of doors.
And then a second; down a long, white marble corri-
dor lined with statues, and through a third set of doors
into an enormous chamber. The doors struck the walls
with a brassy clang that bounced, echoing, off the dis-
tant ceiling.
"Great One!" a deep voice intoned formally. "I
bring you guests!"
"Bring them." The voice that answered was deeply
resonant and set an overhead chandelier of a thousand
faceted crystals to shivering. Fully a hundred candles
were set into the chandelier, and in the four which
were spaced evenly and hung low from that great, dis-
tant overhead vault. Naitachal gazed upward into
light, and rainbows of light, to a distant, exquisitely
painted and gilted ceiling.
He staggered as the man leading him tugged,
brought his eyes down to the floor, which was a
parquet of gold-veined marble, upon which had been
scattered priceless rugs. Here and there, in seemingly
no special arrangement at all, stood tables and shelves,
the surfaces of which were buried under fringed
silken cloths and delicately carven boxes, golden bas-
kets and wondrously glazed vases, crystal bottles and
enameled wicker boxes woven with thread of gold
from which depended brilliants and faceted stones of
blue, red, and smoke, or enormous beads of amber.
The guard tugged again to get his attention; in the
very midst of the marble floor stood a huge fountain,
with ebony figures of mythic beasts to hold up the
bowl, a pillar entwined with gilt snakes and vines, all
supporting a smaller bowl of pure, clear amethyst.
Through that palest lavendar, Naitachal could see the
filial: a diamond the size of his fist.
There was no running water. It had frozen into
streamers that rose high above the amethyst bowl and
spilled down to the gilt one below. The larger bowl
was encrusted with pearls and rubies.
Beyond it, more tables, sideboards, high shelves
and low, smothered in precious items, and every-
where, scattered among the priceless goods, wondrous
statues  --  of plain, pale stone, these, marble or some-
thing similar, but eerily lifelike, to the very expressions
on their faces. Some held boxes from which dangled
strings of jewels, while others held ornate and
begemmed candelabras, or single golden candlesticks,
and yet others garments across outstretched hands  -- 
garments of the finest silks and cloth of gold, into
which had been set rubies and emeralds, or scores of
tiny brilliants, or thousands of tiny round, gold-veined
mirrors. Two other statues held matching oval mirrors
with intricately carved and gilt frames, reflecting each
into the other, an endless procession of guards and
Bards fading into unguessable distance. Naitachal
glanced at it, looked away at once; he was familiar with
the phenomenon, and it invariably made him dizzy.
Besides, there were more rugs and carpets here, and
goods strewn across the glassily smooth marble floor,
making footing trickier than ever.
Heaped boxes and carved wooden chests blocked
their view of the far end of the chamber: boxes from
which spilled more exquisite jewelry, more fine cloth,
more priceless goods. The Bard wrinkled his nose.
Any of these objects, taken by itself, would have been
a pure joy to look upon, to touch  --  possibly to wear or
simply to place upon a wall or a floor and behold.
Taken all together, though  --  it was the worst excess of
appallingly poor taste he had ever seen in his life, and
for the first time, he found himself wondering what
manner of being surrounded himself with such an
excess of material possessions.
They skirted the boxes, threaded their way two at a
time along a narrow passageway toward a wall hung
with a single panel of tapestry  --  stiff with gold thread
and jewels, of course  --  and finally came into a small
square of open space before a low dais.
It was hung about with cloths, surrounded by more
of the beautifully made statues, and strewn with palest
silvery blue carpets worked with a pattern of what
might be real platinum. The finest of these led up four
shallow steps, stopping at the base of a massive throne
that looked to be carved from a single piece of flawless
rock-crystal. The back rose to great height; Naitachal
frowned and peered more closely. Near the very top,
where the crystal had been carved into a complex pat-
tern, a plain silvery box was suspended within the
stone itself.
Just beneath the box, however ... The Bard caught
his breath in surprise; so still had the creature been, he
had not noticed his presence until this moment.
It might have been a lizardman, with all color
washed from his limbs and body  --  but, then again,
not quite. For one thing, it was larger than Tem-Telek
by at least half: Its arms and legs were longer, and they
tapered to exquisitely small, long-fingered hands and
very tiny feet shod in silver slippers. The whole body
gleamed like a polished pearl; the eyes were so pale a
blue as to be colorless. As he met those eyes, the crea-
ture stretched its mouth in what might have been
meant for a smile, revealing many long and very sharp
teeth.
There was a long silence. Finally, the enthroned
creature waved a hand, and rumbled, "Release them.
And go away."
Not good, Naitachal thought as the guard undid the
knots that held his hands together, then stepped back
and vanished the way he had just come. He must know
he can best all of us, readily. He let his eyes move cau-
tiously to one side, then the other. They were all there
 --  save, of course, the poor bardling. Cedric and
Raven stood shoulder to shoulder, quietly and warily
watching the throne and its occupant; Arturis had
been deposited on his backside, and still sat where
he'd found himself, staring at the dais as though
stunned. Wulfgar was fussing with his Masters cloak;
Tem-Telek stood very still, arms folded across his
chest. If anything, he looked merely thoughtful. Still,
the Bard was certain, not surprised. We must talk, we
two, he thought grimly, and then wondered if they
would have any chance for conversation, any time
eyond the next few moments for anything at all.
Arturis interrupted his gloomy thoughts by spring-
ing to his feet and drawing his sword  --  nearly
beheading Cedric, who jumped back with an angry
oath. "I demand to know why you have brought us
here!" he shouted. The creature turned that
unnervingly pointed smile on him and said nothing.
Raven caught hold of the Paladin's sword arm and
murmured something in his ear, but Arturis shook him
off. "You are no one to imprison us, and you have no
right to lay black hands upon the servant of the true
God!" The creature stirred at this, but only to hold out
his very small and pale hands and fix a thoughtful eye
upon them. He looked up as Arturis began spluttering
once more. "Against the one God, the legions of Evil
are helpless, and right shall prevail!" His voice set the
crystal chandelier far overhead to tinkling. The crea-
ture glanced up, then setded his shoulders more
comfortably against his crystal throne and fixed a very
interested gaze upon the Paladin.
Arturis went on at some length, finally faltering to a
dry-voiced halt. The enthroned creature crossed one
leg neatly over the other and folded his hands upon his
knee.
"Yes. Are you done?" Arturis gazed at him, wide-
eyed. Before he could reply, if he indeed intended to,
the creature went on. "I am Voyvodan, and this land
 --  all the land within these great walls and all that sits
upon them, and all the goods widiin  --  it is all mine.
And so, I suppose my question is, where have you
come from? And why do you dare to trespass here?"
'Trespass?" Arturis shouted. "We  --  trespass?"
"You are nothing I had brought here," Voyvodan
replied calmly. "But, then, I do bring in a great many
things, so it is possible  --  I will ascertain. You are in no
great rush, are you?'
Arturis gaped at him, and Raven spoke up. "None,
sir. None at all."
"Polite. It is good to know you are not all going to
be so hard upon my crystal." He raised his own voice
just a little. "Come!"
A rustling behind the throne, footsteps clicking on
marble, mounting the steps back there  --  and then a
familiar head, a very familiar thatch of ill-cut black
hair, and under it, Ilya s sheepish grin.
"Ah." Naitachal spoke up for the first time. There
didn't seem to be any advantage in keeping quiet, any-
way; this Voyvodan knew quite well he was here. He
met the pale eyes with a level gaze of his own. "And
now many things are revealed. I do not think, all the
same, that that," he jabbed a finger in Ilyas direction,
"is your property."
"No?" Voyvodan returned his level stare for a long
moment, glanced at the red-faced Ilya, and shrugged.
"But if I recall the rule correctly, possession is nine-
tenths of the law, is it not?"
'The law," Arturis mumbled. 'The law? You dare
 --  unholy, dread creature, you dare to flout the King's
law? You dare speak in such careless disregard of the
God's law? I shall show you law, I shall  --  " His voice
rose to a shout once again, and he brought up the
sword, evaded both Raven's and Cedric's snatching
hands, and threw himself forward. Voyvodan merely
leaned forward, smiled and, as Arturis leaped up the
last two steps and raised the sword above his head, he
made a curious, deft little gesture. Arturis froze; a fog
or a mist enveloped him for the least of moments, and
when it cleared there was a heroic stone statue upon
the top step, stone sword upraised and a look of purest
fury upon its face.
"Ah." Voyvodan edged a little further forward to
inspect his new statute, ran a hand down the
counterbalancing arm, then leaned back. "As I believe
I was saying? Possession is nine-tenths of the law. The
other tenth is scattered about my courtyard or in here,
holding the prettiest of my favorite goods." He turned
to look over his shoulder, past Ilya, and raised his voice
once more. "Come!" Three guards hastened around
the dais and then onto it, lifted the statue that had been
a Paladin, and bore it a short distance away to a square
pillar. One of them took the sword from its fingers,
while another went into the main part of the room and
came back with a dreadful ornate candelabra, which he
held up inquiringly. Voyvodan nodded energetically.
The candelabra was placed in the upraised hand, the
candles lit
Voyvodan frowned. 'Turn it a little this way  --  no,
too far, back. Perhaps if you drew it out back from the
carpet  --  better, but now it is too far turned away from
my throne." Naitachal tuned him out; this could go on
forever, and he wanted some answers while he still
had a chance to hear them. He folded his arms and
fixed Ilya with a black eye.
The boy gknced at Voyvodan, then back, nervously,
at his former companions. The Bard cleared his throat
ominously. "You lured us here."
"I  --  ah  -- well," Ilya temporized tremulously.
"Lured us here, and then put Voyvodan's geds upon
us, so we would climb that wall and then argue among
ourselves long enough for those men to capture us.
Didn't you?"
Ilya swallowed, looked right and left. Shrugged "It's
better than being a candlestick," he said simply.
"I  -- well, possibly," Naitachal admitted.
"You were coming here anyway," Ilya pointed out
reasonably. "If you hadn't been down between the
walls, arguing, there wouldn't have been any capture
like this. Just  --  a whole new bunch of statues." He
was looking from one to the other of them, visibly puz-
zled, and die Bard's heart sank. He knows there is one
of us missing  --  Or maybe not. As Ilya peered at
them, the Bard moved casually, as though blocking the
lad's view of something or someone.
A moment later, Voyvodan claimed his attention.
"You may go now, peasant," he said indifferently. "But
hold yourself ready, should I ask your services at
another time."
"Master, I shall." Ilya immediately prostrated himself
on the top step of the dais, scrambled to his feet as the
creature began tapping one foot impatiently, and hurried
back down the steps behind the throne. Naitachal heard a
rustle of draperies, saw the long tapestry move, and
allowed himself a faint sigh of relief. Whatever Ilya
suspected or thought, he was gone, and to all appearances,
out of Voyvodan s thoughts entirely.
Voyvodan was indeed concentrating upon the com-
pany before him. Finally, he extended a long,
attenuated arm and pointed at Wulfgar. "You. Dwarf.
Can you make things of beauty?"
Wulfgar drew himself up proudly. "Certainly I can."
Tem-Telek edged forward. "And I am his assistant,"
he piped up eagerly. The Bards eyebrows went up;
Tem-Telek positively gushed. Most unlike him.
Voyvodan merely nodded and said, 'Then you must
stay with him, of course. I shall come back to you two
later. You," he went on, and this time pointed at
Cedric. "You wear a bowcase that is worn but well
tended, and a bow which bespeaks itself as a well-used
item. Is this a weapon with which you are skilled?"
"Skilled beyond any man in your service," Cedric
replied with a sweeping bow. "I have won great tour-
naments, and supported myself by my winnings for
many a year. There is no target so small, and none so
craftily hidden or magicked, that I cannot strike its
very heart."
"Ah." Voyvodan smiled and sprawled back on his
crystal throne. 'Then we, too, shall speak at a later
time, for I am very fond of tourneys and contests of
skill. And you, Druid. What skills have you that may be
of interest to one such as myself?"
Raven spread his hands in a broad shrug. "Whether
they will hold interest for you, I cannot say. I am a stu-
dent, and a lore-keeper."
"A student  --  ah, yes, I see!" Voyvodan chuckled
deeply, setting faceted crystal all over the chamber to
chiming. "You Druids are ever given to soft speech
concerning yourselves. By your words, I shall assume
that you have indeed vast knowledge and a great
source of lore at your fingertips. We shall discuss this
in the near future, you and I. You," he went on, and his
eyes met Naitachal's. "Just set that hood back upon
your shoulders, if you will." The Bard let it fall, and the
two gazed at each other in silence for some moments.
"You bear an instrument, I think, in that case upon
your back."
"I carry with me a fine lute," Naitachal said softly.
"Are you then a Bard?"
"I am."
"What  --  no further word to tell me how great your
skills and talents?" Naitachal smiled very faintly and
shrugged. Voyvodan laughed. "Yes, well! Only a very
great Bard would behave so, I think. And  --  a Dark
Elf, and at one and the same time a Bard! How truly
fascinating! We must talk, you and I, about how such a
blend is possible  --  "
"I am counted as a Master," Naitachal broke in,
finally stung to words. The creature folded his oddly
small hands together and the faint smile became a
smirk. It faded as he looked from one to another of his
prisoners, and then he waved a hand and sat upright.
"Well! Each of you fascinates me  --  how truly
pleasant a change of affairs. I will consider your fates.
For now  --  go."
Cedric looked blankly at Raven, who turned to gaze
at the Bard, but a moment later, guards came and
surrounded them, and led them down the long throne
room and out into the hall.
Chapter XVI
This time the guards merely escorted them, rather
as though they were honored guests instead of prison-
ers. But since none of us know the way outside from
here, and since we are many times outnumbered, Nai-
tachal thought gloomily, it scarcely matters whether
they bear weapons openly against us or not.
He fully expected a cell at the end of this narrow
corridor, and only himself to occupy it, and it was with
great surprise that he found himself ushered into a
vast, high-ceilinged chamber hung with beautiful tap-
estries and lit with fine lamps and  --  even better  --  a
great fire upon the enormous hearth. Even more sur-
prising, the rest of the company was ushered in after
him, and only then was the door closed All the same,
his keen ears caught the snick of a key turning in a
heavy metal lock.
There were thick, cushioned chairs flanking the
fire, and a table in the center of the room which held
bread and fruit in golden bowls  --  and an enormous
covered dish which sat over a flame and from which a
very pleasant steam issued. Tem-Telek murmured
something under his breath and hurried over to the
hearth, where he stood for some moments, hands
extended, soaking up warmth. Wulfgar busied himself
with locating the supply of sticks and logs, and built
the fire even higher, while Cedric wandered over to
the table and lifted the cover of the pot. The fragrance
of a hearty soup filled the chamber; Raven -went over
at once to join him.
"We must talk, you and I." Naitachal came up to
stand beside the lizardman, though the fire was nearly
too hot for him. Tem-Telek gazed at him appraisingly.
The dwarf shoved a last log into the flames with his
foot, looked from lizardman to Dark Elf and back
again. "Master. You will have soup?"
"I certainly shall," Tem-Telek replied vigorously.
"My innards are nearly frozen solid!" He let Wulfgar
bring a chair and settle him close to the flames. Nai-
tachal took another and drew it not quite so close,
then waited patiently until the valet brought a board
with two plates of soup, fresh warm bread, and sliced
meat and cheese which he set on a small table
between them, let him fuss over the lizardman for a
few moments, then gently cleared his throat.
The dwarf eyed him narrowly, gave the least of
shrugs, and tucked a snowy white cloth in the throat of
Tem-Teleks cold-weather suit. "If you need anything
else, Master, you or the Bard, I shall stay near,"
Wulfgar murmured, and left them.
Tem-Telek sniffed carefully, then dipped a spoon
into the thick broth. "Quite well prepared."
Naitachal dipped bread in the soup, tucked a large
bite in his cheek and said abruptly, "Yes. However, I
did not come over here to be warmed and tended to
and fed soup."
"No, of course not." Tem-Telek took another sip
of broth, nodded, swallowed. "You saw beyond my
facade of common traveler with a debt of honor to
discharge, and you want to know what my
intentions are."
The Bard waved that aside. "I little care about
your intentions. I am much more curious as to what
that thing is, how it has come by such a disgusting
ostentation of wealth, and why it is that you alone
were not surprised by its presence here."
Tem-Telek looked at him for some moments, then
went back to his soup. "You did not know?"
"If I did, would I be asking you?" the Bard
demanded testily.
"Voyvodan is a Snow Dragon," the lizardman said.
"And as to the rest of your question  --  I was surprised,
but not so much as you apparently were. I knew there
must be such a creature here, though not its name."
"Snow Dragon  --  impossible," the Bard snorted.
"Not impossible," Tem-Telek said mildly. "Eat your
soup before it turns cold, it is really too excellent to
waste like that." He waited until Naitachal took several
spoonfuls, and ate some of his bread, then went on.
"He is a Snow Dragon, a creature of the lands far to
the north, and he has all the powers of that clime at his
disposal: snow, ice, cold, and storm. So much I knew. I
suspected he might also have other powers, as he
showed us with that poor Paladin." Tem-Telek sipped
more soup; he did not sound particularly sorry for
Arturis. "Given that he is as long-lived as any Red
Dragon, he has doubtless had many years to acquire
such powers and skills, along with his undeniable
wealth." The lizardman considered this last comment
thoughtfully, swallowed bread, and corrected himself.
"Undeniably atrociously arranged wealth."
"Arranged," Naitachal snorted. "He has simply
thrown it down as it has come to him, nothing more."
"By that alone, you should have known him to be a
dragon."
"Dragon  --  lizardman, in all my very long years, I
have never heard tell of or seen any such beast which
was not red and a dweller in hot dry climes! Nor have I
ever heard tell of any which resembled no dragon but
rather a bleached, skinny-limbed version of -- well, of
yourself," he finished more mildly. Tem-Telek merely
turned up the corners of his mouth briefly and indi-
cated the Bards neglected soup with a small gesture.
"I admit, Bard, they are not common, nor
commonly spoken or sung of. All the same  --  like a
Red Dragon, he collects beautiful things; not merely
treasure, but other things of beauty. Unlike a Red
Dragon, a Snow Dragon has three forms, of which you
have seen one  --  the humanoid. He also has an
intermediate form, of which I know little. In his
dragonoid shape, he is vast  --  as long as ten men laid
end to end."
"But how  --  "
"How did I know he was here? As I already told
you, Bard, I did not know that this particular Snow
Dragon was about, merely that there was one. And
that was a simple matter: Wherever a Snow Dragon
makes his lair, summer never comes." He made a
small shrug, smiled, and picked up his soup plate to
drink the last drops. "I am glad that his collection of
fine things extends to the supplies in his kitchens, and
to his cook." He shrugged again, held out the plate,
and waited until Wulfgar came to collect it, refill it,
and bring it back. "But I really had not intended to be
taken."
"Yes," the Bard replied dryly. "Nor had I, by what-
ever might have been here. The creature has strong
magic indeed, though. I had no more idea I was under
his compulsion than  --  well, I had no notion of it."
"Of course not. Voyvodan is quite old, and has
therefore had many, many years to hone his abilities.
Older than any elf, White or Dark," he added, with a
sharp glance at his companion. "He is a dilettante, of
course, like most of his kind  --  easily amused but also
easily bored."
"And he collects costly things," Naitachal said as he
wiped up the last of his soup with the last of his bread.
"And beautiful ones."
"Yes. But beauty to him does not mean quite what it
does to you or to me, Bard. Or even to a Red Dragon.
In his case, it means quality of any kind  --  like intelli-
gence, or skills such as Cedrics or Wulfgar's. Or yours,
of course."
"Of course," the Bard replied He heaved a gloomy
sigh. "He may simply turn us all into statues tomorrow."
"Possible," the lizardman replied judiciously. "But
unlikely. I think it more likely by far that he will set us
problems to solve, according to the skills he perceives
in each of us, or those we have claimed. Which is
good, because if you can hold his interest, or pique his
curiosity, he will keep you alive."
"What if he loses interest?" Cedric had come up
behind them, unnoticed by either.
Tem-Telek shrugged. "I would not let him do that,
if I were you. If you can no longer hold his interest by
your talents, then you will do so by his own methods
 --  much as a cat entertains himself with a mouse."
"Oh." Cedric considered this. "I do see your point."
"Of course, the mouse can either allow itself to be
batted around," the lizardman went on thoughtfully,
"or he can surprise the cat, and extend the period of
play. For a very long time, with any good luck at all.
Please," he urged as Raven and the dwarf came over
to join them, "I do suggest you keep that in mind.
Because remember, if he loses interest in you  --  well,
he is a dragon."
"Ah." Raven and Cedric spoke together.
"I have no desire to become anyone's  --  or any
things lunch," Cedric added firmly. "I came to tell you
there are two adjoining chambers with warm fires and
soft beds. Quite as fine as the best inn I have ever
stayed at, and at less damage to my purse."
"You may find the cost higher than mere coin,"
Raven reminded him.
"Quite likely will, unless we can find a way from this
place," Cedric replied with a shrug. "And I will not
give up hope of that, until it becomes clear I must."
Wulfgar gave a short bark of laughter. "What  --  un-
til you are that near the creatures teeth?"
"If need be," Cedric replied soberly. He turned to
the Bard. "Gawaine  -- what became of him, have you
any notion?"
Naitachal shook his head. "I heard him fall  --  or,
rather, slide down the far side of that wall. I think if
Voyvodan had taken him, he would have put him with
the rest of us. If he is still alive."
"If he slid down the wall, he may well be alive,"
Tem-Telek replied. "Particularly since his blood is
nothing like my own. And remember, as powerful as a
Snow Dragon is, it is not all powerful. He cannot read
your thoughts, and he cannot see into every corner of
his realm from where he sits. It is quite possible that
so small a thing as a mere bardling may escape him."
"You reassure me," the Bard said sarcastically.
Gawaine groaned and patted the ground gingerly
with both hands, then felt his arms cautiously. He
ached all over, and he was half frozen from lying on
the dirt and ice. Opening his eyes wasn't much help:
As far as he could see in the direction his body was
pointed was a corridor much like the previous one. He
groaned again and managed to sit up by clinging to the
wall and then leaning against it. The other direction
was no better: Two tall walls ran far into the distance,
converging finally in a point.
At length he sighed and pushed slowly and cau-
tiously to his feet. There was a constant frigid breeze
blowing here, his backside had long since gone numb,
and his feet were going to sleep. There was no sound
anywhere, save the faint shrill sound of wind hissing
across the wall high above him, or whispering through
long-dead grass. "Well, then, if anyone is to save me, I
guess it must be myself." At least the climbing spikes
were still firmly attached to his hands and boots. "A
wonder I did not impale myself on them when I fell,"
he grumbled. His ear stung, and when he touched it
his fingers came away with flecks of frozen, dried
blood clinging to them; apparently he had scraped it
on the way down, but fortunately couldn't have bled
very much. "The blood is half frozen in my veins, any-
way, by the feel of it. Ah, well. Forward or back?"
But the wall he had slid down was nearly straight up
and down here, and he could see no cracks anywhere.
No wonder he had slipped. The inner wall, then. He
staggered over to it, caught himself on the palms of
both hands against the spikes, and leaned against the
wall for a moment, eyes closed, to catch his breath.
Better. "Well  --  not really better, but not so bad as it
could be, I suppose." He opened his eyes and studied
the wall. A long crack ran diagonally past his nose, and
another crossed it not far above his head. "As though it
were meant for me  --  now there's a truly unpleasant
thought!" But he could see nothing else for it. He
drew a deep breath, let it out in a gust. Felt over his
shoulder to discover the mandolin had apparently
come through the fall intact. "Small wonder, with my
entire body to cushion it. But Master Naitachal would
have my ears if I broke it." Well, he would if he was
still alive.
He shook himself, which set his head to pounding,
leaned against the wall until it subsided. "If you cannot
think a single pleasant thought, then move!" he
ordered himself, and reached up to fit the spikes into
the crack.
It was a slow climb, even though the wall was nowhere
near as high as the last one, and it sloped so he might
almost have made it without his spikes  --  at least, if he'd
been less chilled and stiff. He finally rested on the top,
eyes closed, and stayed there until his breathing slowed.
The breeze was much stiffer here, though. He sat up,
flung a leg over to the other side of the narrow wall, and
found himself looking down into a little box of a courtyard.
There was no ice or snow down there, which he found
immediately heartening.
Instead, there was a plot of well-tended spring-
green grass, and in the very midst of that an apple tree,
and among its dusty green leaves a gleam of red. Ap-
ples. The tree drew him. He dropped down from the
wall and hurried over to it, laid a hand against rough
bark. He had never in his life, he thought in awe, felt
anything so wonderful, so real  --  as though every
other apple tree he had ever touched in his life had
been a fraud, this one the only true. "I wonder what
the apples are like," he murmured, but as he looked
up into the branches in search of a ripe piece of fruit,
movement caught his eyes.
Something on the far side, well up in the branches;
something large, something bright, struggling. He
stepped away from the trunk and shielded his eyes. A
snare  --  someone, he realized indignantly, had set a
snare and caught a bird. "Who would dare to set a trap
in such a tree as this?" But that was unimportant at the
moment; the bird was flapping its bright wings frantic-
ally, and would surely do itself harm if he could not
free it at once.
But what kind of bird was so enormous, and had
flame-bright wings such as this one?
"Bird? It's  --  no, it's a  --  a woman?' He was gaping
openly now. Bird  --  woman  --  he couldn't decide.
But his low words had drawn the creature s eye, and
it was a woman's voice that cried out, "For your own
love of life, fair youth, free me!"
"I shall!" he cried, and ran back to the trunk where
he shed the climbing spikes and the mandolin case. It
was only the work of a moment for him to swarm up
into the branches, but it took him a little more care to
edge out onto the high branch where the snare was
set, and he had to balance himself carefully to free the
knife from his belt and hack at the net until the bird
could fly free.
He sighed, edged cautiously backward and down
the trunk, put the spiked straps in his bag, and picked
up the mandolin to sling it across his back once more.
But when he stepped out from under the canopy of
the apple tree, the bird flew down and sat upon the
grass, plainly awaiting him. She extended her wings as
he went onto one knee before her, and said in a clear
woman's voice, "Do not bow, youth. Sit instead, and
speak with me a little."
"Lady, I shall." He might have been in one of his
own songs. He sat cross-legged upon the grass and the
bird  --  nearly as tall as he when he sat  --  stood upon
the grass before him, so near he might have touched
her flame-feathered breast, had he dared. "I am
Gawaine, bardling to the Master Bard Naitachal. How
are you called?"
"I am Fenix."
Gawaine looked around him, at the walls enclosing the
tiny garden. "What -- what is this place, and how do you
come to be in it? And  --  there were others with me, my
Master and three men, a lizardman and a dwarf."
"A wondrously mixed company," Fenix said gravely.
"But this place  --  this is the castle of the Snow Dragon
Voyvodan, and the walls and spires are his. As are your
companions, I fear, for Voyvodan takes as prisoner all who
venture within his domain. This garden and the tree are
mine, as this valley once was, before the Snow Dragon
came and set his spell of never-ending winter upon it. He
set that snare for me, knowing I must come back to my
tree when the apples were ripe."
"Why? Are they  --  are they magic apples?"
Fenix made a small, tinkling sound that must be
laughter, and he felt himself blush. "Do not be
embarrassed," she said at once. "It is a fair question,
since you do not know. They are not magic. They are
apples." He looked at her in confusion, shook his
head, and Fenix said, "Go, and take one, and bring it
back." He got to his feet and walked under the canopy;
the heady scent of apple surrounded him. He
searched among the lower branches until he found a
good-sized and bright red fruit, pulled it from its
branch and went back to sit before the bird, apple in
his outstretched hand. "Eat it," Fenix urged.
He eyed it nervously, but the odor was making him
terribly hungry. He bit into it; juice ran down his chin
and his eyes went wide. "Apple," he breathed in awe.
"Just so," the bird responded. "It is perfect, no one
who bit into such an apple could ever resist them
again. So the Snow Dragon knew, and so he planned
the one trap which I could not evade."
"Perfect apples." Gawaine gazed at it, then took
another bite. Something Raven had said, about truth in
the least of things  --  ? He couldn't recall. But if there was
such a thing, there was surely the truth of apples in this
fruit He finished it, licked his fingers, set the core to one
side. "What will you do, Fenix?' he asked finally.
"I do not know." She sighed, and he thought he had
never heard such a sad sound in all his life. 'This was
my valley, as I told you, and this tree mine, and even
though the Dragon is a dread threat, I cannot leave
them. But more  --  there is also here a scroll, and set
within it, Absolute Truth. The gods themselves put
that scroll within a platinum box and sealed it inside a
great crystal chair, and they gave to me the task of
guarding both chair and scroll. Now," she sighed
again, "Voyvodan sits upon the chair, and fills his pal-
ace with gaudy and costly things, and riches of all kind,
and yet the greatest wealth of all hangs just above his
head, suspended in the crystal, and he has no notion
that it is there."
Gawaine considered this in stunned silence. Before
he could ask anything else, Fenix uttered one final
sigh and flew away.
He sat where she left him. "She might have been a
little more helpful," he mumbled. "After all, I did res-
cue her." Oh, well. Master Naitachal had told him
enough of his own experiences  --  enough so he that
knew one couldn't really count on magical creatures.
He fumbled through his bag and pulled out the spikes,
looked at them, and sighed himself. "Well, she did tell
me what to look for. I suppose it is up to me to find the
others and rescue them." Easier said than done, he
was certain, but he had to do something. At least, at-
tempt to do something.
It was hard work, getting the leather straps snug
around his hands without anyone else's help, but he
finally managed it. He got to his feet then, and turned
slowly in place, studying the walls each in turn. 'That
one, I think. Goodness only knows which direction
that is  --  or which one of those I came down."
He had lost all sense of direction, but when he
reached the top of his chosen wall, he discovered
direction didn't really matter. For as far as he could
see in all directions, a hundred or more walls
stretched, and turned, and bent back on themselves
and each other, and went on, as near as not, forever.
Chapter XVII
In later years, he never could recall that time very
clearly: It seemed forever that he climbed walls,
scrambled over walls, and stood upon walls to look
across a myriad of other walls. There was nothing else:
The sky and its thick blanket of uniform gray cloud did
not change, the wind was a constant, chill presence,
the walls all alike  --  a bland white, the only differ-
ences being whether they were coated with ice or not,
their tops draped in snow or not, whether he skidded
down into a corridor, a box, a rectangle. Now and
again, he thought, he slept. A few times he paused to
eat sparingly of the few supplies he had left, or to take
a swallow of very cold but rather stale water. It must
have been days  --  many of them, the way it felt  --  or
maybe time was stretched oddly, like the corridors
that seemed to go on forever, for there had been no
night that he could recall.
Once he found a small six-sided area, but like the
rest of the maze, it was surrounded by steep-sided
white walls, barren within and without. There was no
other place like Fenix's courtyard, with its grass and
growing tree, and he began to regret that he had not
thought to take at least one more apple.
Another upsetting thought struck him. Poor Thun-
der. I wonder how he is? Had the Snow Dragon found
the horses? Had his men? I hope the latter; that some-
one has found them and unsaddled them, taken them
somewhere out of the chill and fed them, and cared for
them. He didn't have much hope of that, really. Think-
ing of his horse took his mind off his own troubles,
though. A little.
He had no idea any longer which way the outer-
most wall of the maze might lie, where the spire they
had seen so long before from that high ridge was, or
how long he had been searching. Days? Hours? Who
could tell? The heroic purpose that had moved him,
under Fenix's tree, that had sent him climbing the
nearest wall in hopes of rescuing his Master and the
others  --  and just possibly destroying Voyvodan  -- 
now seemed very foolish indeed. "I am no hero," he
mumbled gloomily. "And cannot even recue myself."
He could not even make use of what small magic he
did have, for his hands were so stiff and frozen he
could not have touched the mandolin strings, even if
he had been able to croak out song  --  even if the cold
air all around him would not have snapped the strings
at once, and quite probably damaged the instrument
for all time.
He was so weary, he scarcely remembered the
mandolin hanging at his back, save that he remem-
bered to climb and descend in such a fashion as not to
cause it more harm than the cold was surely causing it.
He was weary enough that nothing of a song even
came to his mind now  --  there was nothing anywhere,
had never been anything but this maze. Would never
be anything else, evermore. He struggled on.
Some short while later, he stumbled upon yet
another small box of a courtyard and discovered this
one to be occupied: A dozen or so little brown mice
had somehow gotten into this barren hole and become
trapped. Gawaine stood upon the wall and looked
down at them; the mice stood upon their hind legs and
gazed up at him, and their whiskers and noses
twitched. "Oh, poor creatures," Gawaine said sofdy.
"You will starve here." He moved along die edge of
the wall and the mice followed him, so that at length
he finally had to turn and catch hold of the wall, and
let himself down, hoping they would move aside when
he let go. And then, once he was within the little box
courtyard, he wondered how he would catch such wild
creatures, but the mice simply crouched down by his
feet and gazed at him. "Poor creatures," he said once
more, and crouched down himself, extending a hand.
The mice sniffed at it, and showed no fear of the fin-
gers. "Here," he said "It must surely be time for some
meal or another; let us share what is left of my bread,
and then I will free you from this place  --  at least,
from diis box of a courtyard, if not from the maze
entirely." He broke up the bread, which had gone
hard, and scattered it before him, and scraped a little
hole into which he poured a spoonful of his water. The
mice ate the bread and drank the water, while he ate a
travel wafer and drank a scant swallow from his botde.
When he was done, the mice suffered diemselves
to be picked up widiout so much as a squeak; he set-
tled diem securely in die bag at his waist diat had held
bread, dien climbed out and released diem in yet
anodier of die seemingly endless corridors. "Good
luck to you," he said as he let the last of diem go "and I
hope you fare better dian I, and diat you do not trap
yourselves again, for next time diere may be no one to
save you." One of die mice stood upon his hind legs
and caught hold of die bardling's boot, dien diey all
turned and scurried off.
Gawaine watched diem go and laughed ruefully. "I
must be going mad, talking to mice as diough diey
could understand what I said!"
He walked a ways along die corridor, but after a lit-
de time, climbed one of die walls again. He had
already discovered that he could walk as far as he
chose, in any direction, along one of these narrow
lanes, and it would neither bend nor end  --  and they
were colder by far than any of the little box areas, or
even than the tops of walls.
There were more of the corridors, though, parallel-
ing this one, or going off at their own strange angles  -- 
and more courtyards, and more again. In some of
these, he could just see rare and wondrous things, and
now and again he stumbled into courtyards which
held such treasures: a tree whose leaves were green
stones, and the berries upon it rubies; a winged horse
so real to the eye, but which felt like cold stone when
he laid a hand against it; a vine with leaves as large as
himself that reached up into the sky  --  and yet, he
could only see it when he stood beneath it, not when
he was upon the wall, and he could not touch it at all,
though he was certain he could hear harp music, high
above him. A round glass ball, taller than he, and
within it water, and a golden fish which swam up and
down, and looked at him with bulging eyes. Statues of
three odd litde men with enormous ears and short
pants, each holding a flat, round object on a stick, and
at the feet of one, a tiny, incredibly ugly stone dog.
Another statue, this of a panther, hung about the
throat with strands of gold and pearl, and in another
place, one of a wolf or an enormous dog, this hung
with chains of silver and ice-blue faceted sapphires. A
ring of iron holding up a filigree ball, and a creaking
mechanical clockwork beast, which lumbered up and
down a long, narrow courtyard with a deep path worn
in its midst.
So many and varied were these wonders, so rich or
simply curious, that at first he had stared in awe or
astonishment or pure amazement at such carelessly
strewn wealth and beauty. After a while, he took little
note of them, and passed by the most costly of them
with a mere glance.
There were other living things, too: a stallion so
enormous, and so wild of eye and stance, that he dared
not attempt to approach it but left it where it was; a
panther which paced up and down a long passage that
fortunately for him was one of the very few that was
crossed by a bridge, a high-arced, foot-narrow silver
passageway  --  and that beast, too, he let be. But not
far beyond the panther, in another square walled
space, he came across a small wire cage and found
within it small birds  --  linnets. "Poor sweet things,
what harm have you done any?" The cage might have
been made for mice, he thought; perhaps the birds had
strayed into it, drawn by corn, though mostly they ate
flaxseed. Poor, hungry, prettily bright little linnets, no
more magical than the mice had been  --  no more than
he was himself. He fed them a little crumbled travel
wafer  --  all he had left now, and watched as they flew
into the gray sky, red and yellow against the gray.
It heartened him, somehow, watching something
escape this maze. But when he climbed onto the wall,
moments later, he could see the spire in the center for
the first time in a very long time.
'That is the way I must go, then," he whispered.
The air seemed suddenly much colder than it had. He
cast the tower another glance and dropped down into
the next corridor.
The sky remained steadfastly gray, and once again
he lost track of time, and of the number of walls he
had scaled. But now and again, he could see the
dragons fortress, and it looked to him as though  -- 
just maybe  --  he was coming closer to it.
He edged across one very thick wall, down into
another of those endless corridors, and debated
resting a moment or so, but he had scarcely sat down
when he heard voices. Men's voices, many of them  -- 
harsh, deep voices. Panicked, he leaped to his feet,
looked both ways wildly. He couldn't tell where the
voices were coming from, but they were surely louder
than they had been a moment before. Hide. He
scrambled up the next wall and threw himself over it
just as twenty men came marching by twos down the
lane he had just left. Hide, this is no time to go weak-
kneed! he ordered himself furiously, and threw
himself down the other side of the wall, up and over
the next one and down it, before he even dared stop
moving. Reaction buckled his knees, then, and he slid
down the wall, rough stone catching at his shirt and at
the mandolin case. He let his eyes sag shut. The in-
sides of his lids retained a curious vision, a
man-turreted and spired palace of white stone that
shone and glittered, but was no larger than a decent-
sized cottage or inn. Grass and a hedge  --  and bright
color, perhaps flowers?
Possibly more beasts. But he had knocked the
breath from himself in falling, and he'd gone utterly
limp at escaping those guards; he could no more move
than open his eyes for the moment. Whatever was
here, even a panther or a wolf  --  even his death  --  it
would have to wait.
The sweet scent of roses and spice brushed against
his nostrils; he heard the soft whisper of fine cloth, and
then a low, sweetly resonant woman's voice: "Sir. Sir,
are you capable of movement?"
Sheer surprise opened his eyes, and his jaw
dropped: Surrounding him where he sat with his back
against the highest wall he had yet come down were
women  --  at least twenty of them, one as different
from the next as rubies from sapphires, emeralds from
diamonds, or roses from peach blossoms. And each
was the most wondrously beautiful girl he had ever
seen  --  in his life. "Like the apples," he said softly.
One of them  --  a girl who could not have been as
old as he, with gloriously dark red hair and the green-
est eyes he had ever seen  --  turned to another,
possibly even younger, who was gazing at him through
enormous china-blue eyes, from under a fall of white-
gold hair. "Ariana, did he call us apples?"
"Small wonder he is delirious," Ariana murmured
gently, "if he has come all the way from the outside
world to this our prison." At that moment, another
pressed the two aside and knelt before him. Black,
straight hair fell from under a sky-blue and gold sheer
veil; the stuff brushed against his hand as she leaned
toward him and fixed him with blue-black eyes that
held a worried expression.
"I am Lyrana, and your life is in danger. The guards
who just went by will surely come here in a moment,
and if they do, and if they find you . . . Will you put
yourself in our hands and trust us?" He looked from
one to another of the three nearest him and nodded at
once. "Good, I am glad to see you are sensible. Ariana,
Edorra, we three are the strongest  --  let us aid him to
his feet. Miritas and Dulcena, go and spread the cloth
carefully over the small table in the gazebo, quickly!"
With a flurry of many-colored skirts and a heady scent,
young women scattered, while Lyrana and the other
two tugged and finally got the bardling to his feet.
"You are worn, lean upon my arm," Lyrana directed,
and led him across open garden and soft grass to a
small pavilion wound with flowering vines. Up two
steps, and now he could hear men a distance away,
roughly demanding entry, but Lyrana calmly helped
him up the last step, across the pavilion, and she thrust
him under a low, long table. She caught at his arm as
he scuttled under. "Keep up your courage. If it is pos-
sible to save you, we will. Keep utterly still, and if you
feel a foot press against you, then move, as quietly as
possible, to the other end of the table. Go!"
He did, settled onto an extravagantly thick rug,
warm for the first time in ever so long, and got his
breathing under control as loud, harsh voices came
near, and then heavy footsteps clomped across the pa-
vilion. "Yes, Captain?" Lyrana's voice, he thought,
polite but cool. "Does the Master come, or perhaps
wish to see one of us?" He heard a chair scrape back,
and then another, saw first a daintily small blue-slip-
pered foot peek under the long cloth, and then
another  --  slender, this one, but not improbably tiny,
and the shoe itself looked almost practical. As he
looked at it, it swung forward and nudged against his
shoulder; he glanced down and through his legs,
began edging cautiously back.
The man s voice lost most of its edge and became
almost deferential. Ah, but who could be rude to such
beauty? Gawaine thought. "Your pardon, miss, I'm
sure, but  --  well, one of m'lads saw a man, or thought
he did, coming across the walls, and of course, we had
to check  --  "
"A man!" Another voice, one he hadn't heard
before.
"A man!" Several other voices, and the first one
chimed in, "Not an armed man! Oh, Captain, how for-
tunate you were nearby! He could  --  why, he could be
anywhere!"
"Urn, yes, well, you'd not miss him, if my man saw
rightly, for he had the reddest hair you can imagine."
Yet another girl uttered a small shriek. "Red hair  -- 
ah, lud, there was a man with fire-red hair in my vil-
lage, once; he murdered five women before they
caught him! A devil, they said, and I believe it!"
"A devil!" Another girl exclaimed.
'This is terrifying," Lyrana said; it was her foot,
Gawaine decided, that had nudged him down to this
end of the table. "You must search carefully, Captain.
We do not all want to be murdered in our beds!
"Yes!" Ariana chimed in quickly. "We have been at
tea this past hour out here. Who knows what manner
of thing might have invaded the bedchambers?"
"Or the kitchens," another cried out, and Gawaine
suddenly grinned. They were doing an excellent job of
acting, but an act it surely was; a girl half as clever as
Ariana had looked would not have been carrying on
so. She sounds more like all those Maryas and Katyas,
and he had to bend down and bite the side of his hand
to keep from laughing aloud. He froze in place as
Lyrana spoke.
"Why, he might even be under the very table, Cap-
tain  --  you had better look!"
The captain laughed, and his voice relaxed, became
downright avuncular. "Why, Miss Lyrana, you girls all
said you had been at tea this past hour. How would a
man with flame-red hair have sneaked past you to hide
under the table?'
"Oh, you will think me foolish, Captain," Lyrana
said, and she sounded terribly embarrassed, "but the
very thought of a man, here  --  besides yourself, of
course, for we know how well Lord Voyvodan cares for
us."
"Um  --  yes, well." Gawaine could just see the cap-
tain s enormous scuffed leather boots shifting beyond
the cloth. "Well, tell you what, miss  --  ladies  --  we'll
just check the house itself, make certain there's no one
about. If you should see a man with very red hair,
though  --  "
"Why, if I see him, I shall scream!" the girl who'd
spoken of redheaded mass murderers announced
firmly. "Like  --  like this!" She illustrated; Gawaine
caught his breath sharply, but fortunately the girl's
noise  --  and the resulting babble from the rest of the
girls and the guardsmen  --  covered him.
"Well  --  well, yes, miss," the captain replied, "you
do just that, and wherever we are within the Masters
walls, I am quite certain we shall hear you."
"So long as you come to our rescue in time," Lyrana
replied coolly. "Can you not leave us a guardsman in
the house, for protection?'
"Well  --  miss  --  um. You know how the Master
feels about men here. Any men, even mine. I can set a
pair of guards outside the gate for you, though. That
way you'll be certain to have protection. Just in case."
"I understand." Gawaine watched as Lyrana with-
drew her feet from under the table, and her voice
faded a little. "We do truly appreciate it, Captain. You
understand  --  the Master does care for us quite well,
but so often we are alone for such a long time, and it is
worrying to most of us."
"We'll care for you," the captain said. "Of course,
you know we will. The Master would not care to see
any of you distressed."
There was, perhaps, a question in his last remark,
and Lyrana replied, "We know you do your best, Cap-
tain. I shall certainly say as much to the Master, if the
matter ever is brought up. Shall I walk you to the
house?"
"I can manage, miss. You finish your tea, and try not
to worry, all of you." Enormous boots clomped away.
A low, female voice murmured, "He is not yet gone,
nor those who serve under him. Stay quite still." A lit-
tle while later, the same voice said, 'They have gone
through the gate and barred it. Wait to a count of ten,
and then come out."
He did, to find young women scattered casually
about the grass, walking arm in arm and chatting
nearby. Four of them were still seated around the
table inside the pavilion. And Lyrana, standing at the
end of the little table, gazing toward the gates.
She had the most wonderful hair he had ever seen:
blue-black, heavy and straight, it hung nearly to her
knees. Her face was the clear white of finest cream,
her eyes enormous, very slightly tip-tilted at the out-
side corners, and the darkest midnight blue he had
ever seen in eyes. "Now," she said briskly, resuming
her seat and waving him to the one next to her, "if you
will wait for just one more moment, while we make
certain there are no guards about save the two at the
gate, we will have some explanations  --  on both sides,
poor man," she added with a smile, "for you must have
as many questions as we."
Chapter XVIII
Ariana came striding across the grass, brushing her
hands briskly. "Well, they've left. And those two boys
the captain put on guard are such blushing babes, they
will never dare enter  --  unless we scream for them."
She looked at Gawaine. "And there is a trick of the air
here, or these walls. They cannot hear us beyond
them, unless we do scream."
"Thank you for telling me," Gawaine said simply.
Lyrana had been studying his face, and he could
feel the color spreading out from his cheekbones.
"Questions, I think, can wait," she said at last. "You
look utterly exhausted, poor man. When did you last
eat a proper meal?'
"Proper?" He laughed faintly. 7s this to count that
stuff in Ilya's village? "If you accept onion soup and
onion bread as food, well then  --  "
Lyrana smiled and shook her head. "Ariana, see if
there is something for this poor man to eat, will you?
Or," she added quickly as the girl frowned the least bit,
"if you would rattier stay here, find Irene  --  she knows
the kitchen better anyway." The smile widened as Ari-
ana practically ran across the grass and spoke to
another of the girls, who at once vanished through a
finely carved door, into the small palace. Ariana
returned at once and claimed a chair  --  not at his el-
bow as he might have expected, but across the table
from him, so he could see both young women without
shifting. And I would swear, she knows it would make
me uncomfortable to have two such lovelies so close as
that  --  any unwed women, after that village  --  and
she is being polite. Ariana smiled at him as she sat
down, but the smile was just friendly, and even a sus-
picious male could have read nothing in it. No walks in
onion fields at sunset here, he thought, drew a deep
breath, and relaxed against the cushions of his chair
for the first time. "You must not be uncomfortable
among us," Lyrana said. "We do not mean ill when we
stare, you know, and really, we do not mean to stare,
but it is that  --  well, it has been some time since any
of us has seen a man, unless you count Voyvodan, in
his prime form, and even at that there is little human
about him." She shuddered a little, but waved a hand
when he would have surged to his feet with a confused
thought of protecting her, comforting her  --  perhaps
both. Touching her, at the very least, he thought in
even more confusion, and now his ears were hot. "As
to your question," Lyrana went on calmly, "the people
in the village where I came from consider onions
palatable. I ate them, of course; a village girl in my end
of the kingdom learns early to eat what there is, and
not to fuss over what she would rather have." She
tipped her head a little to the side as he stirred and
looked surprised. "What?"
"I  --  I am sorry, I  --  " Gawaine swallowed, drew a
deep breath, and said in a rush, "I thought you all
noble  --  "
He stopped. Lyrana let her head fall back and she
laughed, but somehow, because of it, he felt more at
ease with her  --  the laughter, he felt certain, was not
at him. "Fine clothing, and so on, yes! Well, one or two
of us are noble, or at least gentry. And others before us
have been." The smile left her face, but before either
of them could say anything else, a pair of young
women approached, each bearing a laden tray. "Irene,
and her twin sister, Iris," Lyrana said as the two came
into the pavilion and began laying out plates, cups, and
food and drink before him. "Though you would never
know them twins to look, would you?"
"Ladies." Gawaine slid back from the table and
sketched them a seated bow. Iris looked at Irene and
Irene back, and they laughed cheerfully, then gave
him matching bob-courtesies in return. He wouldn't
even have thought them sisters, except by the hair:
wonderful stuff, the same shade of brown each with
strands of red in it, so that lantern light made it cop-
pery. Iris wore hers loose, and it rippled down her
back to her waist. Irene had hers in a thick plait that
hung so long she could surely sit upon it, and it was
worked with pale blue ribbons to match her gown.
Her face was smoothly round and wonderfully cheer-
ful; her light brown eyes had greenish flecks and a very
shrewd depth to them. Iris had a longer face with a
dusting of faint freckles across a slender nose and
prominent cheekbones, a wide, cheerful mouth, very
dark brown eyes that gave her a thoughtful look, even
with that delightful smile. Both girls plied him with
food  --  a cold green soup, a platter of hot sliced bird
slathered in gravy, a bowl of some land of green and
red pickle that was chilled but hot on the tongue, and
one of the finest white loaves he had ever tasted.
He hadn't realized he was so hungry until the food
came; he ate, and ate more, and none of the women
spoke to him, or asked him any questions save, "More
of that?" or "Another cup of wine?" until he was full.
He was profoundly grateful; he couldn't have replied
without putting aside his fork or his bread, and they
could see that, despite what must be a near over-
whelming curiosity about him  --  and gave him the
courtesy of allowing him to simply eat, unlike the
Katyas and Maryas and that Greta. He sighed happily.
There was certainly more to beauty than mere looks
 --  say, intelligence?
Once he was finished, he made a bare-bones story
of his arrival here, and of his separation from the rest
of his company, with only a bare mention of Fenix and
her apple tree. "I cannot think where the others might
have been put," he said finally. "I have looked and
looked, and found nothing but walls and corridors and
courtyards and dreadful cold  --  well," he added with
an abashed smile for the women surrounding him,
"that is, until just now. Thank you for the food. But I
had better leave, before I am found here and get you
into terrible trouble."
"Oh, I think we can deal with that," Lyrana said qui-
etly. "We are given hours of warning before Voyvodan
comes, of course  --  he would be very displeased to
find any of us in less than perfect state, but even he
realizes that it is not quite possible to hold oneself in
court-perfect readiness at all times. And the guards do
not come in here without a knock of warning and an
invitation from one of us. Voyvodan, you might well
imagine, would be less than pleased to have his fair
possessions mistreated by so much as an unsoft word
or rude deed, and the guard seems to believe we go
about in here not always clad to receive them."
"Oh, Lyrana!" Iris gasped, and then laughed cheer-
fully. "Is that how you managed that poor guard?"
"And does he really think we walk about unclad in
here?" Irene asked. "But what a clever idea!"
Lyrana shrugged and grinned at the twins. "Clever
only because it worked." She looked at Gawaine and
actually winked. "So, there would be time to hide you,
if there is need."
"Do stay a little," Ariana said, and Irene added,
"Please do. It is so nice, having someone new to talk
to. Of course, there are always new girls, but  --  " She
stopped in confusion, and her sister patted her shoul-
der.
"I am certain the Bard understands what you mean,
dear."
"I am glad to give you my company for a little
while," Gawaine said with another smile all around.
"And I fear it is bardling, not yet Bard. Unfortunately,
I do not dare play my mandolin for you, lest the guards
or the Snow Dragon hear me, and for that I am sorry,
for often I do sing for my supper." All at once, he felt
quite comfortable in the middle of so many fair ones,
not at all his stumble-tongued and easily abashed self.
It is this place, and food after so long on short com-
mons, nothing more, he told himself. It must be; he
certainly did not feel the least like his normal self. "But
tell me something of yourselves. Why have you come
here?"
Momentary silence, as young women looked at
each other and then at him. "Well!" Ariana said. "I was
second daughter to a count, and about to be forced
into a marriage I did not want, and so one afternoon I
took my horse and rode out to a hilltop to decide
whether I should do as my father ordered and make
the best of a bad bargain, run away by myself, or if I
should trust my tutor, who claimed to care for me
enough to run away with me." She shrugged. 'There
was a flash of light, a blast of terrible cold, and my
horse threw me. I remember nothing else until I
awoke here."
"We," Irene said, "are a farmers daughters, and we
experienced the same flash of light and chill upon the
road to market with two of Father s goats."
"And I was tenth child of a poor herder," said
another girl, a ravishing white-blonde with skin so pale
the blue veins showed over her temples. "And I had
taken the geese to the stream when I saw the water
was frozen solid, in the very midst of summer. And an
odd man stood upon the far side, a very white man,
and he offered me a place here, instead of what I had."
She shrugged. "Well, think of it: In exchange for a
hard life, little food and a barren cottage that was sti-
flingly hot and smelly in summer, cold and drafty in
winter, he offered me silks and jewels, a woman to
dress my hair and care for my clothing, servants to
feed me choice dainties. What girl of sense would not
accept? I did  --  and found myself here, with no mem-
ory of how I came to be here." She sighed. "It was
truly wondrous at first, having nothing to do but re-
move the wear of years upon my hands, make friends,
and play games or embroider. Now, even with so many
friends and so many things to hold my attention, I am
bored."
"Bored?" Gawaine blinked at her.
"Certainly," Lyrana said. 'There is nothing to do
save play at noblewomen's games and hobbies. There
are no books, though I have asked for them myself. He
will not permit us a tutor, though many of us are let-
tered and have done their best to teach the rest of us.
Though I think even with books and reading, one
would become bored after a while, for worst thing of
all, once a girl wakens in this courtyard, there is no
going out again." Several of the young women stirred
and Lyrana added, "Well  --  not to leave this palace, or
these walls, we are certain of that." Gawaine's brow
puckered, and Lyrana added gently, "After all  --  he is
a dragon, you know."
"Oh  --  ah, no," Gawaine whispered. With a groan,
he let his eyes close and lowered his head down onto
his hands. Lyranas voice went on above him.
"I am eldest of us here, and have been here longest
 --  though I am but twenty. There are five of us who
came not long after I did  --  and there were fourteen
here before me, who no longer are. Voyvodan sent for
them, you see, and they never returned."
"And you think  --  " He could not finish the sen-
tence.
"Each of them was older than Lyrana is now," Irene
said simply.
"Yes. And no longer a beautiful, fresh-faced girl of
that age and dewiness that makes older men become
foolish over them," Iris added shrewdly.
"He is a dragon, and therefore collects things of
beauty, and perfect things," Lyrana said after a
moment. "But once those tilings loose that bloom of
perfection  --  well, he has also had the roses dug up
twice and replaced since I have been here. And there
was nothing amiss with them but that the flowers were
no longer quite so huge as they had been, and there
were tiny brown spots upon the leaves." She consid-
ered this quietly, and many of the girls sighed. But
before Gawaine could say anything  --  or even think of
anything to say (somehow, "I'm sorry" doesn't seem to
cover being eaten by a dragon because you reached
the ancient age of twenty-one, he thought unhappily)
 --  Lyrana stirred and looked around, and then smiled
at Gawaine, who smiled back and went very slowly
bright red. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see
Iris and Irene exchange knowing glances, Ariana cast
her eyes upward, and several sets of fair, and fairly
clad, shoulders sagged. "I think," Lyrana went on,
"that perhaps 7 should show him about, while there is
still a little light. Unless anyone objects?"
Irene shook her head and Iris laughed. "We both
have eyes, my dear. And you are senior here, after all.
Go."
"Thank you. Gawaine?" Lyrana rose gracefully and
held out an arm as neatly as any countess, which he
took as deftly as any count. She led him out of the
pavilion, across the neatly tended grass. But as they
came up to the litde palace, she turned to the right
and led him along a graveled path, all the way around
to the back. 'There is a grate, just here," she mur-
mured, keeping her voice low and a glance to their
right reminding Gawaine that the wall was very near
here. "And it leads to a tunnel  --  but you will see."
He watched in great surprise as Lyrana gathered
her hair back and wrapped a ribbon around it, tucked
her skirts in the sash at her waist to keep them from
trailing, and then bent to tug at a ring which lay in the
middle of a grate. She pulled her gown close before
her, raised her eyebrows and smiled at him, then
turned and rapidly descended. Gawaine followed,
catching hold of the grate at her instruction from the
dark below, and pulling it back into place. He went the
rest of the way down slowly, for the steps were oddly
constructed and not at a height his feet and legs recog-
nized, but finally he reached ground once more, and a
hand touched his shoulder. Lyrana, he knew at once,
even in the dark. Her scent, which was spicy and fruity
at once, brought a sense of her. She brought forth a
tiny light from somewhere, a candle flame caught in a
glass ball, and held it aloft. It was just enough to guide
their feet.
After a little while, they came into dim light; several
of the little balls had been set into curiously shaped
wrought iron holders  --  tiny dragons with their hands
spaced to hold one, or birds which held one between
them, and others just intricately wrought with no real
form to them. All about were stacked boxes and crates.
Lyrana indicated these with a wave of her hand as they
passed by. "It is one of Voyvodan's storage rooms for
things he no longer wants immediately to hand or eye.
Come, diis way."
Left to himself, he would have been even more lost
here than he had been above, but Lyrana walked
quickly and tirelessly, leading him through a maze of
corridors. She paused at a plain door and said, "We
will come back here, shortly, for this is a safe place for
you to sleep the night."
We? He liked the sound of that very much, and by
the look she gave him, he didn't think he had misun-
derstood her meaning. All the same, this was no tavern
girl to love and leave. She has learned to take each day
and live as much as she can in it. But, if I could some-
how save her from Voyvodan . . . That unfortunately
reminded him: There were a few others who needed
saving from the Snow Dragon  --  like his Master. And
what if the dragon came visiting that courtyard and
could tell that one of his bevy of maidens was no
longer  --  ah, exactly . . . Gawaine sighed very quietly,
and followed Lyrana along the corridor.
She didn't take him much farther  --  just into a lit-
tle, square room, with grates set in the low ceiling on
opposite sides, and two doors leading away on the
other wall. "Here," she murmured very quietly, "is
how we see what is going on, here and in other parts of
Voyvodan's maze. That is his throne room, so you must
be very quiet until I am certain he is not there." She
peered upward for a time, finally nodded and beck-
oned.
Gawaine rested his weight on both hands, and with
his nose practically against the heavy grate, looked
across the floor of the Snow Dragons throne room.
High above, he could see a beautifully painted and
gold-trimmed ceiling that rose and fell in vaults, and
below that, long windows clad in the richest velvet and
gold drapes he had ever seen. Below that, spread
across the floor, chests, boxes, crates, epergnes, stat-
ues, jewels, gems, cloth  --  the most dreadful welter of
costly and rare things he could ever have imagined.
"How does he find anything in all that?" he whispered.
For answer, Lyrana touched his arm and indicated
the way they had come with a nod of her head. She led
him back down the corridor and stopped at the plain
door. Within, there was a small windowless room that
held only a bed covered in thick furs and pillows, a lit-
tle table, and under the table a small and unfigured
wooden chest. Gawaine breathed a sigh of relief. This
was better than Voyvodan's throne room, by far. This
was  --  familiar. Comfortable. What he knew.
Lyrana might almost have read his mind. "I like this
little room, it reminds me of home. Better, from your
perspective, it is quite safe," she added as she closed
the door behind them, "for the dragon cannot come
down here, and his men almost never do, and then
only to bring some object he desires and has left fallow
for a time. They make a great noise then, and hurry
along the tunnels and return at once  --  they are said
to be haunted, I am told." She pushed him onto the
bed and knelt before the chest. "I have a few medi-
cines in here, and I most certainly heard you strike
your head when you fell. Set aside your bags and lie
back."
He stood the mandolin upright against the wall, set
his pack, his cloak and the belt bag, and then his weap-
ons before it, then sat back. It made him nervous, all at
once, sitting in this very strange place; more nervous
when Lyrana came over with a bottle and strips of
white cloth and leaned very close to him while she
examined his head. "What wonderful hair you have,"
she said suddenly. "So unlike the men I knew in my
village  --  red as a flame and so thickly curled. You
must have a dreadful time keeping the girls out of it."
She didn't wait for a response  --  which was just as
well, Gawaine thought  --  but went on at once, "You
have a bump, just here  --  does that hurt?" He inhaled
spice-and-fruit and clean warmth, and rather dizzily
shook his head. "Well, that is good, I think," Lyrana
said doubtfully. "But I will clean it all the same, and
then you must lie back and rest."
"Mmmm. Yes  --  ouch!  --  yes, I think so. I am  -- 
awfully tired all at once."
'Tired!" She pulled back from him a little, and he
realized with a start that he had put his arms around
her  -- to keep from falling over, he told himself hast-
ily. He started to move them, but she freed one of her
own hands, placed his together at the back of her waist
once more, and went back to her task. "I should think
you are tired, with all you have done of late," she said
after a comfortable silence.
"I shall kill that dragon for you," Gawaine mum-
bled. But at that, Lyrana leaned back once more,
bottle in one hand and damp pad of cloth in the other,
and her eyes were very wide.
"Now, you must absolutely give over that idea at
once," she said flatly. "Here, wait, let me finish, and
then I can give my whole mind to the subject. And you
can lie down, before you fall." She patted at the back
of his head with the cloth; the stuff stung, but not too
badly, and when she was finished, she freed herself
from his grasp and gave him a shove so he fell over
onto the bed. She returned the medicine to the box,
wrinkled her nose at the used bandage and stuffed it
into the box, too, then came over and sat on the edge
of the bed. Gawaine slid over to make room for her.
She edged farther onto the covers and slid pillows
under his head. "Are you awake enough to listen?"
"Fine," he insisted  --  not very truthfully. "Why not
loll that dragon? Solve everyone's problem, right?"
"If you could, perhaps. But you can't. No one can."
That brought him a little more awake. "Why not?"
"Because he doesn't keep his heart in his body." She
gave him a very wary look, then, as though daring him
to laugh. What she saw apparently satisfied her, for she
went on at once. "Because he does not keep his heart
in his body, he cannot be killed by any weapon that
strikes him."
"But if one used the weapon against his heart,"
Gawaine began, and Lyrana laughed and shook her
head.
"Oh, yes! If one did! But it is well hidden, some-
where in the palace. Most likely somewhere within his
throne room, since he works magic there, and he must
have it near for that." She sat back and looked at him.
Gawaine frowned, concentrating as hard as he ever
had in his life.
"Well then, it would only need someone to find it,
and if it is in the throne room ..." His voice died away;
that throne room. There was enough  --  stuff  --  in
that throne room to fill five palaces, and with no order
to any of it.
Lyrana nodded and her fair face had gone grim.
"Exactly. And anyone who comes near enough to do
him damage  --  well, if he does not eat them, or step
on them, he turns them into statues."
"Statues?"
"Later. I must leave before much longer. All the
same, it was clever of you to figure out that killing the
heart might kill the dragon. So, why don't you use
some of that cleverness and help all of us find a way to
escape this place? Your companions, and mine  --  and
you and I?"
He would have argued with her, but there was
something about her eyes, about her face, and with a
sudden pang he remembered that she might be num-
bering her days before Voyvodan came to take her
away. "Oh. Lyrana, I swear I will."
"Good" Her face smoothed out and she became all
briskly business. "I have spent a long time here, you
know. Perhaps I will be able to help you. Once you
have slept a little, we will find your Master and the
others  --  will that ease your rest?"
"Yes, thank you. And after all, my Master is a Bard.
And a Dark Elf. He may have some ideas of his own."
He could have bitten his tongue; ordinarily, this was
not a good thing to inform anyone right away. But
Lyrana merely nodded.
"Yes  --  they are as long-lived as any elf, are they
not?" She considered this, smiled. "All the same, what
an unusual combination; they do say most Dark Elves
turn to necromancy if they choose magic. Did you say
something?"
"I? No. Um. Dry throat, I guess. I think I set my
water bottle on the floor  --  thank you." He drank
warm, leathery water from the bottle she handed to
him, conscious of her warm, searching gaze on his
face, then lay back down and settled his shoulders
against the furs and cushions. Lyrana set the botde
where it had been and leaned forward to lay a hand
over his forehead. He sighed happily and closed his
eyes. "Sleep," she said softly. "I will try to be here
when you waken, but if I am not, stay here and I will
not be long. Promise me."
"I  --  mmm  --  promise," he murmured, already
half asleep. He thought he felt her lips brush against
his forehead, but that might have been wishful think-
ing, or a dream.
Chapter XIX
Naitachal came slowly awake from dreams that left
him with a strange, mixed sensation: pleasure and
impending doom, in equal parts. For several
moments, he lay as he found himself, eyes closed.
There was a mattress under him instead of tree roots
and stones, soft warm blankets over him instead of
those inadequate things he and Gawaine had bought
in Portsmith, and his own inadequate cloak.
Gawaine. He sat bolt upright, blinking furiously as a
brilliant light like winter sun on snow hit him from all
sides. The room slowly came into view: ice-blue walls,
pale velvet drapes, ice-blue carpets scattered about a
highly polished wooden floor of intricate parquet-work
 --  what he could see of it from this bed, he thought
gloomily. Probably the rest of it was inlaid with
semi-precious stones, or he would look down to see the
lost Golden Calendar Medallion of the Horoniqas
under his feet when he put them over the side. In such
a place as this, nothing seemed too fantastic.
Gawaine. "Ah, poor lad, I forgot all about him and
slept like a lamb while he probably lies frozen out
there  --  somewhere."
"You had better worry about yourself just now,
Bard." Raven came quickly into the room. 'This Voy-
vodan has sent servants with food and clothing for all
of us  --  and a politely disguised order to eat quickly so
he can speak with us."
"Ah. Yes." Naitachal was almost disappointed to
find the floor where slippers had been placed for him
was a plain length of carpet. He stretched, got to his
feet and followed the Druid into the main room,
where Wulfgar or someone had already built up the
fires. He would have to put Gawaine from his mind
for now, the Bard decided; Raven was right. Get all of
them somehow out of this predicament and then he
could devote his energy to finding his lost bardling.
It was always possible Gawaine had won free of the
maze anyway, gotten to the horses and escaped. The
thought cheered him most of the way through an
excellent breakfast.
Somewhat to his surprise, the usually deferential
Wulfgar was not waiting upon Tem-Telek, and with
the lizardman s cloak tossed over the chair back, Nai-
tachal could plainly see the noble had removed what
gems he could, and both his red leather straps. He
remembered then: Wulfgar was to be the Master
here, the lizardman his apprentice. To his amusement,
Wulfgar appeared to be enjoying himself, and he put
on a rather bossy voice whenever the servants came
within hearing.
"Now, just you don't embarrass me," he said gruffly.
"I know how you are, and it can't be helped, more's the
pity, but just the same, you don't talk around this big
feller unless I say. Or he does, a'course." Tem-Telek
bowed his head deferentially, but the Bard saw a
wicked gleam in his eye, as though he, too, was getting
a certain amount of fun out of the deception. If they
can pull it off, that is.
The clothing was a pleasant surprise  --  well-made
and good quality, practical clothing rather than the
fancy silks the Bard had half feared
The throne room caught him as much by surprise
as it had the previous day. The Snow Dragon was
sprawled in his throne, waiting for them. "I shall set
you tasks," he said abruptly, before they could all finish
bowing. "According to what you have told me of your-
selves." He smiled toothily at each of them in turn.
"Please me, and finish the things I ask of you, and per-
haps I shall let you go. You, dwarf. You and your
servant, come forward." His eyes narrowed as they
swept over the pair, and for one awful moment, Nai-
tachal feared all was up, but Voyvodan merely smirked
and waved an arm. Four servants came forward, two
carrying a clockwork man of polished brass and steel,
the other two a huge and heavy box full of cogs, pins,
hooks, fasteners  --  and most curiously of all, a large
chessboard of alternating brass and steel squares. The
Bard, standing on tiptoe, would have sworn he could
see an exquisitely detailed brass king, and a steel
knight mounted on a polished black stone horse. "I  -- 
ah  --  I acquired this a time ago," the Snow Dragon
said carelessly. "And it broke. It is a goliwak, an
automaton which plays chess. Fix it for me  --  if you
can."
Wulfgar was already peering into the box and pok-
ing at the clockworks. He shrugged. "Certainly. A
mere nothing, it should be. But I cannot work here."
Voyvodan nodded. "Certainly not! The servants will
take you to a workroom. When you are finished with this
 --  mere nothing, you can rejoin the others." Wulfgar
inclined his head and poked Tem-Telek as though
reminding a gawky apprentice to bow, then took hold of
the dark shirt the lizardman was wearing over his cold-suit
and pulled him from the chamber in the wake of the four
servants and the goliwak. Voyvodan watched until they
vanished behind the fountain, then leaned back and
stroked his chin. "Ah," he said finally, got to his feet and
strode across the dais, shouldered past Cedric, and
clapped his hands together. The sound rang crystal
chandeliers all up and down the room and echoed against
the high ceiling.
And Arturis, suddenly again a very human Paladin
atop his stone pedestal, finished his massive swing  -- 
with the now guttered-out candelabra. He stared at it
blankly, then at his surroundings, and blinked as the
Snow Dragon began to laugh. The Paladin's face went
a deep unlovely red and he gripped the fancy thing,
leaped down from the pedestal, and began to stalk for-
ward. Voyvodan at once stepped back. "Ooooh, noooo,
it frightens me!" he lisped in a high, shrill voice that
reminded Naitachal of one of Ilya s cousins  --  or all of
them. "Oooh, don't hurt me, I am so afraid of candle-
wax!" Arturis stopped and gazed at him, now as much
bewildered as angry.
"Why do you mock me?" he asked. But there was
knowledge in his eyes, and anger again, and when he
spoke again he sounded like himself once more. Un-
fortunately, Naitachal thought, and cast his eyes
tiredly ceilingward. But why would the beast free him
at all? "How dare you mock me, godless creature?"
Arturis shouted.
"Ah  --  well, let me think," Voyvodan replied ear-
nestly. "Because I lack amusement, or because there is
no point to a Paladin who is not active and about to act
heroic  --  or to slay dragons?" he added slyly. "Or per-
haps I did not want a heroic statue where you were  -- 
or perhaps you are not a hero at all," he added point-
edly.
"I  --  not  --  I not a  --  ?" Arturis spluttered.
"Be careful, you are spitting all over yourself and
my floor," Voyvodan pointed out.
"Be damned to your floor and to you!" Arturis
shouted. 'The God knows me for an unholy man and
yet he protects me, for one day I shall find his holy
light  --  "
"Ah, stow it," the Snow Dragon growled, and the
floor rumbled. Arturis, as startled as anyone else in the
throne room, fell momentarily silent. "Well, then.
Unholy, is it? And a Paladin, and servant of a god, and
such a servant that this god bespeaks him regularly.
Does he send you notes, or whisper into your ear, or
perhaps bathe you in pink light and then send you  -- 
dragons to slay?" A flash of many pointed teeth;
Arturis swallowed and abruptly lost his high, mottled
coloring. "Well, Paladin, this hall has excellent acous-
tics and I am certain your god is nearby. Tell you what,
you call upon him to aid you, and then  --  well, then, I
shall try you myself, and if he has protected you I shall
not be able to eat you, shall I?"
"Eat  --  you eat  --  I, you, eat?" Arturis babbled in a
high, breathy voice. The Snow Dragon snorted; pale
blue smoke wreathed the Paladin, who suddenly
looked as though he might fall down.
"Eat," Voyvodan said cheerfully. "You know  --  you
yourself do this to meat, don't you? And if you are not
the chosen protected Paladin of this god, why, then
what are you to me but meat?" Arturis gaped at him.
"I usually," the Snow Dragon went on thoughtfully,
"begin with the feet. Are yours dean? Nothing quite
so unpleasant as unbathed feet  --  perhaps we had
better have a servant in here to deal with them now.
Just in case, you know." He paused, tilted his head to
one side as though expecting a response. "I could
begin at the other end," he went on after it became
clear Arturis was momentarily beyond speech, "but
that is so dull! They only scream once when you bite
the head off first, you know. But  --  should you not be
kneeling, and waving your arms, and calling upon your
god? I haven't all day, you know; plenty to do, and
there are still these others to deal with."
"Ohhhhhh. Oh, no. Oh, no." Arturis closed his eyes
and began to sway. The dragon let him go on for a
while, but finally sighed loudly and tapped him on the
shoulder, at which the Paladin screamed and leaped
backwards. Voyvodan gave him a little silent applause.
"Sanctimonious prig," a voice whispered against the
Bard's ear; he started and cast Cedric a reproachful
look. "Well?" the archer demanded softly. "He's a
phony, a fake. No more Paladin than  --  than Voyvo-
dan is. I can handle much in this world, but not a
hypocrite!"
"It may be he's as deluded as anyone else," Raven
put in quietly from Cedric's other side. "Look." Voyvo-
dan was walking all around Arturis, studying him
thoughtfully. Arturis had fallen to his knees, his hands
over his head, and had gone into a by-now familiar line
of babble, his so-called "tongues" interspersed with
real words, and Naitachal, who disliked the man as
much as anyone, had to admit Arturis seemed to
believe in what he was doing.
The Snow Dragon was keeping up a running com-
mentary, a basso counterpart to the Paladin's tenor
melody: "Bah. This god of yours couldn't turn cream
into butter, and you yourself wouldn't know butter if it
bit you. If this is a true trance, I am a Paladin myself.
Well, where is this god of yours? Look, you started
when I touched you  --  I can still touch you, Paladin.
Well, now, why are you looking at me? I have always
heard that in a true trance, a pure man  --  so sorry, you
are not pure, you said so and at length  --  but a god's
pet Paladin should be oblivious to anything else. Your
trances are fake, Paladin."
'The God will strike you dead," Arturis began
angrily. Voyvodan began to laugh.
"He has a large enough target, why does he not
simply do so?"
"You deny the God, you evil  --  you evil  -- !"
"I deny no gods, Paladin," Voyvodan replied easily.
"I am well aware of many gods. I have seen a few in
my day, and it may be your personal god was one of
them. One loses track, after a while, you know."
Arturis blinked at him, stunned into momentary si-
lence. "No, I merely deny that any deity would have
anything to do with a bombast such as yourself."
"You  --  I  --  "
A very testy snort silenced him. "Oh, do be still! I
wager when I eat you, I will find you taste of meat and
wine, and fine foods, that your flesh is soft as a Pala-
din s and a hero's should never be. Because I wager,
little man, that you have taken the easy way: lip service
to a higher way of life and no substance behind it. You
want men to call you Paladin and hero, and women to
swoon at your coming, but I doubt if these compan-
ions of yours could tell me of one heroic thing you
have done in any of their presences." Naitachal looked
from the corner of his eye at Raven and Cedric, who
were gazing at each other in open surprise.
'That is a vicious lie, not true at all," Arturis whim-
pered, and the all-too-easy tears began to run down
his cheeks. "It is a test, set to me by the God, to find if
I am strong. And I am strong, and I will not fear this
evil, nor give in to any temptation, and I will greet my
death as a moral and upright servant of the God  --  "
His voice was gaining strength as he went on, repeat-
ing familiar words and phrases, and no doubt he
would have continued for hours, but Voyvodan began
to laugh.
"Why, this is most amusing, quite the best fun I
have had in a very long time! I do quite enjoy the mar-
tyr's speech  --  do you know it well? Will you be able
to recite it again, if I ask? Say, tomorrow, when I dine?
Give me again the bit about moral and upright, that is
particularly funny."
What is he doing? the Bard wondered uneasily. The
dragon had stalked partway around Arturis once again,
and the Paladin was pivoting to keep an eye on him;
his color was alarmingly high and his hands clenched
into fists. "Funny?" he shouted suddenly. "I will show
you funny! This is funny!" And, snatching up a spear
from a nearby open box, he threw it at the dragon. At
that distance, he could not possibly have missed.
"Oh, good shot!" Voyvodan applauded. The others
stood gaping: The spear had gone halfway into his
chest and the haft was still quivering. He wrapped one
of his long, white hands around it and tugged; the
point came free. No blood, anywhere. "I like this game
even better. My turn, I think?" Arturis turned as white
as Voyvodan was normally, and he stumbled back a
pace. Voyvodan brought up the spear, cocked his arm
and, the Bard noticed, made a curious gesture with his
other hand. Arturis was once again a statue, this time
with his arms out in a futile effort to ward off the
spear, and a look of utter horror on his face. The Snow
Dragon dropped the spear and rubbed his hands
together. "I simply love it when they freeze that way.
Look at his face, isn't it wonderful?"
"Um, yes. Wonderful." Naitachal cleared his throat
and slipped the lute free of its case. He had never
thought so fast in all his life. Sing, entertain  --  amuse
the creature. See how long you can keep him side-
tracked. "I wonder, have you ever heard the tale of
Beatrice and the Manticore?"
"Beatrice  --  I don't believe so. Do you know this?"
All four thousand, seven hundred twenty-four
verses of it, sonny boy, the Bard thought grimly, but he
kept his face pleasant and merely bowed as the Snow
Dragon resumed his throne, straightened up and
began to sing one of the silliest, most convoluted songs
that had ever come to his attention.
For a while, he almost dared think it was going to
work. But somewhere around verse three hundred
seventy, Voyvodan waved a hand, and Naitachal dis-
covered he could move his lips all he liked, but no
sound would come. "We can come back to this later.
Perhaps," he added meaningfully, and beckoned to
Cedric and Raven. "You both look to me like men who
would like puzzles."
"Puzzles?" Cedric asked. Raven nudged him in the
ribs and nodded.
"Any Druid worth his grove enjoys puzzles, sir."
"Well, then! We know you will enjoy them, and of
course, you cannot go without company, that would
never do. Solve the puzzles you find in my maze, and
you may go free."
"If not?' Cedric asked.
"Oh." The Snow Dragon smiled unpleasantly. "I
think the puzzles themselves will take care of that little
difficulty." He gestured, and several guards came up
to bustle the two of them away. Naitachal sighed and
watched them go. When he turned back, Voyvodan
was sprawled back in his throne, watching him. After a
moment, he waved his hand and leaned forward.
"Well, Bard?"
"Well?" He could talk again. "About the rest of this
song, now," he said rather firmly, but Voyvodan inter-
rupted him.
"Stuff silly Beatrice. I am heartily bored with Bea-
trice. Know any funny songs about Paladins?"
Chapter XX
Gawaine lay very still when he woke, and gazed
wide-eyed into near-darkness. There was one of those
small globes with a candle flame locked in it, set on
the floor near the door.
Unlike his Master, he recalled at once where he
was, and why. He smiled at the little glass ball  --  as
clear an "I'll be back" as any written message might
have been, and stretched, hard. Lyrana. Beautiful,
clever  --  and she likes me. Or what she thought he
was, maybe; but before he could follow this line of
thought and become thoroughly depressed, there was
a tap at the door and Lyrana slipped into the room. "I
hope I didn't wake you, you certainly needed rest," she
began. "But I thought you would like to see what is
happening in Voyvodan s throne room."
Gawaine leaped to his feet. "He's there?"
"He is. And some men, and I think a dwarf and
what must be your Bard. Hurry, if you can," Lyrana
added, "because it is always hard to say how long Voy-
vodan will keep at anything."
Gawaine ran his fingers through his hair. "I am
ready now." In the hallway was another black-haired
young woman whom he had seen the previous day.
'This is Rianne," Lyrana said hurriedly. 'The twins
and Ariana are at the grate. Come, let us hurry."
Iris and Irene were watching the throne room
through the grate, Ariana peering over their
shoulders. As Gawaine came up, they stood aside and
let him look for a moment. Gawaine looked up on the
figures of his Master, the Druid, and the archer  --  and
a curiously white lizardman-like creature, who was
walking in a circle, clearly baiting Arturis, who had
gone into one of his trances  --  or something similar.
Irene was watching over his shoulder, and she turned
to her sister and wrinkled her nose. Lyrana got his
attention then and whispered against his ear, 'There is
a better place, where we can talk if we are careful, and
all of us can watch. Come."
She led the way at a very quick walk, Gawaine right
on her heels, the other girls bringing up the rear. They
went out the left-hand door, up a precipitous  --  and
fortunately well lit  --  flight of stairs, along a narrow
corridor, and came out opposite a high, clear wall.
Gawaine stopped so dead one of the girls crashed into
his back. Lyrana leaned close to his ear again. 'This is
the back wall of the throne room, or a part of it; from
the other side, this room cannot be seen, and there is
no way in but the one we came. They cannot hear us
out there, either, though we can hear them."
Gawaine nodded; he was intent upon Arturis and
the Snow Dragon for some moments, but his eye was
caught by the throne  --  and something high up,
embedded in crystal. The box. The box which holds the
scroll of Ultimate Truth. Fenix did not lie to me. His
fingers itched. Oh, for a way into that chamber, to
somehow lay hands upon that box! He came to his
senses abruptly as Voyvodan changed Arturis into
stone  --  the first time Gawaine had seen this done.
Lyrana laid a hand on his arm, and her face was sym-
pathetic.
"What a fool, sister," Irene murmured.
"Who  --  that Paladin? I said as much yesterday,
when Voyvodan first made him a statue. But oh, do
look at the tall blond fellow, is he not handsome and
brave?"
"Well, all right, yes," Irene said rather grudgingly.
"But his companion, such wonderful dark eyes, and a
Druid to boot. I do so admire a man of learning." A
moment later, she added, "Oh, no! He is sending them
into the maze  --  I feared it."
"So did I." Iris sighed and realized Gawaine was
looking at her. "He always sends the bravest ones into
the maze," she said sadly.
Irene squared her shoulders and brought her chin
up. "Well, sister, this time it will not go all his way.
After all, what can he do to us? Make us statues? Have
us for  --  "
"Hush," her twin said vigorously. "Enough of that!
You are right; let us go and see what we can do to aid
them." The two hurried off. Ariana and Rianne gave
each other a very resigned look, and Rianne leaned
close to Lyranas ear to murmur something; moments
later, they, too, were gone. Gawaine frowned, turned
to see what was wrong, but Lyrana gave him a con-
spiratorial grin, and he smiled back and took her hand.
His Masterwas singing, the dragon listening with every
sign of interest. Gawaine began studying the chamber as
best he could, but after a while he had to give it up; there
was absolutely no way anyone could find a dragon s heart
in all that. It could be anywhere. But  --  "There is a way,"
he whispered, "to find the dragons heart. If the dragon
himself were to show us -- "
"Show us  --  ?" Lyrana caught on at once. "Of
course. Trick him, or find another way to expose its
hiding place!"
The Master finished his second song, and the dragon
chuckled and applauded, but when Naitachal asked, "And
now, if I might finish the song I started  --  ?"
"Bother Beatrice," Voyvodan said rudely. "And go
away, I am tired of music. Back to your rooms. I will
send for you when I want you." He gestured and
guards came to escort the Bard away. Gawaine
watched him go and sighed heavily; his Master looked
small and rather defenseless between those two hulk-
ing, black-leather-clad brutes.
Lyrana tugged at his hand. "Come, I know where
he is. I found them this morning quite early. I will take
you there."
"You can't, it isn't safe," Gawaine began, but Lyrana
laughed and tugged again.
"Not into the room, through another grate, silly!
Come on."
They reached the grate only moments after Nai-
tachal was put back into the room; Gawaine could
hear the click of the lock and the retreating tramp of
heavy boots. He looked around as best he could
through the grate; it seemed to be built into a hearth,
next to and partly behind a stack of sticks and logs for
the fire. There were bits of bark and sawdust every-
where, drifting down through the bars. He waited
until Naitachal came over to warm his fingers at the
fire, then hissed urgently. "Ssst! Master! Here, behind
the wood!"
Naitachal stood very still for a long moment, then a
slow grin spread across his face. "By all my buttons,
and every spare string I possess, I think it must be
Gawaine."
"So it is."
"You can't think how glad I am to hear your voice,
lad. How are you?"
"Well -- " Gawaine gave him an even briefer summary
of events than he had the young women, then listened in
turn to Naitachal's tale. "I did see the last of it, in the throne
room. Listen, though  --  this  --  um, this is Lyrana, one of
the girls I found in that little palace."
Naitachal's eyes gleamed so that Gawaine feared
some embarrassing remark from his Master  --  the
kind of remark Naitachal would ordinarily make if he
found his apprentice with a pretty girl  --  but this time
he merely smiled and inclined his head politely. "I am
very pleased to meet you, my dear Lyrana. And my
thanks for taking such good care of Gawaine. Where
are you two, by the way, and how did you get there?'
"Yes, well, Master Naitachal, that could be a long
story, but it's all tunnels down here, under everything,
and Lyrana knows many of them. Including about the
throne room. And listen  --  " He went on for some
moments, and Naitachal finally interrupted him.
"Yes, yes, I know all about dragons' hearts; it would not
have surprised me to learn he hid his elsewhere, even
before I saw that poor fool Arturis try to murder him and
fail so shockingly. And do you know its whereabouts, my
dear girl?" he added politely, as though just recalling that it
11       i       ii
would not do to alienate this young woman.
"Well, that's what I was about to tell you  --  listen,"
Gawaine said, and explained. When he had finished,
Naitachal sighed very deeply and shook his head.
"I should have expected something of the sort. Ah,
well. That would seem to be my problem, wouldn't it?
A way to get him to reveal where he hides it  --  why
not? How simple? No, never mind me, lad and girl,
I'm muttering to myself. Why don't you leave me to
that litde matter, and go see what you can do for
Wulfgar and his new apprentice, Tem-Telek  --  if you
can find him? Voyvodan set them a truly dreadful task,
and I don't know if even a dwarf is the equal of such a
mess."
"I saw that myself, before Gawaine awoke," Lyrana
said calmly. "Very much a mess, I agree, but we shall
do what we can. Good thinking to you, Master Bard."
'Thank you, dear girl," Naitachal said. He clasped
his hands behind his back and began pacing the floor
as they withdrew from the grate. Lyrana considered
for a moment, then nodded and took Gawaine's hand
to lead him down yet another corridor.
Farther than the throne room, this, but better lit
and wide enough they could walk side by side the
entire way. When Lyrana halted beside one of the now
familiar grates, Gawaine grinned. There was no mis-
taking Wulfgar's voice, even if the tone of bossiness
was as unfamiliar as the ingratiating, "Yes, Master,"
that Tem-Telek tossed into each pause.
"Just hand me that driver  --  no, not that, the other!
No  --  well, yes, that one will do, if you find me two
more cogs just like this one in the box. And a pair of
screws like this."
"Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master."
"Here, it isn't your fault, it's just how you are. You can't
help not being a dwarf and having such great clumsy
fingers  --  are they still out there, sir?" Wulfgar added in a
much more normal -- and much softer -- voice.
Tem-Telek's was also very prudently lowered. "I
haven't seen a guard anywhere. All the same, there
may be sound ducts directly to the throne room. This
grate, for instance  -- "
"Well, then," Wulfgar said softly, then raised his
voice once more. "Have you found those bits yet? Just
you keep looking, and I'll  --  yike!" he squawked, as he
peered down into the grill and came face to face with
Gawaine. "Where did you come from?" he hissed.
"And was it necessary to scare me half silly?"
'There are no speaking devices," Lyrana began.
"Who are you?" Wulfgar interrupted in a fierce
whisper, and then, as her words sank in, he glanced
over his shoulder and bent down to murmur, "Shhh.
Don't tell 'im. He's enjoying 'isself, and so'm I."
"Good," Gawaine whispered. Tem-Telek came over
to see what was going on, and the bardling gave him a
thumbs up. The lizardman grinned, looked toward the
door and wandered away. They could hear him sorting
through the box of parts. Wulfgars face fell.
"Just as well it's come to a game right now; it's a
game we'll lose soon enough. There's a bit gone miss-
ing from the box, and I think that nasty critchur took it
a'purpose. Though I suppose with so much junk up
there, he could have simply lost it. Either way, doesn't
matter. We'll never get this goliwak working without it,
and if we don't  --  well, he didn't look so hungry to me,
but they say looks can deceive, don't they?'
Gawaine opened his mouth and closed it again; he
couldn't think of anything to say. But Lyrana tugged at
his hand and put her own face up to the grate. 'We'll
be back. We'll think of something."
Wulfgar merely nodded, too sunk in his own gloom
to show any surprise at the bardlings companion. "Yes,
you do that. We'll work on what else we can." He
squared his shoulders deliberately and turned to shake
a finger at the lizardman. "Now, then! Haven't you
found those cogs yet? I know, you're none too bright
and all I could afford for an apprentice, but you just
apply yourself, d'ye hear?"
"Oh, yes, Master," Tem-Telek responded fawningly.
Gawaine and Lyrana tiptoed away. He was fighting
laughter; the lizardman must have studied acting
under the same Master that Naitachal had, because
just now he reminded the bardling powerfully of Nai-
tachal's act with the Slavers. Well, it had fooled them;
it would probably fool a Snow Dragon, too.
Lyrana led him up a flight of steps and into the
open. They were in a small garden, grass surrounded
by intricately patterned beds of flowers, and a wrought
iron frame that held two climbing roses, a red and a
white. Lyrana settled into the shade of this and patted
the grass next to her, but before Gawaine could sit, his
ears caught the sound of wings.
Could it be  --  ? It was. Lyrana caught her breath
and clapped her hands softly together as the wonder-
ful, flame-colored bird landed upon the grass.
Gawaine went onto one knee and explained about the
goliwak, the two working to reassemble it, the missing
part. Then held his breath. Fenix flapped her wings,
and for one heart-stopping moment he thought she
would simply fly off and leave him, but she furled
them and said, "Ask the mice." And then she did go,
vanishing immediately beyond the walls.
"Ask the mice," Gawaine echoed. "Oh, wonderful."
"Well," Lyrana asked reasonably. "Why not ask the
mice?"
"For the first thing  -- " Gawaine began as he turned
around, but he never completed the sentence, for
there at his feet were two mice. He cautiously edged
himself down cross-legged, and one of them stood on
its hind legs and caught at his boot, looking into his
eyes, he would have sworn, while he explained the
problem once again. "Can you help us?" he asked sim-
ply when he was done.
He almost expected them to answer, and was
vaguely disappointed when they simply turned and
scurried away. He shifted around so he also sat in
shade, next to Lyrana, and she took his hand again.
"I feel so silly," he said finally.
"Why don't you wait a little, and see if they come
back?" Lyrana asked. "I think that  --  oh, look!" She
pointed. The mice were back, dragging a little cloth
bag between them, and this they brought over to lay at
Gawaine's feet. He took it up, turned it over, and
finally poured the contents into his hand. Lyrana
looked over his shoulder, and they both gazed at a
complex brass and steel cog.
He recalled himself with a shake. Not ordinary
mice, these. He bowed as well as he could, seated, and
said, 'Thank you, my friends."
"Yes, thank you," Lyrana added gravely. She got to
her feet. "We had better take this at once, before the
dragon sends to find out how they are doing."
The tunnels seemed dark and airless after that little
garden, and Gawaine was getting very tired of them,
but the look on Wulfgar s face when he handed the
cog through the grate was truly gratifying. He turned
to look at his companion. "Should you go back? Or is
there time to check on Cedric and Raven?"
"Your maze-solvers?" Lyrana nodded. 'Time
enough. And they may need us." She looked up and
down the corridor, finally leading him back the way
they had come earlier. Gawaine, by now thoroughly
turned around, held onto her warm fingers and
allowed himself to be led.
Cedric and Raven weren't in the first place she ex-
pected them to be, nor the second, and he thought she
looked a little worried, but as they came up to the
third grate, Gawaine saw figures huddled there  -- 
Irene and her sister, gazing nervously up and into the
passageway. Iris tapped her twin on the shoulder to
get her attention, pulled her a little aside so Gawaine
and Lyrana could look, and Lyrana's brow puckered.
"Oh, dear, this isn't very good."
"No, I know," Irene said.
Gawaine looked The two men were surrounded by a
veritable legion of roughly armored, huge-muscled brutes
who looked like they belonged in arenas, fighting each
other for coin and fame. Probably all lost their jobs when
King Amber came into power, he decided. The king had
definitely been against gladiatorial contests. Cedric had
the bow and arrows he had taken from the Slavers' wagon,
but Raven only his long staff; they were not only
outnumbered, but it seemed even Cedric couldn't do
much against such a monstrous mob.
Someone tugged at his sleeve; Irene was trying to
get his attention. 'There's a place, a little on, not very
far, I think. A kind of a hole in the wall and rough steps
onto it. It isn't very high at that point. If -- if he could
get above them, would it make a difference?"
Gawaine nodded at once. "Now, if I can only get his
attention!" Cedric proved impossible, but Raven
finally glanced toward the grate, and more by accident
than chance, Gawaine caught his eye. There was a lull
in the fighting; the gladiators had drawn back a little
and were discussing some kind of strategy  --  and
tending to a couple of wounded men Cedric had hit
during this last sortie. Raven whispered something
against Cedrics ear; Cedric nodded once and the
Druid moved casually away from him, stopping with
his feet just short of the grate, then kneeling down as if
to tighten his sandal. Gawaine whispered instructions
as quickly as he could; Raven finally got up and walked
away, and the bardling watched him anxiously, uncer-
tain if he'd taken it all in. Knowing the man wouldn't
have dared speak or even nod didn't help much just
now. But a moment later, Raven spoke softly against
Cedric's ear once more.
Cedric loosed five arrows in quick order at the
clutch of men, and then three all at once. The gladi-
ators bellowed in rage, but their immediate forward
progress was slowed by the three fallen men who
writhed on the ground at their feet. By the time
enough of them could clear the wounded, Cedric and
Raven were well ahead of them, and then lost around
a bend in the corridor.
Irene and Iris ran ahead, pacing them down the
tunnel, and Gawaine came pounding right after,
Lyrana's hand secure in his. At length, Iris stopped and
pointed at a grate, and Gawaine ran over to it, stood as
tall as he could and thrust his hand up through the
bars. "Straight across from here," Iris hissed at his left
ear. "Point it out to them, quickly; I hear the others
coming!"
Anyone could have heard them coming. Gawaine
withdrew his hand hastily as pounding feet came near.
The pack of enemy stopped cold as an arrow struck
the ground in front of their feet, fired from above.
Gawaine looked: Raven crouched on the wall looking
first one way and then another, but Cedric stood
behind him, another arrow fitted to the string. "You
had better go away now," he said mildly, though he
had to nearly shout to be heard. "Or I will kill you all.
At such a distance as this, I could not possibly miss a
sparrow, let alone such enormous men as yourselves.
Still, I bear you no ill will  --  "
"No?" one of them snarled furiously. "Well, we see
it different like! Come down from there and we'll kill
you quick, both of you!"
"Don't think so," Cedric said calmly. He drew back
on the bow and loosed another arrow, and another was
fitted to the string before the man he had shot,
squarely in the chest, realized he was dead and fell
over.
"Don't look," Gawaine whispered.
"I must," Iris said, and Irene nodded her head. "I
cannot desert such a valiant hero. Why  --  look," she
added in sudden wonder. "Little birds  --  bright little
birds! What are they doing out there?"
"Linnets," Lyrana said as she leaned against
Gawaine's back for a better look. "But  --  oh, look what
they are doing! They are distracting those men, so the
archer can shoot them!"
They were. My linnets, Gawaine thought proudly.
His friends, at least. Cedric's and Raven's friends,
undoubtedly, for they were swooping wildly at men's
heads, diving at their eyes, and Cedric's arrows were
going true. Finally, when there were as many men
dead on the ground as standing, one of the remaining
gladiators drew the rest off, and without a word they
turned and left.
Cedric climbed down and looked at the men he'd
slain, then came across to the grate. "Feared you
might be dead, lad. I'm very glad to see you are not.
Hello!" he added softly. "And in fair company as well!"
"It's because of them I am here at all," Gawaine
said. 'This is Lyrana behind me, and these Iris and
Irene. They knew about the wall and got me here just
in time."
"Then I must thank you, ladies." He turned a little.
"Ho, Raven!" he said. But the Druid was intent upon
something across the wall. Cedric turned back with a
shrug. "I'll get him down to give you his thanks also.
But  --  is this a safe place for you to be? I would find it
distressing if any harm came to you on my account."
Irene gave him a smile so dazzling it broke his con-
centration, and whatever speech he had intended to
make went unsaid. "Do not fear for us, brave archer,
for we know this maze well. Consider us a weapon,
instead  --  for I think it is often the unexpected
weapon that wins a battle, is it not?"
"Oh, well spoken indeed, my lady," Cedric said
softly, and his color was very high indeed. He glanced
over his shoulder. "Raven! Hssst, Raven! Come here!"
The Druid was already down from the wall, however,
and coming toward them quickly. "What," Cedric
asked anxiously, "are there more of those men coming
back?"
'There is a tiger in a courtyard," Raven said. "A
great handsome beast, bound in chains and muzzled
as well. If we do not free it, I think it may well die."
Cedric gazed at him for some moments, and finally
said, "A tiger? Free it? Are you mad?"
"I can control it," Raven replied calmly. "I think I
can." He shook himself and looked down at the grate.
"Gawaine, is that you? I was quite surprised to hear
your voice. Pleasantly surprised. I fear we all thought
you dead Does Naitachal know?"
"Yes. Listen," Gawaine said hurriedly. 'This is Iris,
she is a captive here like her sister Irene and many
other girls, including Lyrana here. They are willing to
help us, if you will let them." He quickly gave Raven
the explanation he had given Cedric. The Druid
merely nodded.
"I will not lecture anyone who is captive of that
Snow Dragon on safety, or living long; we must free
ourselves, certainly. All of us. I will be very glad of your
help, fair one." He put his fingers through the grate,
and Iris gave them a squeeze of her own. He stood
then and turned back to the wall. "Speak of freeing
things," he added firmly, and strode across the corri-
dor and began climbing the wall. Cedric sighed and
shook his head.
"He will get us both killed. Surely even a Druid
cannot control a half-starved tiger! Well, I suppose I
must do what I can to back him up." But as he stood
up, Raven dropped out of sight. There was a roar
moments later, and then Raven came back across the
wall, scarcely hurrying at all. He climbed down, and as
he reached the ground, a huge, golden furry object
hurdled across the wall in a single bound. Cedric
caught his breath and took a step back; Raven stood
where he was.
The tiger inclined its huge head and in a deep voice
said, "My undying gratitude to you. I would have
slowly died in that place, but now I am free. Your ser-
vant, sirs."
"You talk!" Cedric whispered. The tiger gave him a
sidelong look.
"Anything can talk, if it chooses," it replied, and
turned to Raven. "Set me a task, that I may prove my
gratitude."
"Easily chosen," Raven said readily. "It nears night-
fall, and it seems we two must stay within this maze
until we overcome it  --  or it kills us. If you would con-
sent to guard us this night, while we sleep..."
"Easily granted," the tiger replied.
Irene spoke up then. "And we know of a place, not
far from here, where you can at least sleep free of
drafts. It is the way you were going  --  come, we'll
guide you."
"Come," Lyrana said softly against Gawaine's ear.
"Your friends will be well cared for this night. Let us
go and tell your Master what has happened, and see if
he thought of anything." Gawaine nodded and let
himself be led away. Iris and Irene, he thought with
amusement, scarcely heard them say goodbye. Then
again, neither had Raven and Cedric.
Chapter XXI
Naitachal had not thought of anything, however,
and he was extremely cross because of it. Gawaine
passed on messages from the rest of the company and
drew Lyrana away quickly, before the Bard could for-
get his manners.
It was very pleasant to be back in the gazebo,
rather like coming home. He and Lyrana ate, and
then Lyrana explained what they had done during
the day, with a few words from Gawaine, here and
there, and then some of the girls who had
remained in the courtyard the day talked, though
they had very little news of interest. Still, what
news they had was all good: The guard had been
pulled from their gate, and no message had come
from the Snow Dragon.
Later on, just as the moon rose, Ariana came from
the small palace with a harp, which she held out to
him. "None of us can play it very well, though I think it
is a very good one. If you were to play for us and not
sing, any passing guards might not hear, and even if
they did, they would only think it one of us."
Gawaine settled it on his knee and ran his fingers
experimentally across the strings. His jaw dropped.
"Oh, great Master of us all."
"It is a good one, then?" Ariana asked anxiously.
Gawaine began to quietly laugh, and shook his head
helplessly.
"I think he means yes, very much so," Lyrana said
softly. Gawaine managed to nod, finally sat up straight
once more and drew his hand across the strings.
Sweet, sad song filled the courtyard He only put die
harp aside much, much later, when his fingertips were
beginning to hurt in earnest, and reluctantly put the
instrument into Arianas hands.
"You should keep this," she said, and tried to hand it
back, but she shook her head then. "No, of course, I
was not thinking. It is safer by far here, indoors and in
its case, and if Voyvodan should come looking for it..."
'Just so," he said, and stifled a yawn against the back
of his hand. Lyrana stood and tugged him to his feet. "I
think I had better go now," he mumbled sleepily.
She nodded. "Yes. Come, I will guide you." He
knew the way to that small sleeping chamber by now,
but at the moment, it seemed terribly rude to say so.
Lyrana took his hand and led him across the grass,
walking slowly at first so each of her companions could
wish the bardling a good night, then more quickly as
they stepped onto the gravel path. He was practically
asleep on his feet by the time she opened the door to
the little room, and later he could not have said if he
found the bed by himself, or if she had tucked him
into it. She was gone when he woke.
In later years, he could not say how many days passed
while the company was spread about trying to accomplish
impossible tasks for the dragon, or trying to bring about his
downfall -- or lying sprawled across the floor on his stone
backside, hands clasped imploringly over his head, for
Voyvodan had unfrozen Arturis once more and teased
him until the ersatz Paladin had begun to retreat from him
in terror, had finally tripped on a spill of silk and lay waiting
to become a midday snack. Gawaine slept in the little
chamber and ate the breakfast that Lyrana brought him,
or walked the corridors at her side while she tirelessly
moved from the back of the throne room, to the little
room where Wulfgar and Tem-Telek were putting the
chess-playing goliwak together, to the vast chamber
Naitachal occupied alone most of the time.
Or to the corridors where Cedric and Raven fought
gladiators and mercenaries, wolves and dreadful
beasts who looked like nothing any of them had ever
seen before, snakes and great flying things like bats.
Each of these enemies promptly vanished at sundown,
though; food and bottles of water were tossed over the
wall to them, and they were left alone until sunrise.
Left to it alone, even two such determined men as
Cedric and Raven might have been lost long since, but
the tiger came faithfully back to guard them each
night, and Iris and Irene always found a nearby grate
where they could talk for long hours before the two
men must get a little sleep. Always, one of the twins at
least remained close by, to give what aid she could  -- 
suggesting a place ahead where it might be easier to
hold off a horde of men, or an overhang where mas-
sive bats could not swoop upon them. But neither girl
left the men unless it was to scout out a place ahead,
or to fetch more and better food than the pittance the
dragon had tossed to them.
It was, all the same, terribly wearying  --  particu-
larly when there was no end in sight but one which
would prove ill for Druid and archer.
It was curious, Raven thought, that in all his days of
seeking knowledge it should come to this: battling and
killing men and other things, to stay alive. There had
been many times in his life  --  even on this journey  -- 
where he would not have defended himself so fiercely,
and killing anything would have been unthinkable.
But now and again, he could catch a glimpse of Iris's
pale, anxious face against one grate or another, and he
would grow truly fierce in his determination to break
free of this maze and somehow rescue her from her
own fate.
Cedric, of course, had no such compunctions about
slaying enemies as the Druid did; but he was growing
weary of this wholesale slaughter, and often only
thoughts of his companion  --  who would fare badly
without a skilled archer at his side  --  and of Irene,
who worried so terribly for his safety, kept him going.
He and Raven spoke about it, now and again  -- 
mostly in lulls in the fighting. 'This grows boring,"
Cedric said once.
"Yes." Raven sighed. "I think back to the grove
where I was first taught  --  "
"  --  my first Master," Cedric said longingly.
"And then the northern woods, and I think, how
peaceful. But how lonely  --  "
"Lonely," Cedric agreed quietly. "A man should
have company."
"Company, yes. A fair, clever lady  --  one with wit
and beauty both, and a cottage  --  "
"A vine-covered cottage."
"With roses all about, and an herb garden," Raven
went on thoughtfully.
"A shooting range," Cedric said dreamily.
"No onions," Raven said suddenly. Cedric turned to
grin at him and both men laughed, suddenly cheered.
"No onions. But  --  think of it, no more wandering,
no more living from day to day, hand to mouth  --  "
"Sleeping under the trees," Raven put in.
"Just a house, and a fair partner  --  children, of
course. One or two."
"Or so," Raven agreed. "Perhaps start a small grove
of our own  --  is that something coming?" he added
sharply. Cedric stiffened, listened for some moments,
shook his head finally.
"Not yet." He sighed.
"Small grove." Raven picked up the thought where
he'd left it.
"Archery school," Cedric sighed again, "with Irene
to help me teach the youngest pupils.
"Iris," Raven murmured. They sighed in unison,
and Cedric peered out along the corridor, held up a
hand and said, "Hold that thought." Haifa dozen crea-
tures  --  manlike except for the snakiest necks either
had ever seen  --  came thundering along the corridor,
waving spears and shouting. Cedric laughed grimly
and set an arrow to his string. "Lovely targets, those  -- 
long as my forearm, three times as thick and not even
armored!" And in fact, it took but one arrow each, as
quickly as he could shoot them, before the corridor
was again free of all life save their own.
In the throne room, Voyvodan sat at the edge of his
crystal throne and gazed eagerly at the walking goli-
wak that came toward him, flanked by Wulfgar and
Tem-Telek. He tapped long nails against the armrest
while Wulfgar explained the row of buttons on the
thing's back, waited for a guard to bring it a table and
chair, then pressed the buttons that would cause the
automaton to sit, put the chessboard down, place the
pieces in correct order along both sides and move one
forward. "King's pawn to King-Four," Wulfgar ex-
plained. "First level of skill, but of course you can set it
for however good you are."
Voyvodan eyed him in clear astonishment. "I do not
play chess, dwarf!"
"Well, no. But in that case," Wulfgar pushed
another button, "the blue button will cause it to play
itself, game after game, until you press it again."
"Ah." All three of them watched for a while as the
goKwak made a move with the steel pieces, then turned
the board around, gazed at it a while and finally moved a
brass piece. Turned the board again. Voyvodan sighed
happily; Wulfgar and Tem-Telek eyed each other
sidelong. The Snow Dragon turned his head and called
out, "Come!" Servants came from behind the dais with
another half-assembled goliwak, this of steel and bright
copper, with pink slippers on its feet, a stiff skirt about its
waist, and another huge wooden box of cogs, bits, pieces,
screws, ends, and fittings. "It came apart awhile back," he
said with a helpless little shrug. "Fix it, and we shall see
what we shall see." Wulfgar merely bowed, then tugged at
a suddenly very indignant lizardman s elbow to remind
him who and what he was supposed to be and get him
moving. The servants followed, carrying the dancer and
the box of parts.
Voyvodan watched the chess player for a while,
finally got up and walked around behind it, and
pressed the blue button. The goliwak fell over, face
first, into the board, scattering pieces everywhere. The
Snow Dragon gestured to one of the servants to pick
up the mess and looked around thoughtfully. Finally,
he sent one of the other servants for a guard. "Have
you been throwing food and drink to the fearless maze
hunters?" he asked. The guard nodded. "Not quite
enough to keep them going at full speed?" The guard
nodded again. "Well?" the dragon asked.
"Well, sir, they're still fighting. Quite hard. They just
took out a brace of your snakemen. Sir."
"Ah." Voyvodan drew himself up to full height; the
guard cringed, but the dragon merely said, "Well!
How amusing! Let us go and see, shall we?"
Behind the throne room, Lyrana squeezed
Gawaine's hand and nodded toward the stairs. They
took them, two at a time, and raced down the
corridors, coming up behind Irene and Iris at one of
the grates just as the dragon came striding along the
corridor to confront Raven and Cedric. "Oho!"
"Sir," Raven said quietly. Cedric wiped the last of
his arrows against a little dried grass next to the wall,
shoved it into the quiver, and got to his feet. The
dragon ignored both of them; he was walking around
the dead snakemen, eyeing the bodies thoughtfully
and making little vexed noises with his tongue and
teeth. Iris, who was nearest the grate, stepped back to
let Gawaine forward, and buried her face against her
sister's shoulder.
"I do wonder at such talent as yours, archer," the
dragon said finally, and very pale eyes met level blue
ones. "Are you so skilled always, or were these a fluke?"
Raven touched his companions arm, and behind
Gawaine, he heard Iris or Irene murmur, "Oh, no! Don't
answer that!" But Cedric drew himself up to full height
and said, rather grandly, "I told you I was skilled Is this not
proof enough? Why do you not let us go?"
"Hah." Voyvodan let his head fall back and he laughed
Gawaine blanched and tyrana s hand clutched his tightly.
"Well, then! A true test of such -- talent! You, Druid' You
will go stand against that wall  --  do you see, there is a
wooden gate, just there? You will stand there, and this
archer will outline your body in arrows." Cedric gasped
and the color left his face. "You will do this," the dragon
said meaningfully. "Or else -- "
"We shall do it," Raven said quietly before Cedric
could find his breath once more. "If I may speak to my
friend a moment, however?'
Voyvodan gave him a very toothy grin. "Why, cer-
tainly. After so much time together here, I am certain
you will wish to bid each other a fond farewell!"
Raven drew the archer aside and patted his cheek
hard. When that had no effect, he pinched the other s
earlobe. "Raven! Raven, I cannot! I can't do that  --  if I
misshot by only the least hair, if you flinched, or if
there was a breeze when I released  --  I cannot  -- !"
"You can," the Druid said flatly. "Do not, and we are
both dead, do you doubt it? Do it -- why, I myself will sing
your praises about the land when we win free of this
place!" He leaned back to look at Cedric, who gazed at
him in agony. "Please, do not worry so much, my friend.
You have missed nothing in all the days I have known you.
Truly you are as good as you say. And I will not move, not
so much as a hair's worth, I promise you that. Come, he is
waiting. Courage!" Cedric merely shook his head His
eyes were dark with misery, but Raven pattedhis shoulder
encouragingly and walked steadily to the wooden gate,
turned and set his back against it, folded his arms across his
chest and waited.
If he felt the least fear, there was no sign of it in his
stance or his eyes, and somehow, this gave the archer
back a little of his nerve. He took out an arrow, set it to
the string, sighted  --  and shot. It went just where he
had intended it to go, a fingers worth from Ravens
right ear. The Druid gave him a faint smile and a wink,
and did not move.
Cedric set his teeth in a mirthless grin, returned the
wink and pulled out another arrow. He was terribly aware
of the dragon, watching eagerly for the shot that would
skewer Raven to the gate. And he was aware of Iris and
Irene at that grate. He put the twins from his mind with a
terrible effort; this was not the time to dwell on what they
would think if he failed The dragon cleared his throat
ominously. Cedric sighted, and shot.
He gained a little nerve as he went on, and Raven
stood quite still, arms folded, grave eyes fixed on his
face, and finally he reached for an arrow and found
the quiver empty.
"Hhhmph!" the dragon snorted, and he looked as
uneasy as he did angry. Raven stepped steadily away
from the gate and turned to look at it. Cedric came
across to begin pulling arrows from the wood and
Raven helped. By the time they were done, the
dragon had quite vanished. Cedric stuffed the last ar-
row into his quiver and staggered; the Druid caught
him before he fell over and helped him over to the
wall where the last rays of a late afternoon sun still
shone next to the grate. Raven touched his compan-
ion's arm and nodded significantly; a capable little
hand had reached through the grate, as far as it could.
Cedric sighed, closed his eyes wearily, and caught hold
of the fingertips  --  all he could touch through the nar-
row bars. Raven came around to the other side and
leaned down to ask, "Are you both all right?"
"I think so," Iris said softly. 'That was so bravely
done of you, to simply stand as you did. I doubt I
could have."
"It wasn't so awful," Raven said with a faint smile.
He took the fingers Iris reached to him, and settled
down on one elbow so he could put his face as near
the grate as possible. "I had something else to think of,
and keep before my eyes, than arrows. And I knew he
would not miss."
"More than I did," Cedric said faintly. His eyes
were still haunted. "I thought when we first came here
that I was invulnerable to anything that creature might
do. Now  --  " His fingers closed around Irene's.
"He does not know of us, at least," Irene said in a
vigorous whisper. "And shall not."
"No," Iris added.
"No," Cedric said. "But the threat that hangs over
you  --  "
"Was there before you came," Irene broke in. "And is it
not better to have been in such peril as this and found  -- 
well, what we have found, my sister and I? -- than to have
simply remained in our old life and grown old knowing
nothing of such matters?" Cedric looked down at her and
thought her face flushed, but she was smiling up at him
with a look that made his heart turn over. "When we are
old, you and I, we shall look back on this," she said very
softly, "and think, how wonderful and how strange, that
we should have been so afraid."
He smiled in turn, and tried to put fear from him so
she should not see it in his eyes. "So we shall."
"We had better go and find food for you," Iris said.
"We will not be gone for long, though." Fingers were
withdrawn from the grate and the two hurried off.
The smile slipped from Cedric s face and he held out a
hand to Raven, who clasped it over the grating.
"I have slain many a beast and many a man in my
day," Cedric said softly. "But the fear this day, that I
should miss the mark and kill my friend  --  "
Raven shook his head. "But I knew my friend would
use such great care that my life would be in no real
danger at all. Look," he added, "they are tossing our
usual banquet across the wall, and the tiger is coming
to guard us for the night."
Gawaine and Lyrana had slipped away silently once
they were certain Raven had not come to harm.
Gawaine finally drew his companion to a halt and
leaned against the wall. Lyrana smiled faintly and
came into his arms. They stood there for some
moments, and finally the bardling stirred and said,
'Thank you."
"Yes," Lyrana said softly. "I needed just to hold
someone, too. I am glad it was you. Come," she added
as he let her go, "I fear the dwarf and his companion
may need help again."
"No doubt of it," Gawaine said grimly.
"One thing good of all this," Lyrana said with a
smile. "Voyvodan is so very busy running from one to
another of your people, that he has had no time for us."
I would she had not reminded me of that, Gawaine
thought, with a sudden sinking sensation in his stomach.
But then he, too, had had no chance to think of it -- quite
possibly Lyrana had not either, and that was something to
be grateful for.
'The twins seem quite happy, don't you think?"
Lyrana said after a while. "And those two  --  Raven
and Cedric  --  "
"Awfully nice fellows," Gawaine said as she hesi-
tated. "You could not ask for nicer fellows."
"I thought so," Lyrana said, but turned to flash him
a grin. "With a certain exception, of course."
Wulfgar and Tem-Telek were in trouble once more
 --  but trouble of a different sort, as Tem-Telek
explained while Wulfgar stomped about the workshop
and swore in half a dozen colorful languages. 'The
thing was intact, apparently, and the whole box of
parts and so on a mere sidelight, the dragon's sense of
humor, if you will." He snorted inelegantly. "But there
is somediing inside which is frozen, and the clock-
works of this piece are so delicate even my artificer
fears to take it apart."
Lyrana and Gawaine looked at each other, at Tem-
Telek's drawn face, back at each other, and as one,
said, "Mice." Before Gawaine could turn away to head
back up to that small garden, though, he felt a now
familiar tugging at his breeches and looked down to
see three mice. He knelt, explained the problem  -- 
feeling extremely silly, still, the whole time. But the
sense of foolishness vanished at once when he held
down his hands and the mice scrambled onto his
palm, let him lift them to the grate and through it. He
heard Wulfgar's startled, "Huh?" and Tem-Telek's low
murmur, but by the time he got to his feet, there was
not much to see  --  a dancer held against the wall by
wires, a table full of tools next to it, and before it
Wulfgar, hands on hips, glaring at the thing's middle,
just above the fluffy skirt.
A moment later, there was movement about where
the belly button should be on a human dancer, and a
small brown shape came scurrying out with something
in its teeth. Wulfgar, who looked rather stunned, took
it, turned it over in his fingers, then reached out blindly
and touched the button in the dancing goliwaks
shoulder. Arms and feet began to move. Tem-Telek
hastily pulled it down from the wire framework, and
the steel and copper figure began twirling its way
across the little room. With a mighty oath, Wulfgar
stumbled out of its way, then ran to get the door. "Hey,
apprentice!" he bellowed over his shoulder. "Get up
here, and help me catch this wretched thing!"
Gawaine looked up at the grate to meet three sets
of very bright shoe-button eyes. 'Thank you, little
friends," he said gravely, and held up his hands so the
mice could climb onto them.
Lyrana was laughing helplessly. "Oh, my," she said
finally, and wiped her eyes. "Oh, my. We had better go
check on your Master, and find something to eat our-
selves, don't you think?" Gawaine, by now fairly
familiar with this part of the underground maze, took
her hand and led the way back to the grate under the
firewood.
Naitachal was not there. A moment later, when they
stopped at the grate overlooking the throne room, though,
they found him; he was playing the lute and singing a very
persuasive sounding song about the simple life, the
pleasures of the pastoral, the purity and joy of open spaces.
Gawaine grinned, and led Lyrana on.
Chapter XXII
Voyvodan was not nearly so pleased with the dancer
as he perhaps should have been, though he spent
some time watching it spin and leap about the
crowded throne room while Wulfgar and Tem-Telek
waited nervously, and Naitachal stood by concealing
impatience as best he could by tuning his lute. Finally
the Snow Dragon sighed heavily and lowered his chin
into his long-fingered white hands, and gazed nar-
rowly at the artificer. "Come," he said loudly.
A servant came from behind the dais, a silver tray in
his hands, and upon the tray a clear glass botde. He set
it on the table where die goliwak chess player still sat,
head bowed over his board. Wulfgar looked at die bot-
de, then at Tem-Telek, and bit back a sigh of his own.
Widiin die botde was an extremely delicate model of a
ship  --  any part of which would be well beyond die
grasp of his stubby fingers or die lizardman's eidier,
even if eidier could get such a digit into die botde.
Voyvodan confirmed the dwarfs worst fears: 'The rig-
ging is supposed to go up and down and die rudder to
work, but it does not. Someone apparendy loosed die
diread which is supposed to hang outside die botde.
Fix diis, why don't you?"
"And dien come back?" Wulfgar asked radier wasp-
ishly. The dragons eyes narrowed to mere slits.
"Why  --  would you radier not?"
"Oh, oh, well," die lizardman interposed before die
irritated Wulfgar could form a reply that would serve both
of them ill, "weE, do you know, I have never enjoyed
myself so much, so many wonderful things to do, so much
I am learning." He chattered on brightly for some
moments, falling silent only when the dragon cleared his
throat ominously. Wulfgar gathered up the tray, bowed
neatly if not very deeply, and turned to stalk from the
throne room, Tem-Telek right at his heels. Voyvodan
watched them go, then turned to look at Naitachal.
"I fear they do not like me, Bard. And you  --  how
do you feel?"
The Bard shrugged and gestured broadly, taking in
the lute he held. "You give me this wondrous instru-
ment to replace my old battered one, and you think I
will not sing your praises forever?"
"Mmmm, yes. Or rather," the dragon added hastily
as Naitachal nodded and struck a chord, "do not do
that. Not just yet. Sing me something, ease my bore-
dom. I am bored, Dark Elf."
"Oh. Well, this," Naitachal struck another chord,
"was quite the rage when I left Silver City, perhaps
you will like it." He ran a complicated run up and
down the strings and began, "Oh! The life of a lord is
no longer for me, I shall shed my possessions, my soul
shall be free, where the deer and the turtledove run,
so shall I, and sleep with a shepherdess under the sky."
The dragon snorted; Naitachal risked a glance in his
direction, then looked at him in surprise. Voyvodan
was snickering, holding his sides. "Do go on, why do
you stop? This is the funniest thing I have ever heard!"
Naitachal smiled deprecatingly, played the
introductory notes again, and sang, "I shall cast off my
jewels and take up a crook, and set aside riches to sleep in a
nook With the possum I shall become friends, and the
mole, for material things are such  --  a drag on my soul."
He went on in the same vein for quite a while. The
dragon was still laughing helplessly when he dismissed
him a very long time later. Back in his chamber, the
Bard blotted a damp forehead and collapsed into a
chair. "Gracious!" he muttered. "I must come up with
some more verses to that. I was nudging at him with
enough Bardic power to knock over a barn, and he
never even noticed!"
Perhaps because it wasn't working  --  well, he
wouldn't think about that.
He stared gloomily into the fire for some time, and
at length was roused by a hissing among the sticks and
logs: Gawaine, and the lovely young woman who had
become his shadow  --  and vice versa, of course, Nai-
tachal thought, and realized with a pang that he might
well lose his apprentice before the bardling ever had a
chance to become a Bard. Not if I can help it, though,
he told himself grimly, and bent over the grate to hiss
urgently, "Hey, Gawaine! You can't think how glad I
am to see you! How about making up some verses to
The Shepherd, the Shepherdess and Lord Emerald"
for me? I am running out of ideas  --  fast!"
A distance away, Wulfgar and Tem-Telek stood on
opposite sides of their table and gazed gloomily at the
bottle. "You know, we need another of Gawaine's
mice," the lizardman said finally. "Where is that lad
when you need him?
"Who," Wulfgar replied softly, "is to say we do?" He
pointed; his Master stared. Two fat brown mice stood
on their hind feet, tugging at the dwarfs sleeve, and
between them, one of the smallest baby mice either
had ever seen. "I feel like an idiot." Wulfgar looked
around the chamber. "However. Sir and madam, if
such you are, and young master or mistress, whichever
you are  --  as if anyone but a mouse cared," he added
from the side of his mouth to his Master, who grinned
in reply. 'This wondrous toy is said to have a thread
within that makes the sails go up and down, and by
such action to keep us alive. If we do live, I shall see
that the best of my bread is yours, this very afternoon."
He stared; the two large mice dropped to all fours and
seemed to be talking to the baby, which  --  with a little
prodding  --  crawled into the narrow neck of the bot-
tle. One of the adults poked its nose in after the baby,
all of it that would fit. Wulfgar and Tem-Telek
watched breathlessly as the little one slid and fell all
around the ship, finally caught hold of a bit of near-in-
visible thread with its teeth, and slipped and slid back
to the neck. Wulfgar had to tip the bottle so the little
creature could get back out, but when it came tum-
bling to the table, it still held the thread.
The dwarf took it and bowed generously to all three
mice. Tem-Telek was patting his pockets, and he
brought out a chunk of bread and a twisted paper of
raisins, both of which he set on the table. "Our
thanks," he said very formally. The mice began to
chew on the bread. The lizardman looked at his artifi-
cer, who looked somberly back.
'Thanks, yes," he said softly. "But I wonder how
that dragon will feel about it?"
T have an idea," the lizardman said after an uncom-
fortable little silence. "Let us not go in search of him
with this repaired wonder just yet. In fact, let us not go
at all, until he sends for us, and needs must."
Raven and Cedric were very thirsty; the previous
nights food had been tossed over the wall to them, but
there had been only half as much water as usual, and the
grates here were of a tightly meshed wire, through which
the girls could pass them nothing save comforting words.
By midday, they were very thirsty indeed, and not a little
hungry.
Also more than a little surprised: after nearly non-
stop fighting for days, there had been no one to battle
at all  --  merely a large wall of metal and spikes that
had pushed them along the corridor and left them.
Raven glanced around and sighed faintly. The grates
here were no better than those they had left behind  -- 
there would be no extra drink or food through them.
He smiled then; Iris and Irene had pressed their
hands against the grate so they could be seen, and he
thought he could see Iris's beloved, grave face down
there in the dimly lit tunnel.
Cedric touched his shoulder. "Look," he said softly.
Raven felt the hackles come up on the back of his
neck. He turned and saw Voyvodan, sitting where the
metal wall had been. "It just  --  went," Cedric said
even more softly. "And he was there instead." Both
men gazed at the Snow Dragon. Voyvodan smiled
broadly and gestured, beckoning them as he sum-
moned a table, covered in the finest white damask,
and upon it three begemmed golden cups with match-
ing saucers, and a truly hideous teapot, tall as a mans
arm and wrapped in little fat winged figures, vines,
roses, trumpet flowers, tiny birds dining on the nectar
of those flowers, and stylized bees.
Raven looked at Cedric and Cedric at Raven; the
two finally shrugged and approached the table,
sitting as Voyvodan summoned delicate little
silk-striped chairs and a quartet of silk-clad men,
who played upon viols and flutes behind him. He
gestured; the three cups were filled with a clear,
fragrant tea. Raven's mouth watered: rose hip and
citrus grass, he thought; one of his favorites. But he
was thirsty anyway.
Cedric swallowed dryly: orange and spice, how had
the dragon known what he liked best? And his mouth
was so dry....
Voyvodan chuckled softly. 'Three cups, two of you
 --  and only one of them safe."
"Safe?" Raven asked, as softly.
'The other two  --  well, I wonder," the dragon
asked of no one, rather thoughtfully, "how long a man
might writhe in pain from a truly dreadful poison,
before a friend saw him from his agony?' Raven went
so white, Cedric thought he might faint dead away.
But the Druid squared his shoulders and said, "Why,
no time at all. Did you not know the truest test of
friendship?" Cedric closed his eyes; he would have
wept, but there wasn't enough moisture in him for
tears. "I will test the liquid," Raven added firmly. Ce-
dric's eyes flew wide in alarm, and he would have
denied the Druid, but Raven met his eyes, warning in
them. "I am, after all, a Druid. If I cannot tell base liq-
uid from good, why then, all my learning has been for
naught, and I will be glad to die." The dragon glared at
him, then shrugged and sat back. "How long have I to
choose?" Raven asked, and he sounded quite calm.
"As long as you like  --  so long," Voyvodan added
thoughtfully, "as I do not become bored waiting for
your choice, of course."
"Of course," Raven echoed, and bent over the cups.
Scent. There were plenty of substances which
held no scent and others that did, any of which
could readily loll a man. He smelled nothing. That
meant nothing. Color, then: but that was not as
much help as it could have been, for each of the
cups was not  --  quite  --  the color of the others.
He glanced up, then sideways. Voyvodan was
gazing into the sky, at the walls on each side,
slewed to look at the musicians behind him. Cedric
looked very, very tired.
Perhaps there was nothing for it but to set the cup
and the liquid to his lips, and see if any of them
numbed skin or had an odd taste. But some noise
down the corridor was distracting the dragon, and
Raven stared as a brown bird no longer than his
thumb fluttered swiftly between him and Cedric, lit
upon the center cup and took a drink from it. The bird
sat back up, a bright eye met the Druids with what he
was suddenly sure was intelligence and meaning, and
then it hopped once and flew quickly away.
I stake my life upon what I have sought to learn all
my days, and what a Druid is supposed to know  --  the
ways of beasts and birds, Raven thought rather grimly.
As Voyvodan turned back and began to tap his nails
against the tablecloth, Raven picked up the middle
cup, inhaled warm steam, and took a sip. "Ahhh." He
set it down again and smiled. "How very nice of you,
sir. That is my favorite flavor, how did you know?" No
reaction at aft, he thought in sudden relief. His tongue
and throat told him the same story, as did his stomach:
there was nothing in the cup but water, heated and
steeped in leaves, rose hips, and the tart grass that he
loved so. He smiled and pushed the cup into Cedric's
fingers. "Here, have some. It is wonderfully soothing."
Cedric gazed at him anxiously. Raven nodded once,
and the archer closed his eyes and drained the cup.
It was Raven s turn to watch closely now, but Cedric
sighed happily, smiled and said, "How pleasant, the
very best tea I know, spices and orange!" When he
opened his eyes, and Raven turned to look, the dragon
was gone. So were two of the cups and the entire
quartet. The ugly teapot remained, now on a bare,
rickety table, but when Raven stood to pour another
cup of tea from it, there was only cold water within.
"Water is just as good," Cedric assured him. "Listen,
though. Do you hear anything?"
"Hssst!" It was Gawaine, down in the tunnel with
Lyrana and the twins; he was trying urgently to get
their attention. "How did you know that was safe,
Raven?" he asked
"Oh." That bird might have been delirium, or my
own imagination. He wasn't going to bring it up unless
someone else did; the last tiling Cedric needed just
now was to think his stout left shoulder was going
mad. "Well  --  I did my best, widi the knowledge all
Druids have, of course. But  --  well. If I had guessed
wrong, Cedric would have at least known one cup was
the wrong one."
He flushed then, deeply touched as Cedric
wrapped his arms around him. "My friend, I cannot
repay you, ever."
"Nonsense," Raven said gruffly, and gave the archer
a hard enough embrace to drive the air from him.
"You have saved my life more than once, already. I but
repaid a little of the favor." He leaned back; he could
feel moisture in his eyes, and Cedric's were suspi-
ciously wet. "All right?"
The archer nodded. "All right." He knelt to ky his
fingers against the grate. Irene held hers against the
other side of the wire, but it was so finely wrought nei-
ther could touch the other. "Gawaine, has the Bard
made any progress?"
"Beyond what we know about the dragon's heart?"
'Toward finding it," Raven corrected him gently.
His eyes were fixed on Iris's, and though it was hard to
tell through so much mesh, he thought she was smil-
ing.
"Not that I know of," Gawaine said "We will let you
know if he does."
"Yes, well," Cedric said with a deep sigh. 'Tell him,
if there is any way he can hasten things along a little  -- 
my friend and I here would greatly appreciate that."
"Well." Gawaine shifted from foot to foot uncom-
fortably. What could he possibly say to these two,
situated as they were? Particularly with the twins on
either side of him, both with their hearts in their eyes?
"We shall tell him," Lyrana said calmly. "And do all
we can to help him and you, of course." She squeezed
the bardling's ringers to get his attention and indicated
the corridor with a jerk of her head. Gawaine followed
her, leaving the twins in the tunnel and the two fight-
ing men above. He glanced back only once; the whole
situation threatened to break his heart and freeze his
thoughts in a sea of misery  --  he would be no use to
anyone if he could not think. 'Though," he whispered
so quietly even Lyrana could not hear him, "even if I
could think, who is to say it will help?"
There was no sign of the Bard, either in the throne
room or in the chamber with the fireplace.
Naitachal lay at full length on his back on one of the
beds in the next room, eyes fixed unseeing on the dis-
tant ceiling, and he thought furiously. "So far as I can
tell, the songs are not working," he mumbled to him-
self. 'Though it is too early to be certain. But it is such
a roundabout method for conquering the creature,
and time grows so short, and all seems to depend upon
what I do here. . . ." He sighed, let his eyes close. 7
could yoke him to my will. In my old life, I knew a
myriad of spells which would control a mere dragon,
even one of vast size. I could take hold of him, force
him to release those hapless young women, my
bardling, all the others. I could...
He sighed again and tried to think of something
else. Anything else. It wasn't working. "It is a good
thing the boy isn't here," he muttered, "to see how
near the surface the old way still is. If it causes me dis-
may, what would it do to an innocent like Gawaine?"
He gazed up at the ceiling for a very long time.
Finally, he sat up. "Yes, I could do it. I think I could do
it. Provided I could come up with a certain salve, an-
other certain paste, a bottle of  --  yes, well, that is the
whole rub, isn't it?' A dead body, or several dead bod-
ies  --  or one which the Necromancer kills himself  -- 
to create the bottle of liquid, to seal the spell. "Whom
should I kill, then? Even in the old days, when I saw
no other way of life for myself, I never did that." It
might even have been the one thing that let him break
free from a life ordained to him by his people since
birth. "And once I begin, well, where would it end?
Besides  --  " He considered for a while, turning down
fingers one at a time, and finally laughed sourly. "Not
even that wretched Paladin! Worthless as I find him,
he finds worth in himself. How could I do it?"
Keep at the songs, he told himself firmly. And  -- 
hurry it up. He grinned suddenly. "Yes. And the next
impossible thing before breakfast?" That reminded
him: He hadn't touched the excellent breakfast the
dragon's men had brought him. The bread was prob-
ably stale, but there had been a wonderfully ripe
peach.
Chapter XXIII
Gawaine didn't sleep very well that night  --  the
room seemed too stuffy, the mattress lumpy. He knew
that was nothing to keep a man awake, though, not
after as much distance as he'd covered up and down
those tunnels and all about the Snow Dragons maze
these past days. He was deeply worried: about Lyrana,
about Cedric and Raven, and about the twins, who
were becoming increasingly attached to both men.
But there is so much danger in that maze, how can it
possibly be they will live long enough for Master Nai-
tachal to save them? Save all of them. He was not
worried for himself, of all of them the only safe one.
But Wulfgar and Tem-Telek ... All of the young
women, Lyrana's companions, who had done nothing
to warrant their present placing.
At first light, Lyrana brought him tea and cakes as
she always did  --  and a message. "Wulfgar and Tem-
Telek finally had to deliver the ship bottle very late last
night. Voyvodan was not pleased. And he has set them
another task, one in which I fear the mice will be no
aid." Gawaine stuffed a cake in his mouth, swallowed a
litde tea to wash it down, and staggered to his feet
"We had better go, then," he said. Lyrana gazed at
him anxiously.
"You are becoming worn, did you sleep at all?"
He might have said the same thing of her, he
thought uncomfortably. Lyrana looked wan and edgy,
compared to when he fell over her wall. Then, she was
nowhere near as drawn-appearing as the twins. He
was not certain either of them had slept in days. But
he could not send Lyrana away; even if he had wanted
her to go, she would not leave. It is my life, too, she
had said vigorously, and thereafter refused to discuss
the matter at all. Irene and Iris very much felt the
same, and would not be moved for considerations of
their own safety. "If we do one small thing in all this
time to save either of those poor brave men," Irene
had added, "then it is worth all."
"I will not leave Raven in any event," Iris had said.
Gawaine shook his head to clear all such gloomy
thoughts, and ran fingers through his hair. Lyrana gave
him one more worried look, then shrugged and led
the way.
She took another branch just before they got to the
workroom where the dwarf and lizardman had toiled
so many days. 'They were moved to another chamber,
one the dragon could reach himself, for near the main
gates and large courtyard, the corridors are large
enough for him to walk in his man shape."
She halted at a grate; Gawaine came to look. This
set of bars was set a litde above floor level. Both his
companions were up to their ankles in glittering saw-
dust that filled the entire room, and even the corridor
was fragrant with the smell of cedar chips. He could
see Tem-Telek, who looked upset enough for it to
clearly show on his normally expressionless face. 'The
mice cannot help us, Gawaine cannot help us  --  what
shall we do? Uh  --  Master," the lizardman added hast-
ily. "Separate this stuff from the gold, or we die, and I
doubt that creature will give us very long!"
He stared then. Wulfgar had let his head fall back,
and he was laughing heartily. "Oh, come, now! Master,
I could free us from a trap like this with both eyes
closed  --  yes, and asleep, too! Here," he added, with a
return to his Master personna, "just you leave off
wringing those great grubby hands of yours and find
me a board, long enough to block that entry. Here,
now, quit that fussing! I know, I know, you can't 'elp it,
it's how you are, but all the same, you find that board,
and set it across the doorway to block it. 'Ere, let me
see. No, that's all right, the floor dips a bit just there,
it's all we need Go on, go on. And Gawaine," he raised
his voice a little sharply, "if there should be any such
being about, should quit the camp, as they say, and
make certain he is nowhere that water might collect"
"Water?" Lyrana asked. Gawaine thought for a
moment, nodded and tugged at her arm.
"Water. He is going to flood the chamber floor, I
think. I have seen it done, when one of my old squire's
men found garnet in the quarry: Pour water across two
separate kinds of thing, and the heavy one will settle,
the other float away."
"Ah! Of course!" She clapped her hands together
once. "Sawdust is much lighter than gold, of course,
but how clever of him to think of it, and under such
pressure, too!" She peered doubtfully all around them,
finally led the way down another tunnel and out into
the open, where Irene and Iris sat huddled together
rather miserably.
'There is another corridor just across there," Iris
said, "where they are. But there are no more tunnels
under here, only one small hole in the wall a little far-
ther on, and the best we could do last night was to talk
to them a little." She sighed and rested her head
against her sister's shoulder. Irene patted her hair
absently and finally tugged at her arm to get her atten-
tion. Iris sighed once more. "I know, we must go back
a while to freshen up, and get some food and water, in
case there is a chance to throw it over."
"You certainly had better freshen up," Lyrana said,
eyeing both of them critically. "If Voyvodan saw either
of you now, you would be no use at all to your men.
He would have you washed and eat you at once," she
added flatly, and Gawaine winced. But the brutal
approach worked: Iris scrambled to her feet, helped
her sister up, and with only the least longing look at
the wall, they hurried away.
Lyrana and Gawaine stood listening: sounds of bat-
tle, men shouting angrily or in pain, an occasional
shrill scream, but over all, Cedric's strong, calm voice
and now and again, Ravens equally relaxed reply. Nei-
ther of the listeners could make out anything the two
men actually were saying to each other, or to those
they fought, and Gawaine finally shook his head and
let Lyrana lead him over to the crack in the wall the
twins had mentioned. Fortunately, she knew this area
better than he, even if not very well. He might have
been an hour or more locating die space. If he pressed
against it and stood a little off-side, though, he could
see a very narrow edge of the fighting on the other
side.
Cedric looked particularly haggard as he turned
now and again to fire an arrow into their pursuers;
Raven's face was expressionless, but there seemed to
be little he could do just now with his own talents to
aid them. He had a belt of throwing knives and a bow
of his own, shorter than Cedric's, with a pack of
gleaned and wildly mismatched arrows. He was not
very good with any of them at any distance; only so-so
when one of the pack broke free to come close. Just
the fact of his having weapons helped keep the enemy
from blindsiding Cedric, though.
Gawaine moved a little, went on tiptoe and then
down into a squat at the crack, until he had a sense of
the terraine in there. Dear lords of light, they will
never win free of that! Voyvodan had set them a course
like nothing he had ever seen: pipes to run through,
inclines to run up, ropes to swing across or go over
hand over hand, rope ladders to climb ... and behind
them, well ahead of the pack, four hulking brutes who
were astonishingly nimble for the size of them.
By the cheerful-sounding chatter Cedric was toss-
ing one way and Raven the other, he gathered
Voyvodan had intended that one leave the other
behind as brute-bait. But the two men were taking
care of each other, cooperating in getting one other
over the awful barriers or watching each other's backs
and flanks. As the bardling watched anxiously, Cedric
clambered deftly to the top of a flat, narrow wall that
ran taller than he and side to side across the tunnel,
kept a drawn bow and a keen eye on the four brutes
until Raven managed to pull himself up by the rope
that hung down the middle of the wall. Raven caught
his breath, pulled the rope loose, and dumped it down
the back side of the wall. He grinned at Cedric, who
grinned back and gave the muscle-bound quartet a
very gallant bow before he and the Druid jumped
down from the wall and vanished.
Gawaine drew a deep breath, leaned briefly against
the gap, and finally shook himself. "Well, they made it
out of that section."
'The dragon will not be pleased," Lyrana said
unhappily.
"No." Not at all pleased, Gawaine knew. The two
were still alive, but Voyvodan was certainly going to
step up the odds once more. "Come, we'd better get
you back."
When they returned to the grate leading into the
gold and sawdust room, there were puddles and pools
of water everywhere on the tunnel floor, and water
dripped from the metal bars; inside, Wulfgar was
rubbing his hands together and chuckling, while his
so-called apprentice used a scoop to gather up the
gold. "All so simple," the dwarf said, "if one knows that
gold is heavier than nearly anything else. I merely
dammed the doorway, appropriated some piping from
the hallway, and used it to flood the chamber. Sawdust
floats, gold sinks  --  and so it goes, eh?"
"Yes, Master," Tem-Telek said, broadly fawning as
always, but Gawaine thought there was respect in the
words this time.
They stopped to check on his Master. Naitachal was
pacing before the hearth, mumbling to himself, sort-
ing out rhymes for yet more verses, and it was an
indication of his mental state that he welcomed the
interruption to the creative process. He didn't look
very good, either; the bardling had never seen him so
thin, gray-faced and harassed. But he dredged up a
genuine smile as Lyrana hissed a greeting. "Ah, well,
what news for me, Gawaine? And good morning to
you, Miss Lyrana." He listened, sighed when Gawaine
finished telling him about the gladiators, grinned
briefly over Wulfgar's success, frowned a little at the
bardling's description of the twins. "Not good. They
had better take a while for some rest, or they will be
less than no use to Cedric and Raven."
'They know," Lyrana sounded resigned. "I told
them."
"Yes. Well, remind them that if they join irreversibly
with that Snow Dragon, flesh to flesh as it were, it will
probably be the end of their beloved men, because
they'll both give up."
"I hadn't thought of that," Lyrana said, and nodded
once. "Yes, that should convince them to hold back for
an afternoon."
"Sleep," Naitachal urged softly. "Or at least rest;
decent food, a glass of wine, some time before the
mirror, clean clothing and re-dressed hair. Certainly
their young men will appreciate the effort also, won't
they?'
"If they come again to a place where they can see
the twins," Gawaine put in doubtfully.
"Oh, bother that, they will hear the difference in
the girls' voices. I might suggest," Naitachal added
mildly, "that you yourself could use a little such care,
my dear Lyrana. I think my apprentice would be a tri-
fle displeased if something untoward happened to
you. Such as winding up a Snow Dragon's  --  "
"Yes," Lyrana said quickly. "I do see your point, Sir
Bard."
"Good. Do not forget it once you leave me, please.
However"  --  he shook himself  --  "have you thought
of any more verses for this wretched song?"
"We came up with another lot last night. Here."
Gawaine pushed a thinly rolled strip of paper through
the grate. Naitachal unfurled it, letting the end drag
on the floor as he read the first lines. He chuckled,
shook his head, read a little further and laughed some
more. "He hasn't tired of it yet?" Gawaine asked, and
he sounded more than a little astonished.
The Bard snorted. "Do you realize The Shepherd,
The Shepherdess and Count Emerald' now has nearly
twice as many verses as 'Beatrice and the Manticore'?'
"Good lord and great Powers," Gawaine replied
devoutly.
"Well may you say," Naitachal replied testily. "It is
working, the throne room is only half as full of things
and stuff as it was, but it is still such a welter of mate-
rial possessions as to make a devout priest with vows of
impoverishment out of the most hardened. I have to
work as hard at keeping my temper these days as I do
at creating more song."
"Yes, sir. But there is one other good thing: The
dragon is enough under your spell that he no longer
becomes bored and sends you away  --  and he hasn't
put you under a silence spell since that first time, has
he?"
"No. I almost wish he would," Naitachal said
gloomily. "I know, I know, wouldn't do, would it?
We're running out of time, apprentice. If you have any
time to spare from writing verses, you might think of a
god to pray to. Besides Arturis's."
"I  --  ah, yes. Well. You know, I think Fenix is the
one helping us  --  you know, the mice and the linnets,
all that. Maybe she can do more, maybe she  --  "
'Talk to her, if you can, Gawaine. Though I do fear
it's less a matter that she doesn't want to help more, or
that ordinarily she could not. The dragon has her
power blocked by his own, some spell of his own. And
the only way to break such a spell ..." He paused
expectantly. Gawaine sighed and the two finished, in
chorus, "... is by killing the dragon."
"I'll talk to her anyway, Master."
"Do that. I had better ready myself; Voyvodan ordi-
narily sends for me about now. You take that young
woman back to her courtyard and see she gets some-
thing to eat. There is no point in having her so thin she
could slip through these bars, is there?"
"No point," Lyrana said before Gawaine could think
of anything to say. "We'll return, later."
"Yes." Naitachal sighed and turned his eyes back to
the long strip of paper. "You do that. You know where
I will be." As they turned away, they could hear him
chuckling at something else one of them had written.
But when he heard the last sounds of their foot-
steps, Naitachal turned away from the grate, let the
sheet drop to the table, and his face went very grim.
'There are spells," he whispered to himself. "Spells to
cause disease, any of which just might eliminate
Voyvodan. Or perhaps those which set deadly acci-
dents in the path of an enemy, and it may be one of
those would at least distract a Snow Dragon long
enough for me to free that Fenix. And any of five sepa-
rate spells I can think of, just off the top of my head,
right now  --  any of those might kill him and free the
Fenix. And us."
Yes. Oh, yes. He sipped a cup of now cold soup
gloomily. Just kill someone else. Someone he knew.
And whom shall I choose? Gawaine? His beloved?
One of those poor girls who follow Raven and Cedric
and have worried themselves to threads over the two?
Wulfgar? Or Tem-Telek, who is after all "only" a
lizardman?
As well decide to somehow reconstitute Arturis and
use him; there was no "only" to Tem-Telek, whose
sense of humor was so like his own. Or Wulfgar, who
was clever as a cageful of monkeys and who was as
much a pleasure in company as Raven  --  or as skilled
in his own way as Cedric. Naitachal groaned and let
his head fall into his hands. Keep at it. At least, you
have not yet run out of notions for verses to that horrid
song; and Gawaine is truly coming into his own at last,
now that lives depend upon what he does. Who would
have thought of such a thing to focus his attention?
And the dragon is still interested....
He brought his head up as someone tapped at the
door. A servant stood there. "Master Bard, the Great
One would see you. He wishes to know if you have
remembered more of your wonderfully funny song  -- 
and if you will sing it to him."
The Bard brought up a smile from somewhere, got
to his feet and gathered up his lute. "Sing -- why, what
would give me greater pleasure?"
When he arrived in the throne room, he blinked
and stopped dead in his tracks. He could now see all
the way from the double doors to the throne, and
there was clear floor all the way to the windows, most
of the way from doors to throne; on the right side, he
could see a goodly stretch of open flooring. The
dreadful fountain was nowhere in sight.
There was still enough costly and rare stuff in here
to pay the salaries of all the King's troops for the next
thousand years. Naitachal sighed, squared his shoul-
ders, and walked down the long  --  now very plain  -- 
carpet to the throne.
Chapter XXIV
Gawaine would have left Lyrana right at the end of
the gravel path, but she would not let him go, instead
leading him over to the pavilion where he had first
hidden. "Ariana, I must go freshen up. Has Voyvodan
sent any message?"
The girl shook her head. "You know he has not, you
were here last night. It is nearly time for tea and sand-
wiches, Gawaine, surely you will stay and eat with us?
It seems quite a long time since most of us have seen
you."
He hadn't eaten much the night before, and the
very thought of food reminded him how little of his-
breakfast he had: two deep swallows of tea, one very
small iced cake. Besides  --  it really wasn't fair to the
rest of these poor bored young women to only spend
his time with one, however much that one meant to
him above and beyond the rest. He nodded. Lyrana
squeezed his fingers and left him, returning a short
while later with most of the other girls and the twins
 --  who bore trays of sandwiches, more of the small
cakes, a basket of ripe fruit and a plain, large silver pot
and cups. Lyrana set a plate in front of Gawaine and
began pointing out the variety of sandwiches, while
Iris, who had changed from a dark blue to a very pale
pink gown, and who had redone her hair in a high
crown of plaits, began to pour tea into the row of cups.
Irene, who was passing the cups out, froze. The
fragile porcelain struck the step and shattered. "Oh,
no!" she whispered in horror. "Oh  --  oh, look!" Ariana
gazed over her shoulder and when Gawaine would
have gotten up, she vigorously gestured him down
again.
"It is Voyvodan! What shall we do?'
"Go on pouring tea," Lyrana said steadily, though
she was even paler than normal and her eyes were
huge. "Here, those of you sitting around, stand up, go
and look. Create a barrier, for goodness sake!" A flurry
of skirts. Gawaine sat alone at the table, gazing dum-
bly at the plain wooden surface  --  today, no one had
brought a doth, no place under there to hide. A tug at
his hand roused him. "Up!" Lyrana hissed, and
pointed. Above the table, in the very midst of the
pavilion, was a trap door. "Hurry  --  no wait, let me,
first!" She clambered onto a chair at the far end of the
table, giving herself a clear view over the other girls'
heads and also blocking any view into the middle of
the little open-sided building. "Here he comes!" she
added anxiously, but behind her she heard the
extremely faint whisper of wood sliding against wood.
She glanced quickly behind her  --  no sign of Gawaine
 --  then scrambled down as the Snow Dragon came
across the lawn.
Gawaine, by putting his face against a gap in the lat-
ticework just under die roof, could see quite clearly
and without much danger since one of the climbing
roses was sprawled all over this side of the pavilion. He
fought a sneeze, finally pinched his nose hard and
breathed through his mouth. The floor of this litde
garret was thick with dust and pollen, and the rose was
a very strong-scented one. He settled down cautiously,
avoiding the scattered heaps of cups, teapots and
plates, clodis, several balls, and a stack of badly
warped racquets.
Voyvodan topped even Lyrana by two heads' worth,
but he would have stood out anyway as the young
women clustered around him and called out cheerful-
sounding greetings. "Ah, well," he purred, turning to
look at each of them, "it struck me all at once how long
since I had seen you. Probably would not have
thought of you at all for several more days, my dears,
but my new Bard  --  wonderful man, I must send him
to you sometime  --  well, he has been singing to me
lately, quite a lot, and today he mentioned beautiful la-
dies, and do you know, it reminded me how I had
been neglecting you." Gawaine stifled a groan and
closed his eyes. That had been one of his verses, de-
signed to start the dragon of thinking about divesting
himself of his collection of girls. Mistake. "Let me
see," Voyvodan went on. "How are you all doing?
Stand still so I may look at you  --  here, spread out a
little, can you not? I grow dizzy the way you all move
about."
Girls stepped back a little and stood quite still as
Voyvodan walked around each of them in turn, gazing
earnestly into one fair face or another, muttering to
himself now and again. At length he came to the twins
and Lyrana, who stood together nearest the pavilion
steps, and he frowned, then beckoned and put his face
quite close to theirs. "How curious. It cannot be so
long as that since I last saw you; surely you twins were
fresh-faced babes the last time I came to visit and you,
with all that lovely black hair  --  Lyrana, isn't it?  -- 
why, my dear, is that a line between your brows?"
The twins looked at each other in clear panic, but
Lyrana cleared her throat, folded her hands behind
her back and said softly, "It is just possible, sir.
Though, really, it has not been terribly long since you
were here last. There has just lately been  --  oh, I am
not quite certain how to say  --  " She hesitated, and
Voyvodan tipped his head to one side. Lyrana
shrugged rather helplessly.
"I see. You perhaps do not feel well? Or are you
unhappy? Is the food not good, or the variety not as
you would like it? The wine, perhaps?" He let his
voice trail away.
"How kind of you," Lyrana exclaimed. "And how
clearly you see things. In truth, we have not felt par-
ticularly well lately  --  at least, at first, I did not, and
then the twins nursed me and I fear that they now feel
worse than I did at first."
"Not sneezing? Fevered?"
"Oh, no, sir, nothing so dreadful as that. It is just  -- 
well, food has no taste to speak of, and wine gives me a
horrid headache; my stomach is not taking food very
well, and so I find I have not much appetite."
"Sleeping at all well? Too much?"
"Oh, no, sir. That is  --  I sleep very little, it seems,
and when I do, I have such awful dreams! When I
waken from them, I scarcely care to try to sleep once
again."
"And you both have this same  --  difficulty?" Voyvo-
dan asked the twins, who nodded in unison.
Iris nodded. "It is difficult for me to keep whatever
I eat in place, even plain bread. My stomach is just
upset all the time."
"My poor little ones," the Snow Dragon said, and
patted first one and then the other on the back, quite
gently. "How terrible. You should have sent at once to
let me know you were unwell."
"But it seemed such a small thing, nothing to worry
you about," Lyrana objected. "After all, we know full
well how busy you must be, managing your affairs in
order to keep us all in such fine estate."
"Ah, but," Voyvodan said smoothly, "I am not keep-
ing you in fine estate, my dearest, if you are unwell.
Here, I shall order special delicacies sent to you from
my own kitchen: sweet bread and candied violets,
frosted grapes and a very finely prepared white fish,
with even the tiniest bones already taken out for you.
Will that help?"
Lyrana shrugged; the twins, Gawaine thought, were
beyond speech. "We can but hope. It certainly does
sound tasty  --  but," she waved a hand to take in the
tea table and the sandwiches and cakes there, "so did
that meal, and I find myself scarcely able to eat any of
it."
The Snow Dragon mounted the two steps, bent
over the table to examine the food and the teapot.
"Well. This all looks fine, but you should have differ-
ent teas, you three. I will have my physician prescribe
healing teas which soothe distressed stomachs and
others which let one sleep and keep nightmares at bay.
And here," he added as he stepped back outside and
cast a glance upward. Gawaine froze, closed his eyes
tightly and waited for discovery and the end, but after
a moment opened them again to find Voyvodan was
peering into the distance and waving his hand. For the
first time in as many days as the bardling could recall,
the sun came out and cast hard-edged shadows from
the pavilion to the grass. "You shall have sunlight and
blue sky for the next several days, does that suit you?"
"Oh, yes, sir," all three girls answered in chorus.
"Good. Then I shall take my leave, there is much
work to be seen to this day. But all of you, take care
that you do not also become ill, and if anyone else
does, send at once so that I may have you cared for.
And you  --  twins and you, Lyrana  --  eat and drink the
things I send, walk about in the sunlight and take very
good care of yourselves. You must," he added mean-
ingfully, "preserve your beauty."
"Of course, sir," Lyrana said respectfully. Voyvodan
walked all along the line of girls, giving each a close
look. Then he turned and went back across the lawn
and out the gates. The guards closed them tightly
behind themselves.
"Oh, my. I think I really will be ill," Irene said qui-
etly. Iris, who had buried her face in her sister's
shoulder, seemed incapable of responding. Lyrana
smiled faintly.
"Please don't be ill, we've come through for the
moment." She glanced up at the top of the gazebo and
nodded once. Gawaine was already on his way across
the dusty floor and fumbling with the trap.
"I thought we were all three dead," Iris mumbled
against Irene's shoulder. Irene patted her hair
absently.
"So did I, sister. Fortunately, one of us was capable
of thinking. Lyrana, how did you do that?"
"Why did you?" Gawaine asked as he came down
the steps, brushing at his clothes.
"Well, if he had simply thought us, let us say, getting
old," Lyrana said with a twist of her lips, "he might
have decided to fetch replacements and  --  well, any-
way. However, if he thinks us only a little unwell, and
possibly contagious, he would be more likely to do
what he did: try to get us well once more. He certainly
isn't likely to eat us if we're sick." She spread her hands
wide. "He really is quite lazy, you know. It is bound to
be simpler for him to heal sick girls than go looking for
new ones."
"You terrify me," Gawaine said simply. "I feared the
worst."
"Well, so did I. It clarifies one's thinking to an amaz-
ing degree, though, staring death right in the face."
Lyrana gave him a broad smile and took his hands. "It
also gives one a fierce appetite. Let us go and see
about those sandwiches."
Some hours later, she overrode Gawaine's objec-
tions and went back with him to look into the throne
room. The Bard was just being escorted out, Voyvodan
sat on his crystal throne, and servants were working
furiously to shift goods from the chamber. Bardling
and girl stared at each other in amazement; there was
nothing left but bare walls, a few unfigured carpets,
two stacks of chests, and one truly hideous carved
sideboard holding a silver tea service in an extremely
ornate pattern. "By my gruesome hair, it's working!"
Gawaine breathed. Lyrana simply grinned and ges-
tured toward the stairs with her head. They took them
two at a time.
Naitachal was pacing the hearth, stopping now and
again to gaze anxiously at the woodpile; his shoulders
sagged when he heard the now familiar hiss. "We're
very nearly there, apprentice."
"Fortunately," Gawaine replied grimly. He
explained. Naitachal fetched a deep sigh.
"Yes. Time is running out, for all of us. But he asked .
that I return shortly. I got his leave to come back for a
dish of soup and some bread. Get your mandolin, get
yourselves to that grate, and hold yourself ready."
"Sir? What are you going to do?"
"Who knows?' the Bard replied gloomily. "But," he
added and pushed aside his cloak; Gawaine could see
the glint of metal there  --  one of the straps of knives,
"whatever it comes out to be that I do, I will be ready
for it." Gawaine nodded and the two ran off. Naitachal
sighed again and added, very softly, "I hope." He
thought back on what he'd just said to them and shook
his head. "I have spent entirely too much time around
that creature; my sentences don't scan any better than
his anymore."
Gawaine stopped by moments later, rather out of
breath, and in his hands he held a wonderful harp. "I
brought this instead. Lyrana's waiting for the twins.
She'll be a moment or so, and when she comes I want
to go with her and warn Cedric and Raven what we
are doing, if I can." Brief silence. "Um, Master? What
are we doing?"
"Do you know your own words to this  --  dratted epic?"
Naitachal asked. "All the ones you and that sweet
black-haired child wrote? And  --  can you sing that with
full Bardic power?' Gawaine shifted, and his face had
gone so pale the freckles stood out clearly, even through
the grate. Naitachal held up a hand. "Wait. Think instead.
As though my life, and yours  --  and that of your young
woman  --  depended upon it?" Gawaine gazed at him for
a moment longer, finally nodded.
"I  --  I  --  they will. That's what you're saying, isn't
it?"
'That they may. But anything less than what you
are capable of, Gawaine  --  no. It will not do this
time."
Then  --  then I can." The bardling glanced behind
him and added hurriedly, 'They're here. I'll be back as
quickly as I can, Master."
"Go, then." He spoke to thin air; Gawaine was
already gone.
Raven and Cedric sat in the middle of a corridor,
upon bare ground, serving as each other's rear-guard
and as a prop. "My friend?' Raven said finally.
"My brother?" Cedric replied.
Raven smiled, though there was no one to see it.
"Yes. My brother." The smile faded. "Time is running
out for us."
"I know it." Cedric sighed. "At least we have had
sleep, all thanks to you for freeing that tiger. I would
never have done it."
"No. But I could not have protected us from those
snakemen."
"And I would never have known which cup was the
safe one to drink from."
Raven nodded. "Yes. But between us..."
"Yes. Between us. All the same, you are right, my
brother. Time is running out rapidly."
"And not only for us," Raven said gravely. 'The
twins  --  they near twenty, you know."
"I know." Cedric sighed again. "Likely we will be
dead long before they, all the same."
"Or perhaps we wUl all win free of this place," Raven
said "Do not discount the Bard, or that boy Gawaine."
"I forget them," Cedric replied simply. "It seems
sometimes there never was a life when I was a master
archer and won prizes and acclaim  --  "
"To think," Raven said softly when the archer's
voice faded away, "that I once thought you a boaster,
and one who wanted nothing but things to kill." He
turned partway, and Cedric slewed partway around to
look at him. "But it is often in this world that a man
misunderstands his brother, as I did you."
They turned back to watch up and down the corri-
dor. Cedric broke a long, tired silence. "Do you know
what I will do when we all get out of here? I will take
Irene, and together we will go in search of one of
those wondrous northern bows the tales spoke of. Not
magical, of course; what man would want such an
unfair advantage?"
"Or need it, if he is you?" Raven murmured.
'Thank you, my brother. And when I find that bow,
I will wed Irene, and win as much money as I can, as
quickly as possible, so that we may found a school of
archery  -- just a small one, but exclusive, so that the
sons of counts and kings and earls will come, and I can
afford such costly things as she deserves."
"Yes." Another long, exhausted silence. "Do you see
anything that way?"
"No. Do you?"
"No. Have you any water?"
"A little  --  enough. Here." Cedric passed the bot-
tle. He tensed then. "Did you hear something?"
Raven came partway around, listened intently,
finally nodded "It is Gawaine. Hist, lad! How goes it?'
"Dare I talk?" Gawaine asked, and when Raven
reassured him, he passed on all his messages and
added, "I think you are nearly free of this place, for I
just found a small courtyard I have not seen since that
first day across the walls."
"You are sure of this?" Cedric asked.
"Utterly certain," Gawaine replied. "Or I would
never have said. You are within two corridors of the
outermost wall, and freedom."
Or whatever the Snow Dragon will throw at us
there, if we get so far, Raven thought, but he said only,
"Good work, lad. And  --  Iris, how is she?'
"She and Irene are coming, as soon as they can get
away with food and water. They both send their love,
and Iris said to tell you that she knows you will find a
way out very soon." A small silence, and when
Gawaine spoke again, he sounded rather anxious. "You
both seem so worn down. Are you going to be all
right?'
"Of course," Cedric said.
"I am sorry, that was a fool's question."
"No, I took your meaning. We're still holding
strong."
"And with the news you just brought us," Raven
said, "I feel much better than I did."
"Well  --  good. I have to go. Good luck to both of
you, and hold on as best you can."
Raven leaned against the wall and gazed at Cedric,
who was leaning into one shoulder, gazing back at him.
They listened to the bardling's receding footsteps.
Cedric finally straightened up, took back his water
bottle and pointed. "We had better move on, I sup-
pose. You know how Voyvodan is."
'Tosses really horrid things our way when we
decide to rest," Raven agreed. "How he knows, every
time, though ..." He started forward. Cedric came up
beside him, and they walked down the corridor
together.
Somehow there was a bend ahead of them, where
there had not been one before. Cedric hesitated, but
Raven nodded him on. "I think I hear someone
behind us, anyway; let us see if we can't set a trap for
them."
"Let's," Cedric said. But as they rounded the comer,
it became immediately clear the trap had already been
set; and not by them.
Bodies littered the ground along both walls and lay
thick everywhere between. Behind them, they could
definitely hear something  --  lots of men or others  -- 
running toward the corner. "Go on, quickly!" Raven
hissed. 'This is no place for us!"
Too late. As Cedric ran light-footed between dead
men, he slammed into an invisible barrier and fell flat,
all the wind knocked from him. A resonant laugh rang
from wall to wall. Raven, who had come to help his
companion back to his feet, turned. Behind diem
were men  --  little men, fully a hundred of them, fill-
ing all the space between the walls, armored so
nothing of them showed save the shape in leather and
black metal, each armed to the teeth. Behind them,
the Snow Dragon, who bared his teeth and laughed
again. "You have entertained me well, for a goodly
time," he said. "But you will never pass the barriers on
this place  --  not on your feet," he added meaningfully,
and vanished.
Cedric scrambled to his knees and jammed all the
arrows he could fit a hand around into the dirt before
him, pulled out another and fit it to the string. "I fear
he means it, Raven."
"I fear he does," the Druid said steadily. He was
standing, bow strung and an arrow at the ready. He
freed one hand to set it briefly on Cedric's shoulder.
"It has been a very great pleasure to know you."
"Ah. And will continue to be," Cedric said. He
laughed quietly. "Here, or in another place. If you sur-
vive this day, and I do not, give Irene my love."
"And the same for me. But I think we will live or die
together."
"Quite likely. Here they come!" Cedric shouted, and
loosed three arrows in quick succession. The three men at
the fore fell, but others skirted them and came on. More
died, and then more. Cedric laughed as their enemy
paused. "All those bodies impede their progress!"
"More important, to my mind, they shoot no better
than they do," Raven said.
"And so few are armed with bows," Cedric agreed.
To stretch the drama, no doubt -- look out, here they
come!"
Another fierce fight; the remaining small men with-
drew, but could go no farther than the turn in the
corridor. Another of Voyvodan's invisible barriers, no
doubt. Cedric came up onto one knee and a foot, shot
again; a man staggered away and fell, vanishing
beyond the barrier. "Odd," Raven said. He was still
standing and could see farther. "He went through."
"Dead or unconscious  --  perhaps that makes the
difference," Cedric said. "Can you hold them a
moment or so? I need more arrows, and I see at least
one dead from here who has a quiver."
"Go," Raven said. He brought his string back, stood
ready while the archer felt his way across the nearby
bodies. He came up with three quivers, plenty of
arrows from all around them, and then he gasped.
"What is it?" Raven asked "I dare not look."
"No, don't, I'm coming back." Cedric came running
back, eyes wide and a bow held out before him. "Oh,
you beauty," he whispered, and ran his hands over the
smooth horn and wood surface. "You perfect, perfect
beauty. If your string is only good  --  wait." He turned
one of the quivers upside down, spilling arrows every-
where, felt in a pocket that covered the base, and
brought out a coiled string. "I knew a northern man
who kept his spares just there." He bent down to
string the weapon, held it up again. Raven risked a
glance: It seemed to him just another bow, much like
the other Cedric had, save this was half again as long.
But the archer's heart was in his eyes, and his color
very high. "With this in my hand, I surely cannot lose
the day. With this to rout die foe, my brother, we shall
win free of this dread hole and the walls entirely."
Raven drew a ragged breath and spoke past a sud-
denly very tight throat. "So we shall. 'Ware, brother,
they are coming once more!"
"So they are," Cedric replied calmly. "What is that?
Oh, no, Raven, look!" He pointed. The Druid took his
eyes from the approaching men to stare at the litde
bare patch of dirt Cedric indicated. A voice just
touched his ear, "My brother, I am so sorry." And then,
Cedric's hand came down across the back of his neck
and he fell, stunned and, very briefly, unconscious.
When he came to himself, the enemy was still working
its way toward them through the piled bodies and dis-
carded weapons.
Cedric knelt, back to him, bow up and arrow to the
string. Raven staggered to his feet, dizzily fell forward.
Into the barrier. It suddenly became horribly clear:
Cedric had knocked him out to roll him past it. "No!
Cedric, no!"
The archer turned to give him a quick, rueful smile
before he went back to his watch. "One of us will live,
my brother."
"No!" Raven cried. "How long do you think I will
survive if you are not there to help me?"
"Long enough," Cedric replied softly. "I will not see
my brother die. And it may be I can hold them off
long enough for the Bard to do his work. If not  -- 
well, then, remember me, Raven." Raven swore and
cried and beat on the barrier with his fists, but Cedric
turned and smiled at him once more, and said, very
softly, "Be still, you will distract me. Give Irene my
love."
Raven beat on the barrier with his bow and, when
that broke, with his bare fists. The enemy gave a great
roar and suddenly leaped forward. A moment later,
Cedric was surrounded, and then down.
Chapter XXV
When the tap came on the door, Naitachal caught
up his lute and said, "Come in, please," fully expecting
Voyvodan's servants on the other side. His jaw
dropped when it opened and Gawaine came in, fol-
lowed by Lyrana. "Get out! At once!" the Bard hissed
urgently. "If you are found here  -- !"
"If we are, so what?" Gawaine said flatly, and Nai-
tachal stared at him, startled into silence. "We are all
dead, is that it? But we are all dead anyway, why play
at it, and draw it out as poor Cedric and Raven do?
Have you seen Iris and Irene lately, Master? Voyvodan
nearly had them for lunchl"
"I know it is bad," Naitachal began uncertainly, but
he fell silent again as the bardling chopped a hand
'It is bad. But what you intend  --  oh, Master, I saw
what you carry, but you already know you cannot kill
him. Not by manmade weaponry."
"I know that."
"Whatever you do  --  all right, say you find a way to
get him to reveal his heart, and you throw one of those
dreadful blades right through it and he dies of thatl"
Gawaine said. "What then?'
'Then he is dead," the Dark Elf said steadily, but his
eyes fell before his apprentice's did
"Yes," Gawaine said very softly. "And you, who are a
Dark Elf and were a Necromancer, and who spent all
these years in becoming a Bard and then wielding that
magic, in training me so I could in turn become a Bard
 -- you will chance falling back into that dark study and
that foul, dead and undead magic once more."
"And if I said that any cost to me was worth killing
Voyvodan?" Naitachal asked. Gawaine shook his head,
but Lyrana answered for them both.
"No. Because those like Gawaine who love you and
who live on to recall your memory daily  --  as those
who love you must  --  they will know what cost you
paid, and they will regret it every day that is left to
them. Because whatever cost you think to trade for
your own life is too great for them to bear. Can you not
understand that?'
Silence. The Bard looked from one to another of
them. They gazed levelly back. "No," he said finally,
and sighed. "But I will give over my plan, and perhaps
I will live long enough to learn the meaning of your
words. Will that satisfy you?'
"Well enough," Lyrana said. "Gawaine, tell him
what we decided."
A little more reluctantly, Gawaine spoke, but as
Naitachal's face cleared and he began to show enthusi-
asm for the plan, the bardling took heart. "If you will
at least let us try, sir," he finished.
Naitachal gazed at him for a long moment, finally
nodded, and closed the distance between them to
clasp his apprentice's arm. "Yes. All right."
"After all, sir," Gawaine added with a rather
abashed grin, "you will still have your knives, if I fail."
"Yes." Naitachal actually winked at him, rather
gravely. There was a tap at the door, and he squared
his shoulders and said, "Yes?" A servant stood in the
widely open doorway. Naitachal ignored the two pairs
of feet just behind the slab of carven oak and repeated
himself: "Yes?'
"Sir, Voyvodan would see you now, if you are pleased."
"Pleased. I think," Naitachal said thoughtfully, "that
he has never chosen his words better. Lead on, my
man. I will follow." The servant led the way down the
corridor. The Bard came on behind him, conscious of
light footsteps behind them both.
The man would have held the door for him and
waited outside, but Naitachal bowed him in. "Please.
Here, carry my harp, my shoes are so smooth-soled
these days, and the floors so slippery between here
and the throne, if I drop that, we are probably both
dead." The servant blanched, took the proffered
instrument, and led the way down the now rugless
marble floor, past windows where no draperies now
hung. Past a circle on the floor where the fountain had
been, and then past the hideous sideboard, which had
been cleared of its display of atrocious silver service
but which was too heavy for any less than ten servants
and a hand-cart to shift. Naitachal stopped and
clapped his hands together, as though in astonished
amazement and praise of the newly barren chamber
 --  in reality to both search for any remaining items in
the throne room (besides anything that might be hid-
den inside that dreadful teak cabinet, which would be
Gawaine's and Lyrana's problem, not his) and to give
those two a chance to sneak up behind him and take
shelter behind that sideboard. Providence, he thought
fervently, what a lovely provider of small miracles, to
clear an entire room of a world's wealth and leave
behind one small barrier,
He had no more time for thought. Voyvodan sat at
the very edge of his chair, nails of both hands tapping
the crystal. The Bard glanced at the box suspended in
clear stone above the Snow Dragon s head. And I once
thought that was his heart. Little chance, caught in
stone as it is. I simply hope Gawaine has no designs on
it. The gods would not take it well, that a green boy
chose to bypass a life's experience and simply steal the
one great Answer. He turned his eyes away from that,
then, as well. No point in letting Voyvodan know the
thing was there, if he had forgotten it.
"How wonderful this is, s;r," he breathed softly.
"And how fair!"
"Yes," Voyvodan agreed, rather smugly. "Soon I shall go
in search of a shepherds crook, and many sheep to keep
here with me." Oops, Naitachal thought "Meantime,
have you anything else to sing for me?'
"Well, if you really do not want any more of the last
song?" Naitachal asked, rather suggestively, and held
his breath. He wasn't certain he could recall any of
those new verses, and he'd left the sheet behind in his
astonishment at the change in Gawaine. To his relief,
Voyvodan shook his head.
"Oh, no. I think we have had enough of that, don't
you? Something else, to celebrate this new simplicity.
You choose, my Dark Elf Bard, and if I do not like
what I hear  --  why, I shall ask you to sing another," he
finished with a broad, toothy smile.
"Ah. Good. I am so glad to hear that," Naitachal
said, and ran his fingers across his lute. 'This is a
rather simple song, even for Your Greatness's new
style of life, perhaps  --  however!" he added hastily as
the Snow Dragon glared him down, and began to sing
the lullaby Gawaine had used to close his performance
at the Moonstone what seemed a lifetime ago.
After two verses, Voyvodans eyelids began to flutter,
and after a third, he stifled a truly terrifying yawn against
the inadequate back of his hand. After a fourth, Gawaine
began to sing with his Master, and at the fifth, Naitachal
stepped back to let the bardling come up behind him with
the harp. Voyvodans eyes fluttered again, and closed. His
chin sank to his breast, and with one deep, shuddering
breath, he seemed to sleep.
"What now, apprentice?" Naitachal demanded in
an urgent whisper. Gawaine shook his head, glanced
meaningfully at the throne where the Snow Dragon
was stirring once more.
"Help me sing this child to rest," he warbled, and
Naitachal dutifully picked up his lute and sang on.
It was no good; they could put him deeply to sleep
 --  but not for very long. They could keep him snoring
on that throne only so long as both were able to sing
and play. No longer. Naitachal glanced at his bardling,
cast his eyes upward, and then froze and nudged him,
hard. Gawaine scowled, but looked where Naitachal
was looking: High above them, in the space which had
been a vault between two truly gruesomely ornate
candelabras, there hung a brilliantly decorated, gilt
egg. The bardling never missed a note, to his credit,
but he looked a question at the other. Naitachal nod-
ded energetically, then shrugged as much as to say, All
right, what's next?
Gawaine ran an extra line of riff, and then a second,
and then, with one wary eye to the throne, a very long
and complicated run. Voyvodan slumbered on. Sud-
denly, he broke into song again, and this time, the
words were some Naitachal had never heard from the
boy before  --  and there was full, hair-hackling, power-
strong Bardic strength behind them. "Oh Bird of Fire,
upon the wind, who flies to her home, and aids her
friend, who brings to the world the warmth of flame,
and melts the frost, and ends the game." He paused
once more, then sang other words, but Naitachal
could not evermore recall what they were, for through
one of the tall windows came an enormous, flame-col-
ored bird, and as the bardling strummed and sang, she
flew about the chamber three times and then directly
to the gilt egg suspended from the ceiling.
Naitachal roused himself and began to play; at least
he could provide counterpart for the lad's magic, he
thought, but with one elbow he managed to shove his
cloak aside, freeing the strap of daggers  -- just in case.
Fenix had the egg, a series of yellow strings caught
in her beak, and now she was trying to use those pow-
erful, long wings to slow her descent, but she could
clearly not decide which way to go. The Bard nudged
his apprentice. Gawaine nodded vigorously, but after a
moments strumming shook his head and shrugged.
Just long enough, Naitachal thought happily, and he
took up the lullaby: 'The bird of flame brings dreams
and alone, she sets a pillow beneath the throne." It
wasn't going to work, he thought anxiously, but Fenix
fluttered down to the floor, tugged mightily, and
finally managed to slide the egg beneath the footstool
at the Snow Dragon s very feet. 'The bird of flame,"
Naitachal sang quickly, "flies far away, but holds close,
lest she alone may save the day."
"Doesn't scan," Gawaine mumbled under his
breath.
"Doesn't matter, if it works," Naitachal sang softly,
and watched as Fenix flew up to the ceiling, where she
circled. He added in song, "The sky falls," and finished
the line with a truly horrid crash of strings.
Voyvodan shook himself; he had, perhaps unfortu-
nately, let his head fall back so the first thing he saw
was a barren ceiling, with only three golden threads
swaying in the breeze wrought by a flame-colored
bird He let out a roar and leaped to his feet. Naitachal
turned and fled straight down the room, hoping the
young people would have the sense to hide behind the
sideboard. At least I can draw the dragon off, he told
himself. But there was such a horrid crash, the Bard
spun around and gaped.
The dragon stared at the pile of kindling that had
been a footstool and at the silvery fog coming from
under it. "Ah, no," he said, very softly, and fell over,
dead.
'The scroll!" Gawaine shouted, but Lyrana had his
arm and was tugging furiously.
"Leave it or you will die!" she shouted in turn, "and
so will your Master and so shall I, for I refuse to leave
you!" That caught him. With a groan and then a low
curse, Gawaine turned from the throne and pulled
Lyrana toward the doors. Windows shattered; he let
go of Lyrana to grab Naitachal's right arm, and she
somehow caught hold of his left in both hers. Between
them, they hauled him outside as the ceiling groaned
and fell, and the walls began to collapse inwards.
Somehow, moments later, they stood out in the court-
yard, shivering a little in the bleak sunlight, and stared
blankly as the spire simply melted, the walls of the pal-
ace vanished into a fog, and the white walls all around
them began to melt and fade. A little while later, there
was nothing around them but a barren meadow of
sere grass dotted here and there with stone statues, a
very few low white brick walls and the little palace that
belonged to the girls.
Gawaine picked his way through the rubble, Lyrana
right behind him, in what he prayed was the proper
direction. Too late. He slowed uncertainly, then stepped
over the brow of a very low hill to find Raven seated upon
the ground, head bowed, and resting against his breast
Cedric, pierced by many arrows and bleeding from many
wounds. "We won," Cedric whispered.
"Of course we did," Raven said, and there were
tears in his voice. "Did you ever doubt we would?"
"Give  --  Irene my love," Cedric whispered and
coughed harshly.
"She is coming, I see her now," Lyrana murmured.
But Cedric coughed one last time, just a little, and
quietly died. Raven bent his head low and wept.
Gawaine stood and motioned the twins on  --  they
would know eventually, better they know now, he
thought, but he turned away from them before he
must speak, knowing he could not. Lyrana gripped his
hand and let it go, and stayed to comfort her friends.
Back in the courtyard, Naitachal sat cross-legged
now, talking to a slender woman with astonishing hair
the color of a bonfire, and eyes of the deepest, purest
green. "I fear I can give you no other thanks," she was
saying as Gawaine came near, "than to give you the
power to free these who were caught by the dragon s
power, and now need not be so." She bent to take his
shoulders between long-fingered pale hands and
spoke against his ear. 'That is  --  that's all?' the Bard
asked in wonder.
"Do not the most arduous spells sometimes prove
to be the most simple?" the Fenix asked him, and
without further comment she bent her knees a little,
sprang into the sky, and was transformed once more
into bird shape. "Farewell, for this time!" she cried
out. "But not forever, my friends!"
"Farewell, fairest creature," Naitachal murmured in
wonder, then shook himself as Gawaine knelt before
him. "Here, hold out your hand," he ordered.
Gawaine did; the Bard took it, let it go. Gawaine gazed
at it blankly, for he had felt nothing, but Naitachal
said, "I have just given you her power, to change any of
these who are stone back to living. Touch them, it is
done."
Somewhere along the line, Wulfgar andTem-Telek
wandered out of the rubble. Naitachal clasped hands
with both of them and sent them out to transform
stone to living beings, for there were many, many of
these scattered all about the space that had been the
dragon s courtyards and maze. At some point, Gawaine
could not precisely recall, Raven joined them, the dead
Cedric borne in his arms, Iris at his side, and a
distraught Irene following. But Raven, when he found
out what they were about, set his friend and
companion down and insisted for his part in the
retrieval. "Cedric would not be angry that I saved other
living beings, though I could not save him."
"Because he would not let you," Irene sobbed. She
fell on her knees at the archers side and began to
compose his body, and Iris turned to aid and comfort
her as best she could.
At length, they all stood in the very middle of what
had been a great courtyard and only one statue
remained: Arturis, frozen once more in heroic stance,
this time with a newly bloomed daisy clutched in his
upraised fist. "And what," Naitachal demanded softly,
"shall we do with this?'
"If you say take it back with us," Wulfgar said, "I
shall kick you all the way from here to Ilya s village."
"You speak for me, Wulfgar," Tem-Telek said.
"I cannot think what sort of fool you take me for,"
Naitachal began vigorously, but he was stopped mid-
word by a hail. They turned as one to see a number of
men, peasant-clad, coming down the steep trail and
across the meadow, leading the horses that had been
left outside the walls what seemed a lifetime before.
Star snorted and Thunder whinnied a welcome. Nai-
tachal folded his arms, stepped back and waited.
Ilya, his color very high indeed, gave him a faint smile
and said, "How gkd we all are to see you again! And will
you be pleased to rest in our village for a while?'
"I had rather die," Gawaine said flatly before Nai-
tachal could think of anything to say. The boy gaped at
him. Gawaine gave him a scorching look and went
back to rubbing Thunder's heavy gray neck.
"Me also," Wulfgar said.
"Do you know," Naitachal added softly, "what you
have done? All of you? Who not only let us go
unwarned into this place but actually brought us
here?"
Ilya lost his high coloring precipitously. "But we had
no choice but to bring him people! He would have
eaten me, and all my uncles and cousins  -- !"
"Yes. You could have warned folks that it was not  -- 
precisely  --  a safe place to go." Naitachal folded his
arms and glared down at the boy, and then at the
uncles flanking him when the men would have pro-
tested. Silence, except for the sound of one young
woman weeping. "I shall tell you, though. I am willing
to spare all your lives. If!" He held up a hand, and the
boy and the uncles who were about to swarm him with
back-slaps and praises fell silent once more, and gazed
at him nervously. "If, you take a gift from us. In fact,"
he added rather mildly, "there is bound to be a young
woman among you who will think him quite a gift." He
gestured grandly. "Arturis."
"He is stone," Ilya said reprovingly. "Very much
stone."
"He will not be when you get him," the Bard
replied sternly. "And he is yours for life."
"But  --  such a great Paladin, he will not wish to
remain with the likes of us!"
"Oh," Naitachal grinned, "do you know, I believe he
will?" Silence again. The uncles and Ilya looked at
each other very warily indeed, but finally nodded. "I
trust you will keep in mind that you are about to be
discovered by the outside world. Most of those who
were here as statues are already gone  --  back to the
south, or wherever they came from."
Except that poor boy, Gawaine thought, with a
glance at the twins, and the boy who had come from
their village after they had simply vanished. "She won't
remember me, I don't think, sir," he had told the Bard
"Not after so long, and so much grand living, and
wealth and fine things. But  --  well, Irenes mother
was so worried for her, and for Iris of course, but
Irene s mother knew I had always meant to speak for
her." He had gazed at the distant, weeping girl and
sighed for her pain, and shaken his head then  --  a
fine, handsome head, Gawaine thought judiciously,
and not just a pretty one, but a sensible brain within it.
"Poor sweet, how terribly she has suffered But I shall
see she is escorted safely to her mother  --  and the
hero's body as well, if she would bury it in our grave-
yard. And if Iris and the Druid her intended choose to
stay a while with us, well, it is long indeed since we
have had anyone to teach the children." Perhaps,
Gawaine thought, and felt as though he saw everyone
and everything with new eyes. There was something
new in his breast, a core of power that bubbled all
around his heart, that could surge out through his fin-
gers when and if he chose, that could spill into the
words he used to shape songs. How very odd, after so
many years of seeking, to suddenly find it, and not at
all the one thing I thought I would find. Truth: Truth
was a thing of many parts, each coming at different
moments to catch a man off-guard, he decided. Warm
fingers squeezed his. Case in point. He sighed, deeply
contented, and turned to Lyrana, who wrapped her
arms around him. Her eyes were still red with weep-
ing. But that was only right. Poor Cedric. More
properly, he realized, pity those who still live and
cared for him. Raven. Irene. Himself, though he had
known the man for such a short time. But I won't for-
get him, he told himself. He could already feel the
words joining themselves, one to another. By the time
he was finished, no one who heard his song would
ever forget the beloved, great archer who was also a
true friend.
He came back to the present once more. Naitachal
had sent the villagers a distance away and was walking
all around Arturis s statue, frowning at it and stroking
his chin. Gawaine went to join him. "Master. What do
you intend next?"
"Next?" The Bard shook himself. "Why  --  a return
to civilized and warm lands, where onion is used very
sparingly indeed in an occasional jar of pickle, where a
Bard's fingers do not freeze upon the strings and the
fret-board, and where there are White Elves in tav-
erns such as the Moonstone to give a difficult time.
But, you should no longer call me Master, you know."
"Oh, I know," Gawaine said calmly. "All the same,
there are things you know I have not had time to
learn, and if you have no objections, I would remain in
your company a while to find them out  --  and to over-
see your choice of a new apprentice."
"Ah." Naitachal laughed quietly. "And your very
fine young woman?"
"Oh," Lyrana said easily. "Well, from all Gawaine has
told me, you two have not lived a particularly ordinary
life so far, nor have either of you been terribly good at
practical matters. Now, I am certainly glad he has the
sense to stay with you and learn the rest of what a Bard
must know before he goes out to seek our fortune. And
so long as he does remain with you, Bard, I think you
will be quite glad of my company, for if ever there was
a practical person, that person is Lyrana."
"Ah. Well, with such an offer before me, how can I
refuse either of you  --  for now, at least?" Naitachal
asked, suddenly quite cheerful. He turned back to
glare at the statue, but Tem-Telek was now walking all
around it, gazing thoughtfully at the stone Paladin.
Finally he nodded and gestured to Wulfgar.
"I like your idea, my friend. Implement it, so please
you."
They all turned to look as Wulfgar bent down and
opened a very plain metal chest, set within it the larg-
est boulder he could carry or fit within, closed the lid
once more, and fastened it about with as many chains
and locks as it would possibly carry. He stood and nod-
ded. Tem-Telek reached out, lightly lifted the daisy
from Arturis s fingers, and touched him.
The Paladin shook himself, shook his head, gazed
around blankly. "You have done it, oh servant of the
one God," Wulfgar said blandly. 'The dragon is slain,
the palace and all the maze destroyed  --  you have
saved us all."
Arturis blinked at him for a very long moment and
finally smiled. "Yes. Well, of course, I knew that I
would conquer him eventually. Because, just listen, I
will tell you in full how the God  --  "
"Yes, yes," Naitachal said hastily. "Well, it is not
entirely over, for when you and your deity slew him,
there was left over one small thing."
"Yes?" Arturis came down off his pedestal and
frowned at the trunk.
"It is the Snow Dragon's power. Even the most
powerful god cannot destroy it, and if any should real-
ize what is in there, and seek to use it.. ." Naitachal
gazed at the Paladin, mock horror widening his eyes.
Gawaine closed his. He acts no better than he did for
those Slavers. But Arturis was no more discerning an
audience. He nodded vigorously.
"Why, we dare never let this anywhere near the
southern lands!" He exclaimed. "And -- why, yes, it is all
coming clear. I see my task: I must stay here and guard it,
and these ruins, and I must never fail in my vigil."
"No one but you could do it," Tem-Telek mur-
mured.
"Yes, that is so," Arturis broke in, and doubtless he
would have gone on for some time, but there was a tap
on his shoulder. He turned to find Ilya looking at him
anxiously.
"Sir, die Bard warns of people coming to raid these
lands now Voyvodan is dead. Will you not stay and
protect us with your great strength?" Arturis gazed at
him, then at the trunk between his feet, and finally
turned to nod. Ilya smiled and sighed with relief. "I
am so very glad to hear it, and so will everyone be!
There is a place for you and that chest, already pre-
pared," he chattered on, and two of the uncles came to
pick up the trunk and bear it before the bemused
Paladin. "But just now, I think you must be hungry
after so great a quest. We would all be so glad to hear
of your adventures over dinner. My cousin Katya
makes the best onion soup...." The voices faded into
the distance. Gawaine watched them onto their
horses, onto mules and into wagons, watched them
drive and ride away. He turned back to find Tem-
Telek and Naitachal clinging to each other, laughing
helplessly.
"Yes," he said firmly. "I am glad we are not done
with each other yet, Master. Because diere is some-
thing to be said about your sense of humor...,"
"Ah, stuff my sense of humor," Naitachal said and
wiped his eyes. "Let us gather everyone together who
is going with us, and begone. I think, Gawaine, there is
surely some adventure or other awaiting us well to the
south of this place."
"Adventure," Gawaine groaned, but he wrapped his
fingers around Lyranas, and they smiled at each other.