WIZARD'S SON [154-066-4.0]

By: ROGER ZELAZNY

Category: Fiction Fantasy

Synopsis:

young man, do you think you are the first to come here, to seek the rod?

the figure raised both arms, spreading them. the light pol had summoned
trebled in intensity. dim forms, which he had taken for rubble--on the
floor, in corners, near the statueswere suddenly clearly illuminated. he
saw many strewn bones. he counted four skulls.

all those who came remained.

pol felt his fingers twitch toward a yellow strand, but he suppressed
the impulse to seize it. it drifted nearer.

the strand doubled and redoubled, looping back upon itself, hovering
near his shoulder.



young man, do you think you are the first to come here, to seek the rod?

the figure raised both arms, spreading them. the light pol had summoned
trebled in intensity. dim forms, which he had taken for rubble--on the
floor, in corners, near the statueswere suddenly clearly illuminated. he
saw many strewn bones. he counted four skulls.

all those who came remained.

pol felt his fingers twitch toward a yellow strand, but he suppressed
the impulse to seize it. it drifted nearer.

the strand doubled and redoubled, looping back upon itself, hovering
near his shoulder.

uh--is it possible, pol inquired, edging forward, simply to borrow it
and bring it back later?  i've an excellent guitar i could leave for
security- this is not a pawnshop!  i am a guardian and you are a thief!

that is not true.  it belonged to my father. there came another pulse of
light, and the beast to his right and ahead began to move, slowly at
first, taking a step toward him.  the other blinked and twitched its
ears.

nolo it belongs here, came the reply.

pol reached up and seized the bunched yellow strands.  with a jerk and a
burst of power that ran along his arm, he tore them down and back, then
brought them forward like a lash across the face of the advancing beast.
it snarled and cried, drawing back, and he struck again.  the third time
that he hit it, it cringed, lowering its belly to the floor.  at that
moment, he noticed that the second jackal was about to spring.

even as he turned and drew back his arm, he realized that he would not
be able to strike in time ...

roger zelazny

this is a work of fiction.  all the characters and events portrayed in
this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents
is purely coincidental.

copyright (c) 1989 by roger zelazny all rights reserved, including the
right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

a baen books original baen publishing enterprises p.o.  box 1403
riverdale, ny 10471

isbn: 0-671-72057-0

cover art by david mattingly first printing, october 1989

second printing, november 1990

printed in the united states of america

distributed by simon & schuster 1230 avenue of the americas new york, ny
10020

changeling

when he saw old mor limp to the van of the besiegers' main party, the
lord of rondoval realized that his reign was about over.

the day was fading fast behind storm clouds, a steady drizzle of cold
rain descended and the thunder rolled nearer with each beat, with each
dazzling stroke of light. but det morson, there on the main balcony of
the keep of rondoval, was not yet ready to withdraw.  he patted his face
with his black scarf and ran a hand through his hair--frost-white and
sparkling now, save for the wide black band that passed from his
forehead to the nape of his neck.

he withdrew the finely wrought scepter from his sash and held it with
both hands, slightly above eye-level, at arm's distance before him.  he
breathed deeply and spoke softly.  the dragon-shaped birthmark on the
inside of his right wrist throbbed.

below, a line of light crossed the path of the attackers, and flames
grew upward from it to wave before them.  the men fell back, but the
centaur archers stood their ground and unleashed a flight of arrows in
his direction.  der laughed as the winds beat them aside.  he sang his
battle-song to the scepter, and on the ground, in the air and under the
earth, his griffins, basilisks, demons and dragons prepared themselves
for the final assault.

yet, old mor had raised his staff and the flames were already falling.
det shook his head, reflecting on the waste of talent.

det raised his voice and the ground shuddered.  basilisks emerged from
their lairs and moved to stare upon his enemies.  harpies dove at them,
screaming and defecating, their jaws slashing.  werewolves moved in upon
their flanks.  on the eliifs high above, the dragons heard him and
spread their wings ...

but, as the flames died and the barpies were pierced by the centaurs'
shafts, as the basilisks---bathed in the pure light which now shone from
mor's staff--rolled over and died, eyes tightly shut; as the
dragons--the most intelligent of all--took their time in descending from
the heights and then avoided a direct confrontation with the horde,
which was even now resuming its advance, det knew that the tide had
turned, his vultures had come home to roost and history had surprised
him in the outhouse, so to speak.  there was no way to employ his powers
for deliverance with old mor out there monitoring every magical avenue
of egress; and as for rondoval's physical exits, they were already
blocked by the besiegers.

he shook his head and lowered the scepter.  there would be no parlaying,
no opportunity for an honorable surrender--or even one of the other
kind.  it was his blood that they wanted, and he had a sudden
premonition of acute anemia.

with a final curse and a last glance at the attackers, he withdrew from
the balcony.  there was still a little time in which to put a few
affairs into order and to prepare for the final moment.  he dismissed
the notion of cheating his enemies by means of suicide.  too effete for
his tastes. better to take a few of them along with him.

he shook the rain from his cloak and hurried down the hallway.  he would
meet them on the ground floor.

the thunder sounded almost directly overhead now. there were bright
flashes beyond every window that he passed.

lady lydia of rondoval, dark hair undone behind her, turned the corner
and saw the shadow slide into the doorway niche.  uttering a general
banishing spell, appropriate to most unhuman wights likely to be
wandering these halls, she made her way up the corridor.

as she passed the opening, she glanced within and realized immediately
why the spell had been somewhat less than efficacious.  she confronted
mouseglove the thief small, dark man, clad in blackcloth and
leather--whom she had, until that moment, thought safely confined to a
cell beneath the castle.  he regained his composure quickly and bowed,
smiling.

"charmed," he said, "to meet mqady in passage."

"how did you get out?" she asked.

"with difficulty," he replied.  'they make tricky locks in these parts."

she sighed, clutching her small parcel more closely.

"it appears," she said, "that you have managed the feat just in time for
it to prove your undoing.  our enemies are already battering at the main
gate.  they may even be through it by now."

"so that is what the noise is all about," he said.  "in that case, could
you direct me to the nearest secret escape passage?"

"i fear that they have all been blocked."

"pity," he said.  "would it then be impolite of me to inquire whence you
are hastening with-- ah!  ahl"

he clutched at his burned fingertips, immediately following an arcane
gesture on the lady lydia's part when he -had reached toward the bundle
she bore.

"i am heading for a tower," she stated, "with the hope that i can summon
a dragon to bear me away--if there still be any about.  they do not take
well to strangers, however, so i fear there is nothing for you there.
i-- i am sorry.

he smiled and nodded.

"go," he said.  "hurry! i can take care of myself.  i always have."

she nodded, he bowed, and she hurried on.  sucking his fingers,
mouseglove turned back in the direction from which he had just come, his
plan already formed.  he, too, would have to hurry.

as lydia neared the end of the corridor, the casfie began to shake.  as
she mounted the stair, the window on the landing above her shattered and
the rain poured in.  as she reached the second floor and moved toward
the winding stairway to the tower, an enormous clap of thunder deafened
her to the ominous creaking noise within the walls.  but, had she heard
it, she might still have ventured there.

partway up the stair, she felt the tower begin to sway. she hesitated.
cracks appeared in the wall.  dust and mortar fell about her.  the
stairway began to tilt ...

tearing her cloak from her shoulders, she wrapped it about her bundle as
she turned and rushed back in the direction from which she had come.

the angle of the stair declined, and now she could hear a roaring,
grating sound all about her.  ahead, a portion of the ceiling gave way
and water rushed in.  beyond that, she could see the entrance way
sliding slowly upwards. without hesitation, she drew back the bundle and
east it through the opening.

the world gave way beneath her.

as the forces of jared klaithe pounded into the main hall at rondoval
over the bodies of its dark defenders, the lord der emerged from a side
passage, a drawn bow in his hands.  he released an arrow which passed
through jared's armor, breastbone and heart, in that order, dropping him
in his tracks.  then he east the bow aside and drew his scepter from his
sash.  he waved it in a slow circle above his head and the invaders felt
an invisible force pushing them back.

one figure moved forward.  it was, of course, mor.  his filuminated
staff turned like a bright wheel in his hands.

"your loyalty is misplaced, old man," det remarked. 'this is not your
fight."

"it has become so," mor replied.  "you have tipped the balance."

"bahl the balance was tipped thousands of years ago," said the other,
"in the proper direction."

mor shook his head.  the staff spun faster and faster before him, and he
no longer appeared to be holding it.

"i fear the reaction you may already have provoked," he said, "let alone
what might come to pass should you be permitted to continue."

'then it must be between us two," said det, slowly lowering the scepter
and pointing it.

"it always was, was it not?" said mor.

the lord of rondoval hesitated for the barest moment. then', "i suppose
you are right," he said.  "but for this, be it upon your own head!"

the scepter ilareel and a lance of brilliant red light leaped from it.
old mot leaned forward as it struck full upon the stantly reflected
upward to strike against the ceih g.

with a roar that outdid the thunder, great chunks of masonry came loose
to crash downward upon the lord of rondoval, crushing and burying him in
an instant.

mor straightened.  the wheel slowed, becoming a staff again.  he leaned
heavily upon it.

as the echoes died within the hall the remaining sounds of battle came
to a halt without.  the storm, too, was drifting on its way, its
lightnings abated, its thunders stilled in that instant.

one of jared's lieutenants, ardel, moved forward slowly

and stood regarding the heap of rubble.

, "it is over," he said, alker a time.  "we've won ...

"so it would seem," mor said.

"there are still some of his men about to be dealt with."

mor nodded.

"...  and the dragons?  and his other unnatural servants?"

"disorganized now," mor said softly.  "i will deal with them."

"good.  we--what is that noise.

they listened for several moments.

"it could be a trick," said one of the sergeants, marakas by name.

"choose a detail.  go and find out.  report back immediately."

mouseglove crouched behind the arras, near to the stairwell that led to
the dark places be}ow.  his plan was to return to his cell and secure
himself within it.  a prisoner of det's would-be about the only person
on the premises

likely to ive sym tbetic tre.  tm nt, hy.h.  d

he had succeeded in making it's tar on ms journey t),ac

to duress when the gate had given way, tile invallers entered and the
sorcerous duel taken place.  he had witnessed all of these things
through a frayed place in the tapestry.

now, while everyone's attention was elsewhere, would be the ideal time
for him to slip out and head back down. only...  his curiosity, too, had
been aroused.  he waited.

the detail soon returned with the noisy bundle.  sergeant marakas wore a
tense expression, held the baby stiffly.

"doubtless der planned to sacrifice it in some nefarious rite, to assure
his victory," he volunteered.

ardel leaned forward and inspected.  he raised the tiny right hand and
turned it palm upwards.

"no.  it bears the family's dragon-mark of power inside the right
wrist," he stated.  "this is det's own offspring."

"oh."

ardel looked at mor.  but the old man was staring at the baby, oblivious
to all else:

"what should i do with it, sir?" marakas asked.

ardel chewed his lip.

"that mark," he said, "means that it is destined to become a sorcerer.
it is also a certain means of identification. no matter what the child
might be told while it was growing up, sooner or later it would learn
the truth.  if that came to pass, would you like to meet a sorcerer who
knew you had had a part in the death of his father and the destruction
of his home?"

"i see what you are getting at..." said marakas.

"so you had best--dispose of the baby."

the sergeant looked away.  then, "suppose we sent it to some distant
land where no one has ever heard of the house of rondoval?" he asked.

".  .  .  where one day there might come a traveler who knows this
story?  no.  the uncertainty would, in many ways, be worse than a
sureness of doom.  i see no way out for the little thing.  be quick and
merciful."

"sir, could we not just cut off the arm?  it is better than dying."

ardel sighed.

"the power would still be there," he said,"arm or no arm.  and there are
too many witnesses here today.  the story would be told, and it would
but add another griev-anee. no.  if you've no stomach for it yourself,
there must be someone in the ranks who--"

"wait!"

old mot had spoken.  he shook himself as one just awaakening and moved
forward.

"there may be a way," he said, "a way to let the ehfid live and to
assure that your fears will never be realized." he reached out and
touched the tiny hand. "what do you propose?" ardel asked him.

'thousands of years ago," mor began, "we possessed great cities and
mighty machines as well as high magics--"

"i've heard the stories," ardel said.  "how does that help us now?"

"they are more than just stories.  the cataclysm really occurred.
afterwards, we kept the magic and threw much of the rest away.  it all
seems so much legend now, but to this day we are biased against the
unnatural tech-things."

"of course. that is--"

"let me finish!  when a major decision such as that is made, the
symmetry of the universe demands that it go both ways.  there is another
world, much like our own, where they threw away the magic and kept the
other.  in that place, we and our ways are the stuff of legend."

"where is this world?" mot smiled.

"it is counterpoint to the music of our sphere," he said, "a single beat
away.  it it just around the corner no one turns.  it is another forking
of the shining road."

"wizards' riddles! how will this serve us?  can one travel to that other
place?"

"oh.  then .  .  ."

"yes.  growing up in such a place, the child would have its life, but
its power would mean little.  it would be dismissed, rationalized,
explained away.  the child would find a different place in life than any
it might have known here, and it would never understand, never suspect
what had occurred."

"fine.  do it then, if mercy can he had so cheaply."

"there/s a price."

"what do you mean?"

"that law of symmetry, of which i spoke--it must be satisfied if the
exchange is to be a permanent one: a stone for a stone, a tree for a
tree..."

"a baby?  are you trying to say that if you take this one there, you
must bring one of theirs back?"

"yes."

"what would we do with that one?"

sergeant marakas cleared his throat.

"my mel and i just lost one," he said.  "perhaps .  .  ." ardel smiled
briefly and nodded. "then it is cheap.  let it be done."

with the toe of his boot and a nod, ardel then indicated det's fallen
scepter.

"what of the magician's rod?  is it not dangerous?" he asked.

mor nodded, bent slowly and retrieved it from where it had fallen.  he
began to twist and tug at it, muttering the while.

"yes," he finally said, succeeding in separating it into three sections.
"it cannot be destroyed, but if i were to banish each segment to a point
of the great magical triangle of int, it may be that it will never be
reclaimed.  it would certainly be difficult."

"you will do this, then?"

"yes."

at that moment, mouseglove slipped from behind the arras and down the
stairwell.  then he paused, held his breath and listened for an outcry.
there was none.  he hurried on.

when he reached the dimness of the great stair's bottom, he turned
right, took several paces and paused.  they were not corridors, but
rather natural tunnels that faced him.  had it been the one directly to
the right from which he had emerged earlier?  or the other which angled
off nearby?  he had not realized that there were two in that vicinity
...

there came a noise from above.  he chose the opening on the extreme
right and plunged ahead.  it was as dark as the route he had traversed
earlier, but after twenty paces it took a sharp turn to the right which
he did not recall.

still, he could not afford to go back now, if someone were indeed
coming.  besides, there was a small light ahead ...

a brazier of charcoal glowed and smoked within an alcove.  a bundle of
faggots lay upon the floor nearby.  he fed under into the brazier, blew
upon it, coaxed it to flame.  shortly thereafter, a torch blazed in his
hand.  he took up several other sticks and continued on along the
tunnel.

he came to a branching.  the letxthand way looked slightly larger, more
inviting.  he followed it.  shortly, it branched again.  this time, he
bore to the right.

he gradually became aware of a downward sloping, thought that he felt a
faint draft.  there followed three more branchings and a honeycombed
chamber.  he had begun marking his choices with charcoal from the body
of the torch, near to the right hand wall.  the incline steepened, the
tunnel twisted, widening.  it came to bear less and less resemblance to
a corridor.

when he halted to light his second torch, he was aware that he had
traveled much farther than he had on the way out earlier.  yet he feared
returning along the way he had come.  a hundred paces more, he decided,
could do no and when he had gone that distance, he stood at the mouth of
a large, warm cavern, breathing a peculiar odor which he could not
identify.  he raised the torch high above him, but the further end of
the vast chamber remained hidden in shadows.  a hundred paces more, he
told himself...

later, when he had decided not to risk further explorations, but to
retrace his route and take his chances, he heard an enormous clamor
approaching.  he realized that he could either throw himself upon the
mercy of his fellow men and attempt to explain his situation, or hide
himself and extinguish his light.  his experience with his fellow men
being what it had been, he looked about for an unobtrusive niche.

and that night, the servants of rondoval were hunted through the wrecked
castle and slain.  mor, by his staff and his will, charmed the dragons
and other beasts too d'rfficult to slay and drove them into the great
caverns beneath. there, he laid the sleep of ages upon everything within
and caused the caverns to be sealed.

his next task, he knew, would be at least as difficult.

he walked along the shining road.  miniature lightnings played
constantly across its surface but did not shock him. to his right and
his left there was a steady flickering as brief glimpses of alternate
realities came and went.  directly overhead was a dark stillness filled
with steady stars. in his right hand he bore his staff, in the crook of
his left arm he carried the baby.

occasionally, there was a branching, a sideroad, a crossroad. he passed
many of these with only a glance.  later, however, he came to a forking
of the way and he set his foot upon the left hand branch.  immediately,
the flickering slowed perceptibly.

he moved with increased deliberation, now scrutinizing the images.
finally, he concentrated all of his attention on those to the right.
after a time, he halted and stood facing the panorama.

he moved his staff'into a position before him and the progression of
images slowed even more.  he watched for several heartbeats, then leaned
the tip of the staff forward.

a scene froze before him, grew, took on depth and coloration ...

evening...  autumn .  .  .  small street, small town .  .  . university
complex .  .  .

he stepped forward.

michael chain--red-haired, ruddy and thirty pounds overweight--loosened
his tie and lowered his six-foot-plus frame onto the stool before the
drawing board.  his left hand played games with the computer terminal
and a figure took shape on the cathode display above it.  he studied
this for perhaps half a minute, rotated it, made adjustments, rotated it
again.

taking up a pencil and a t-square, he transferred several features from
the display to the sheet on the board before him.  he leaned back,
regarding it, chewed his lip, began a small erasure.

"mike!" said a small, dark-haired woman in a severe evening dress,
opening the door to his office.  "can't you leave your work alone for a
minute?"

'the sitter is not here yet," he replied, continuing the erasure, "and
i'm.  ready to go.  this beats twiddling my thumbs."

"well, she is here now and your tie has to be retied and we're !ate."

he sighed, put down the pencil and switched off the terminal.  "all
right," he said, rising to his feet and fumbling at his throat.  "i'll
be ready in a minute.  punctuality is no great virtue at a faculty
party."

"it is if it's for the head of your department."

"gloria," he replied, shaking his head, "the only thing you need to know
about jim is that he wouldn't last a week in the real world.  take him
out of the university and drop him into a genuine industrial design slot
and he'd--"

"let's not get into that again," she said, retreating.  "i know you're
not happy here, but for the time being there's nothing else.  you've got
to be decent about it."

"my father had his own consulting firm," he recited.  "it could have
been mine

"but he drank it out of business.  come on.  let's go."

'that was near the end.  he'd had some bad breaks.  he was good.  so was
granddad," he went on.  "he founded it and--"

"i already know you come from a dynasty of geniuses," she said, "and
that dan will inherit the manfie.  but right now---" he shook himself
and looked at her. "how is he?" he asked in a softer voice. "asleep,"
she said.  "he's okay." he smiled.

"okay.  le�s get our coats.  i'll be good."

she turned and he followed her out, the pale eye of the crt looking over
his shoulder.

mor stood in the doorway of a building diagonally across the street from
the house he was watching.  the big man in the dark overcoat was on the
doorstep, hands thrust into his pockets, gazing up the street.  the
smaller figure of the woman still faced the partly opened door.  she was
speaking with someone within.

finally, the woman closed the door and turned.  she joined the man and
they began walking.  mor watched them head off up the street and turn
the corner.  he waited awhile longer, to be certain they would not be
returning after some remembered trifle.

he departed the doorway and crossed the street.  when he reached the
proper door he rapped upon it with his staff.  after several moments,
the door opened slightly.  he saw that there was a chain upon it on the
inside.  a young girl stared at him across it, dark eyes only slightly
suspicious.

"i've come to pick something up," he said, the web of an earlier spell
making his foreign words clear to her, "and to leave something."

"they are not in just now," she said.  "i'm the sitter ..."

"that is all right," he said, slowly lowering the point of his staff
toward her eye level.

a faint pulsing began within the dark wood, giving it an opalescent hue
and texture.  her eyes shifted.  it held her attention for several
pulsebeats, and then he raised it slowly toward his own face.  their
eyes met and he held her gaze.  his voice shifted into a lower register.
"unchain the door now," he said.

there was a shadow of movement, a rattling within.  the chain dropped.

"step back," he commanded.

the face withdrew.  he pushed the door open and entered.

"go into the next room and sit down," he said, closing the door behind
him.  "when i depart this place, you will chain the door behind me and
forget that i have been here. i will tell you when to do this."

the girl was already on her way into the living room. he moved about
slowly, opening doors.  finally, he paused upon the threshold of a
small, darkened room, then entered softly.  he regarded the tiny figure
curled within the crib, then moved the staff to within inches of its
head.

"sleep," he said, the wood once again flickering beneath his hand.
"sleep."

carefully then, he placed his own burden upon the floor, leaned his
staff against the crib, uncovered and raised the child he had charmed.
he lay it beside the other and considered them both.  in the light that
spilled through the opened door, he saw that this baby was lighter of
complexion than the one he had brought, and its hair was somewhat
.thinner, paler.  still...

he proceeded to exchange their clothing and to wrap the baby from the
crib in the blanket which had covered the other.  then he placed the
last lord of rondoval within the crib and stared at him.  his finger
moved forward to touch the dragonmark ...

abruptly, he turned away, retrieved his staff and lifted young daniel
chain from the floor.

as he passed along the hallway he called into the living room, "i am
going now.  fix the door as it was after me--and forget."

outside, he heard the chain fall into place as he walked away.  stars
shone down through jagged openings among the clouds and a cold wind came
out of the east at his back. a vehicle turned the corner, raking him
with its lights, but it passed without slowing.

tiny gleams began to play within the sidewalk, and the buildings at
either hand lost something of their substantiality, became
two-dimensional, began to flicker.

the sparkling of his path increased and it soon ceased to be a sidewalk,
becoming a great bright way stretching illimitably before and behind
him, with numerous side� ways visible.  the prospect to his right and
left became a mosaic of tiny still-shots of innumerable times and
places, flashing, brightening and shrinking, coming at last to resemble
the shimmering scales of some exotic fish in passage by him.  overhead,
a band of dark sky remained, but cloudless and pouring starlight in
negative celestial image of the road below.  occasionally, mor glimpsed
other figures upon the sideways--not all of them of human form--bent on
tasks as inscrutable as his own.

his staff came to blaze as he picked his way homeward, lightning-dew
dripping from his heels, his toes.

!il in lands mythical to one another, the days passed. when the boy was
six years old, it was noted that he not only attempted to repair
anything that was broken about the place, but that he quite often
succeeded.  mel showed her husband the kitchen tongs he had mended.

"as good as vince could have done at the smithy," she said.  "that boy's
going to be a tinker."

marakas examined the tool.

"did you see how he did it?" he asked.

"no.  i heard his hammering, but i didn't pay him much heed.  you know
how he's always fooling with bits of metal and such."

marakas nodded and set the tongs aside.

"where is he now?"

"down by the irrigation ditch, i think," she answered. "he splashes
about there."

"i'll walk down and see him, tell him he was a good boy for mending
that," he said, crossing the room and lifting the latch.

outside, he turned the corner and took the sloping path past the huge
tree in the direction of the fields.  insects buzzed in the grasses.  a
bird warbled somewhere above him.  a dry breeze stirred his hair.  as he
walked, he thought somewhat proudly of the child they had taken.  he was
certainly healthy and strong--and very clever ...

"mark?" he called when he had reached the ditch.

"over here, dad," came a faint reply from around the bend to his right.

he moved in that direction.

"where?" he asked, after a time.

"down here."

approaching the edge, he looked over, seeing mark and the thing with
which he was playing.  it appeared that the boy had placed a smooth,
straight stick just above the water's surface, resting each of its ends
loosely in grooves among rock heaps he had built up on either side; and
at the middle of the stick was affixed a series of squarish--wings?
which the flowing water pushed against, turning it round and round.  a
peculiar tingle of trepidation passed over him at the sight of it--why,
he was not certain--but this vanished moments later as he followed the
rotating vanes with his eyes, becoming a sense of pleasure at his son's
achievement.

"what have you got there, mark?" he asked, seating himself on the bank.

"just a sort of--wheel," the boy said, looking up and smiling.  'the
water turns it

"what does it do?"

"nothing.  just turns,"

"it's real pretty."

"yeah, isn't it?"

'that was nice the way you fixed those tongs," marakas said, plucking a
piece of grass and chewing it.  "your mother liked that."

"it was easy."

"you enjoy fixing things and making things, making things work--don't
you?"

"yes."

"think that's what you'd like to do for a living some day?"

"i think so."

"old vince is going to be looking for an apprentice down at the forge
one of these days.  if you think you'd like to learn smithing, working
with metals and sueh--i could speak with him."

mark smiled again.

"do that," he said.

"of course, you'd be working with real, practical things." marakas
gestured toward the water-spun wheel.  "not toys," he finished.

"it isn't a toy," mark said, turning to look back at his creation.

"you just said that it doesn't do anything."

"but i think it could.  i just have to figure what--and how."

marakas laughed, stood and stretched.  he tossed his blade of grass into
the water and watched the wheel mangle it.

"when you find out, be sure to tell me."

he turned away and started back toward the path.

"i will .  .  ." mark said softly, still watching it turn.

when the boy was six years old, he went into his father's office to see
once again the funny machine dad used.  maybe this time- "dan!  get out
of here!" bellowed michael chain, a huge figure, without even turning
away from the drawing board.

the little stick figure on the screen before him had collapsed into a
line that waved up and down.  michael's hand played across the console,
attempting adjustments. "glor.  ia! come and get him!  it's happening
again!"

"dad," dan began, "i didn't mean--the man swiveled and glared at him.

"i've told you to stay out of here when i'm working," he said.

"i know.  but i thought that maybe this time---"

"you thought!  you thought!  it's time you started doing what you're
told!"

"i'm sor--"

michael chain began to rise from his stool and the boy backed away. then
dan heard his mother's footsteps at his back.  he turned and hugged her.

"i'm sorry," he finished.

"again?" gloria said, looking over him at her husband. "again," michael
answered.  "the kid's a jinx."

the pencil-can began rattling atop the small table beside the drawing
board.  michael turned and stared at it, fascinated.  it tipped, fell to
its side, rolled toward the table's edge.

he lunged, but it passed over the edge and fell to the floor before he
could reach it.  cursing, he straightened then and banged his head on
the nearest corner.

"get him out of here!" he roared.  "the kid's got a pet poltergeisti"

"come on," gloria said, leading him away.  "we know it's not something
you want to do ..."

the window blew open.  papers swirled.  there came a sharp rapping from
within the wall.  a book fell from its shelf.

".  .  .  it's just something that sometimes happens," she finished, as
they departed.

michael sighed, picked things up, rose, closed the window. when he
returned to his machine, it was functioning normally.  he glared at it.
he did not like things that he could not understand.  was it a wave
phenomenon that the kid propagated--intensified somehow when he became
upset?  he had tried several times to detect something of that sort,
using various instruments.  alway unsuccessfully. the instruments
themselves usually- "now you've done it.  he's crying and the place is a
shambles," gloria said, entering the room again.  "if you'd be a little
more gentle with him when it starts, things probably wouldn't get so
bad.  i can usually head them off, just by being nice to him."

"in the first place," michael said, "i'm not sure i believe that
anything paranormal really happens.  in the second, it's always so
sudden."

she laughed.  so did he.

"well, it is," he said finally.  "i suppose i had better go and say
something to him.  i know it's not his fault.  i don't want him unhappy
...

he had started toward the door.  he paused. "i still wonder," he said.
"i know."

"i'm sure our kid didn't have that funny mark on his wrist."

"don't start that again.  please.  it just takes you around in circles."

"you're right."

he departed his office and walked back toward dan's room.  as he went,
he heard the sounds of a guitar being softly strummed.  now a d chord,
now a g .  .  .  surprising, how quickly a kid that age had learned to
handle the undersized instrument ..  .  strange, too.  no one else in
either family had ever shown any musical aptitude.

he knocked genfiy on the door.  the strumming stopped. "yes?"

"may i come in?"

"uh-huh."

he pushed the door open and entered.  dan was sprawled on the bed.  the
instrument was nowhere in sight.  underneath, probably.

'that was real pretty," he said.  "what were you

"just some sounds.  i don't know."

"why'd you stop?"

"you don't like it."

"i never said that."

"i can tell."

he sat down beside him and squeezed his shoulder. "well, you're wrong,"
he said.  "everybody's got something they like to do.  with me, it's my
work." then, finally, "you scared me, dan.  i don't*know how it happens
that machines sometimes go crazy when you come around--and things i
don't understand sometimes scare me.  but i'm not really mad at you.  i
just sound that way when i'm startled."

dan rolled onto his side and looked up at him, he smiled weakly.

"you want to play something for me?  rll be glad to listen."

the boy shook his head.

"not just now," he said.

michael looked about the room, at the huge shelf of picture books, at
the unopened erector set.  when he looked back at dan, he saw that.  the
bey was rubbing his wrist.

"hurt your hand?" he asked.

"uh-uh.  it just sort of throbs--the mark--sometimes."

"how ofteen?"

"whenever--something like that happens."

he gestured toward the door and the entire external world.

"it's going away now," he added.

he took hold of the boy's wrist, examined the dark dragon-shape upon it.

"the doctor said it was nothing to worry about--no chance of it ever
turning into anything bad "

"it's all right now."

michael continued to stare for several moments.  finally, he squeezed
the hand, lowered it and smiled. "anything you want, dan?" he asked.
"no.  uh...  well---some books." michael laughed.

"that's one thing you like, isn't it?  okay, maybe we can stop by a
bookstore later and see what they've got." dan finally smiled. "thank
you."

michael punched his shoulder lightly and rose.

".  .  .  and i'll stay out of your office, dad."

he squeezed his shoulder again and left him there on the bed.  as he
headed back toward his office, he heard a soft, rapid strumming begin.

when the boy was twelve years old he bufit a horse.  it stood two hands
high and was moved by a spring-powered clockwork mechanism.  he had
worked after hours at the smithy forging the parts, and on his own time
in the shed he had built behind his parents' place, measuring, grinding
and polishing gears.  now it pranced on the floor of that shed, for him
and his audience of one---nora vail, a nine-year-old neighbor girl.

she clapped her hands as it slowly turned its head, as if to regard
them.

"it's beautiful, mark!  it's beautifuli" she said.  "there's never been
anything like it--except in the old days."

"what do you mean?" he said quickly.

"you know.  like long ago.  when they had all sorts of clever devices
like that."

"those are just stories," he said.  then, after a time, "aren't they?"

she shook her head, pale hair dancing.

"no.  my father's passed by one of the forbidden places, down south by
anvil mountain.  you car still see all sorts wizbd wop, ld p of broken
things there without going in---things people can't make anymore." she
looked back at the horse, its movements now slowing. "maybe even things
like that."

"that's interesting..." he said.  "i didn't realize and there's still
stuff left?"

'that's what my father said."

abruptly, she looked him straight in the eye.

"you know, maybe you'd better not show this to any body else," she said.

"why not?"

"people might think you've been there and learned some of the forbidden
things.  they might get mad."

'that's dumb," he said, just as the horse fell onto its side.  'l'hat's
real dumb."

but as he righted it, he said, "maybe i'll wait till i have something
better to show them.  something they'll like , the following spring, he
demonstrated for a few friends and neighbors the flotation device he had
made, geared to operate a floodgate in the irrigation system.  they
talked about it for two weeks, then decided against installing it
themselves. when the spring runoff occurred--and later, when the rains
came there was some local flooding, not too serious. they only shrugged.

"i'll have to show them something even better," he told nora. "something
they'll have to like."

"why?" she asked.

he looked at her, puzzled.

"because they have to understand," he said.

"what?"

"that i'm right and they're wrong, of course."

"people don't usually go for that sort of thing," she said.  he smiled.
"we'll see."

when the boy was twelve years old, he took his guitar with him one
day--as he had on many others---and visited a small park deep in the
steel, glass, plastic and concrete-lined heart of the city where his
family now resided.

he patted a dusty synthetic tree and crossed the unliv-ing turf past
holograms of swaying flowers, to seat himself upon an orange plastic
bench.  recordings of birdsongs sounded at random intervals through
hidden speakers. artificial butterflies darted along invisible beams.
con-coaled aerosols released the odors of flowers at regular intervals.

he removed the instrument from its case and tuned it. he began to play.

one of the fake butterflies passed too near, faltered and fell to the
ground.  he stopped playing and leaned forward to examine it.  a woman
passed and tossed a coin near his feet.  he straightened and ran a hand
through his hair, staring after her.  the disarrayed silver-white streak
that traced his black mop from forehead to nape fell into place again.

he rested the guitar on his thigh, chorded and began an intricate
right-hand style he had been practicing.  a dark form--a real
bird--suddenly descended, to hop about nearby.  dan almost stopped
playing at the novel sight. instead, he switched to a simpler style, to
leave more attention for its movements.

sometimes at night he played his guitar on the roof of the building
where birds nested, beneath stars twinkling fainfly through the haze. he
would hear them twittering and rustling about him.  but he seldom saw
any in the parks--perhaps it was something in the aerosols--and he
watched this one with a small fascination as it approached the failed
butterfly and seized it in its beak.  a moment later, it dropped it,
cocked its head, peeked at it, then hopped away.  shortly thereafter,
the bird was airborne once again, then gone.

dan reverted to a more complex pattern, and arer a time he began singing
against the noises of the city.  the sun passed redly overhead.  a wino,
sprawled beneath the level of the holograms, sobbed softly in his sleep.
the park vibrated regularly with the passage of underground trains.
after several lapses, dan realized that his voice was changing.

mark marakson--six feet in height and still growing, muscles as hard as
any-smith's--wiped his hands on his apron, brushed his unruly thatch of
red back from his forehead and mounted the device.

he checked the firebox again, made a final adjustment on the boiler and
seated himself before the steering mechanism. the vehicle whistled and
banged as he released the clutch and drove it out of his hidden shed,
heading down toward the roadway along the path he had smoothed.

birds, rabbits and squirrels fled before him, and he smiled at the power
beneath his hands.  he took a corner sharply, enjoying the response to
the controls.  this was the sixth trial of his self-propelled wagon and
everything seemed to be functioning perfectly.  the first five
expeditions had been secret things.  but now...

he laughed aloud.  yes, now was the time to surprise the villagers, to
show them what could be wrought with thinking and ingenuity.  he checked
the pressure gauge at his side.  fine...

and it was a beautiful morning for such an expedition--sunny, breezy,
the spring flowers in bloom at either hand � .  ." his heart leaped
within him as the hardwood seat pounded his backside and thoughts of
suspension systems danced through his mind.  it was indeed a day for
great undertakings.

he chugged along, occasionally feeding the flames, trying to imagine the
expressions on the people's faces when they got their first sight of the
contraption.  a farmer in a distant field let up his plowing and stared,
but he was too far removed for his reaction to be visible.  mark wished
suddenly that he had thought to install some sort of whistle or boll.

as he neared the village, he drew back on the brake, slowing.  he
planned to halt right in the middle of town, stand on the seat and give
a little talk.  "get rid of, your horses," it would begin.  "a new day
is dawning...

he heard the cries of children from a nearby field.  soon they were
racing along beside him, screaming questions. he tried to answer them,
but the noises of the machine destroyed his words.

as he turned onto the only street through the village, slowing even
more, a horse bolted and ran off betwee two houses, dragging a small
cart.  he saw people and heard doors slamming.  dogs snarled, barked and
backed away.  the children kept pace.

reaching the town's center, he braked to acorn halt and looked about.

"can we ride on it?" the children shouted.

"maybe later," he replied, turning to check that everything was still in
good order.

doors began to open.  people emerged from homes and stables to stand
staring at him.  their expressions were not at all what he had imagined
they would be.  some were blank-faced, many seemed fearful, a few looked
angry. "what is it?" a man shouted from across the way. "a steam wagon,"
he yelled back. "it--"

"get it out of here!" someone else called.  "we'll all be cursed!"

"it's not bad magics" he began. "get it out!"

"out with it!"

"bringing that damned thing into town .  .  ." a clod of earth struck
the side of the boiler. "you don't understand!"

"out!  out!  out!"

stones began to fly.  a number of men began moving toward him.  he
singled out the one he knew best.  �

"jed!" he shouted.  "it's not bad magic!  it's just like boiling water
to make tea!"

jed did not reply, but reached out with the others to seize hold of the
wagon's quivering side.

"we'll boil you, you bastard.  one of the others shouted, and they began
to rock the vehicle�

'stop[ stopt you'll damage iti" mark cried.

top-heavy, it quickly responded to their pressures with a swaying
motion.  when he realized that it was boginning to tip, it was too late
to jump.

"damn you" he cried, and he fell.

he landed rolling and struck his head but did not pass out.  dazed, he
saw the boiler burst and the fireboi come open, scattering embors.
several droplets of hot spray struck him, and he continued to roll.  the
waters streamed off toward the main ditch, missing him.

"damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you," he heard himself repeating,
and then he blacked out.

he smelled the smoke and heard the flames when he came around again. the
wagon had taken fire from the embers.  people stood about watching it
burn.  no one an attempt to extinguish it.

.  have to get a wise man to exorcise the demon he overheard a woman
saying.  "don't no one touch it.  you kids stay away!"

"fools!" he muttered, and he struggled to rise. a small hand on his
shoulder pushed him back. "no! don't draw attention to yourseli] just
lie stilll"

"nora...  ?"

he looked up.  he had not at first realized that she was there, holding
a compress to his head.

"yes.  rest a moment.  gather your strength.  then come back this way
botween the houses." she gestured with her head.  "we'll move quickly
when we do."

"they didn't understand..."

"i know.  i know.  it was like the horse, when we were

"yes."

� .  .  something you just thought up because you think that way.  i
understand."

"damn them!" he said.

"no.  they just don't think the way you do."

"i'll show them!"

"not now you won't.  let's just get ready and slip away.

after that, i think it might be a good idea for you to stay out of sight
for a time."

he stared at the burning wagon and at the faces beyond it.

"i suppose you are right," he said.  "damn them.  i'm ready.  i want to
get out of here."

she took hold of his hand.  he winced and drew it back. "i'm sorry. it's
burned," she said.  "i hadn't noticed."

"neither had.  i.  it will be all right, though.  let's go."

she clasped his other hand.  he rose quickly and moved with her, past
shrubs, beyond the houses.

"this way."

he followed her down a lane, through a barn.

when they paused to rest, he said, "thank you.  you were right.  i'm
going away for awhile."

"where?"

"south," he hissed.

"oh, no!" she said.  "that's too wild, and--"

"i've got the name," he stated. she stared into his eyes. "don't," she
said.

he reached forward and embraced her.  she was stiff for a moment, then
relaxed against him.

"i'll be back for you," he told her.

the trees were smaller, the land was drier here.  there were fewer
shrubs and more bare areas.  this land was rockier and much, much
quieter than his own.  he heard no birdcalls as he walked and climbed,
no insect-noises, no sounds of running water, rustling boughs, passing
animals.

his hand had stopped throbbing several days ago, and the skin was
peeling now.  he had long since discarded the bandage from his head. his
tread was firm despite weariness, as he entered the anvil-shaped peak
through lengthening shadows.  he wore a small backpack, and several well
wrapped water bottles hung from his belt.  his garments were dirty, as
were his face and hands, but he smiled a tight smile as he looked upward
and plodded on.

he did not feel that there were demons and assorted monsters in the
area, as some people believed.  but he bore a short sword across his
pack---one he had forged himself years before, when he had been shorter
and lighter. it seemed almost a toy.  now, though he could wield it with
great speed and dexterity.  he had spent months practicing with blades
to obtain the feeling for edged weapons which alone would insure his
producing a superior product when he came to forge them.  he had picked
his up at the smithy when he had returned there for the supplies for his
flight. now, hiking closer and closer to the forbidden area, he felt no
great need for the blade in what he took to be a dead place, but its
presence made him think of the effort which had gone into its
manufacture, yet had still produced an item inferior in quality to some
of the strange fragments of metal he discovered imbedded in the ground
here.

he carried such a scrap in his hand and studied it now and again.  he
saw it to be some sort of tough, light alloy, once he had scraped and
rubbed the dirt from it, uncorrupted after all these years.  what were
the forces that had formed it?  what heats?  what pressures?  it told
him that something peculiar had once existed nearby.

that evening he walked through the still standing shell of a large
building.  he could not even guess what might once have been transacted
within it.  but twice he thought that he heard scurrying sounds near at
hand as he explored. he decided to camp at some distance from the ruin.

he could not decide whether a fire would attract or repel anything that
might dwell nearby.  finally, the lack of sufficient kindling materials
to keep a blaze going for very long persuaded him to do entirely
without.  he ate dry rations and rolled himself into his blanket on a
ledge eight feet above the ground.  he placed his blade within easy
reach.

how long he had slept, he could not say.  several hours, it felt, when
he was awakened by a scratching noise.  he was alert in an instant, hand
moving toward the weapon. he turned his head slightly, muscles tensing,
and beheld the thing which moved over the rocks below, coming in his
direction.

its dark, segmented body gleamed in the moonlight as it crept over the
rocks on numerous tiny feet, its front end sometimes raised, sometimes
lowered.  it was three or four times his own size, and it resembled
nothing so much as a gigantic, metallic eaterpillar moving along the
trail he had followed to this placo. mounted near the forward end was
something small and twisted and vaguely man-shaped, clutching what
appeared to be reins in its left hand and the shaft of a long spear in
the other.  the beast reared, rising as high as the ledge, swayed, then
dropped to the ground once more and proceeded as if sniffing out his
path.

hackles risen, a cold lump in the pit of his stomach, mark eyed a
possible escape route among the rocks below and to the right.  if he
moved quickly enough there might still.be a sufficient margin ...

he breathed deeply, vaulted to the ground and twisted his ankle beneath
him, rising, limping, he headed toward the rocks.  he heard a sharp
whistling noise behind him and an increase in the scratching sounds.  he
dodged as best he could, thinking of the spear in the thing's hand.

he looked back once and saw that he seemed to be holding his own.  the
spear-arm was cocked, but the rocks were right before him now.  he dove
and heard the shaft clatter on stone behind him.  recovering
immediately, he continued on, heading obliquely back in the direction of
the ruin he had visited earlier.

the noises behind him did not diminish.  apparently, the monstrosity
could move at a faster pace than that at which he had first seen it
coming, he darted among rocks, keeping the sounds to the rear and the
ruin roughly ahead.  there had been places to climb, places to hide
there--places better suited for defense than the open ground of this
rock maze.

he rounded a huge boulder, froze, and barely had time to bring his blade
into play.  another of the things, also bearing a rider, appeared to
have been searching or waiting for him.  it was reared upright only feet
away, and the spear was already descending.

he parried, driving the shaft aside, and swung a backhanded cut toward
the swaying creature.  it rang like a bell and dropped forward.  he
stepped aside, feeling a sharp pain in his right ankle, then thrust
upward toward the gnarled rider.  there came a scream as his blade and
entered, somewhere.  he dragged it free, turned ran.

there were no sounds of pursuit, and when he back he saw the beast, now
riderless, groping aimlessly among the rocks. he began to draw a deep
breath, then the world gave way beneath him.  he fell a distance through
darkness and landed shoulder-first on hard surface.  the blade fell from
his hand with a clanging sound, and he immediately retrieved it.  there
came sharp, slamming noise from overhead, and dust, and pieces of earth
fell about him.  suddenly then, was light, but his eyes did not
immediately adjust to it.

when the effects of the brightness had passed, he did not understand
what lay before him.

a table .  .  .  yes, he recognized that--and the chairs. but where was
the main light source?  what was that gray thing with the glassy
rectangle at its center?  and those tiny lights?

nothing moved about him, save for the settling dust.

he got to his feet, advancing slowly.

"hello?" he whispered.

"yes, hello, hello!" came a loud voice.  "hello?"

"where are you?" he asked, halting and turning in slow circle.

"here, with you," was the reply.  the words had archaic accent to them,
like that of the northlanders.

"i do not see you.  who are you?"

"my, you speak strangely!  foreigner?  i am a machine, a library
computer."

"my words may seem strangely accented and because of the passage of
time," mark said, with a insight concerning the age and function of the
device. "can you make allowances, adjust for this?  i am having
difficult time understanding even your simplest statemen

"yes.  talk a lot.  i need a good sample.  tell me about yourself and
the things that you wish to know."

mark smiled and lowered his blade.  he limped to nearest chair and
slumped into it.  he rubbed his shoulder.

"i will," he said, moments later.  "but how is this lighted?"

the screen glowed before him.  beneath a heavy layer of dust, a wiring
diagram suddenly appeared upon it. "is that what you mean?  asked the
voice. "maybe.  i'm not certain."

"do you know what it is?"

"not yet," he said, "but i intend to.  if you will instruct

"i have the means to provide for your well-being for so long as you wish
to remain here.  i will instruct you.

"i think i may have just fallen into the very thing i sought," mark
replied.  "i'll tell you about myself, and you tell me about power
sources ...

daniel chain a junior at state, working on his certificate in medieval
studies; slim and hard, after two years on the boxing and fencing teams;
less than happy at the subtle pressure still exerted by his father for
him to change his history and linguistics major and join him in the
business--sat upon the tall stool, thinking of all these matters and
others, after the fashion of half-controlled reverie which informed his
mind whenever he played.

the club was dim and smoky.  he had followed betty lewis, who sang torch
songs and blues numbers accompanied by piano rolls and a deep
decolletage and who always drew heavy applause when she took her bows.
now he was filling the room with guitar sounds.  he played on saturday
nights and alternate fridays, doing as many instrumentals as vocals. the
people seemed to like his music both ways.  right now, he was in a
nonvocal mood.

tonight was the other friday, and the place was considerably less than
packed.  he recognized several familiar faces at the small tables, some
of them nodding in time with the beat.

he sculpted the swirls of smoke as they drifted up toward the lights,
into castles, mountain ranges, forests and exotic beasts.  the mark on
his wrist throbbed slightly as this occurred.  it was strange how few of
the patrons ever looked up and noticed his music-shaped daydreams
hovering above their heads.  or perhaps the ones who did were already
high and thought it normal.

improvising, he moved an army across a ridge.  he attacked it with
dragons and tore it to pieces.  troops fled in all directions.  smiling,
he upped the tempe.

in time, he saw an elbow strike a mug of beer.  it slowed in midair as
he played, twisting upright, retaining much of the beverage.  it came to
a stop inches above the floor, then descended the final distance gently.
by the time its owner found it there and exclaimed upon the miracle, dan
had returned to his world of open spaces and trees, mountains and clear
rivers, prancing unicorns and diving griffins.

jerry, the bartender, sent up a pint.  danpaused to sip from it, then in
a small fit of serf-awareness began the tune to which he had set
"miniver cheery." soon, he was singing the words.

somewhere past the halfway point, he noticed a frightened look on
jerry's face.  he had just taken a step backward. the man immediately
before him was leaning forward, hunched over his drink and looking
ahead.  by leaning back on the stool and craning his neck, dan could
just make out the lines of the small handgun the man held, partly
wrapped in a handkerchief.  he had never tried to stop one from firing
and wondered whether he could.  of course, the trigger might well remain
untugged.  jerry was already turning slowly toward the cash register.

the pulse in his right wrist deepened as he stared at a heavy mug and
watched it slide along the bar top, as he shifted his gaze to an empty
chair and saw it begin to creep forward.  for those moments, a part of
him seemed also to be a part of the chair and the mug.

jerry rang up no sale and was counting out the bills from the register.
the chair found its position behind the hunched gunman and halted,
soundlessly.  dan sang on, castles fallen, dragons flown, troops
scattered in the white haze about the lights.

jerry returned to the counter and passed the man a wad of bills.  they
vanished quickly into a jacket pocket.  the weapon was now completely
covered by the handkerchief. the man straightened and slid from the
stool, eyes and weapon still upon the bartender.  as he moved backward
and began to torn the ehair lurched to reposition itself. his foot
strnek it and he stumbled, throwing out his hands to save himself.

as he sprawled, the mug rose from the counter and sped toward his head.
when it connected, he lay still.  the weapon in its white wrapping sped
across the floor to vanish beneath the performer's platform in the
corner.

dan finished his song and took another drink.  jerry was beside the man,
recovering the money.  a knot of people had already formed at that end
of the room.

'that was very strange."

he turned his head.  it was betty lewis who had spoken. she had left the
table near the wall where she had been sitting, sipping something, and
approached the platform.

"what was strange?" he said.

"i saw that chair move by itselfrathe one he tripped on.

"probably someone bumped it."

"no."

now she was looking at him rather than the scene across the room.

"the whole thing was very peculiar.  the mug..  "she said.  "funny
things seem to happen when you're playing.

usually little things.  sometimes it's just a feeling."

he smiled.

"it's called mood.  i'm a great artist., he fingered a chord, ran an
arpeggio.  she laughed. "no, i think you're haunted." he nodded.

"like cheevy.  by visions."

"nobody's listening now,, she said.  "let's sit down."

"okay."

he leaned his guitar against the stool and took his beer to her table.

"you write a lot of your own stuff, don't you?" she said, after they had
seated themselves.

"yes."

"i like your music and your voice.  maybe we could work out a thing
where we do a couple of numbers together."

"maybe," he said, "if you've no objection to the strange things you say
happen."

"i like strange things." she reached out and touched his hair.  "that's
real, isn't it--the streak?"

"yes."

"at first i thought--you were a little weird."

"... and now you know it?"

she laughed.

"i suppose so.  someone said you're still in school?  that right?"

"it is."

"you going to stay with music when you get out?" he shrugged."

"hard to say.

"you've got a future, i'd think..  ever record anything?"

"no."

"i had a record.  didn't do well."

"sorry."

'thhe breaks .  .  .  maybe bad timing.  maybe not, too.  i don't know.
i'd really like to try something with you.  see how it sounds.  if it
works, i know a guy..."

"my material?"

"yeah."

he nodded.

"okay.  after the show, let's go somewhere and try a

"my place isn't far.  we can walk"

"fine."

he took a sip of beer, glanced over and saw that the man on the floor
was beginning to stir.  in the distance, he heard the sound of a siren.
he heard someone ask, "where's the gun?"

' "it's a funny feeling i get when i hear you," she resumed, "as though
the world were a little bit out of kilter."

"maybe it is."

".  .  .  as though you tear a little hole through it and i can see a
piece of something else on the other side."

"if i could only tear one big enough i'd step through."

"you sound like my ex-husband."

"was he a musician?

"no.  he was a physicist who liked poetry."

"what became of him?"

"he's out on the coast in a commune.  arts and crafts, ga, ening...
stuff like that."

'he up and leave, or he ask you to go with?"

"he asked, but i didn't want pig shit on my heels."

dan nodded.

'tii have to watch where i step if i ever step through." the police car
pulled up in front, its light turning, blinking.  the siren died.  dan
finished his drink as someone located the weapon.

"we'd look pretty good on an album cover,' she said. "especially with
that streak.  maybe i could...  haw."

the man with the sore head was led away.  car doors he said, rising. "or
is it she looked at her watch.

i!?i!11:i:i!i

"you finish up," she said.  'tll just listen and wait."

he mounted the platform and took the guitar into his

ih ands.  the pillars of smoke began to intertwine.

the giant mechanical bird deposited mark marakson on the hilltop.  mark
brushed back the soft green sleeve of his upper garment and pressed
several buttons on the wide bracelet he wore upon his left wrist.  the
bird took flight again, climbing steadily.  he controlled its passage
with the wristband and saw through its eyes upon the tiny screen at the
bracelet's center.

he saw that the way ahead was dear.  he shouldered his pack and began
walking.  down from the hill and through the woods he went, coming at
last to a trail that led toward more open country.  overhead, his bird
was but a tiny dot, circling.

he passed cultivated fields, but no habitations until he came within
sight of his father's house.  he had plotted his return route carefully.

his work shed stood undisturbed.  he deposited his pack within it and
headed toward the house.

the door swung shut behind him.  the place seemed more d'tsarrayed than
he had ever before seen it. "hellol" he called. "hello?"

there was no reply.  he went through the entire house, finding no one.
dust lay thick everywhere.  marakas could well be in the field, or
tending to any of the numerous! chores about the place.  but melanie was
usually in the house.  he looked about outside, investigating the barnsi
and work sheds, walked down to the ditches, scanned the[ fields.  no
one.  he returned to the house and sought food[ for lunch.  the larder
was empty, however, so he ate of hist own provisions.  but he operated
the wrist-control first, wrzad woct and the speck in the heavens ceased
its circling and sped southward.

disturbed, he began cleaning and straightening about the place. finally,
he went out to the shed and set to work assembling the unit he had
brought with him.

it was on toward evening, his labors long finished, when he heard the
sound of the approaching wagon.  he departed the house, which he had set
back in order, and awaited the vehicle's arrival.

he saw marakas drive up to the barn and begin unhitching the team.  he
walked over to assist him. "dad..." he said.  "hello."

marakas turned and stared at him.  his expression remained blank for an
instant too long.  during that instant, it struck mark what had troubled
him about his father's movements, his reaction time: he was more than a
little drunk.

"mark," he said then, recognition spreading across his face.  he stook a
small step forward.  "you've been gone. over a year.  a year and a
half...  almost two.  what--happened? where have you been?"

"it's a long story.  here, let me help with that."

he took over the unhitching of the team, the rubbing down of the horses
in their stalls, their feeding.

".  .  .  so, when they destroyed my wagon, i had to leave.  i
was--afraid.  i headed south."

he barred the barn door.  the sun was just losing its final edge.

"but so long, mark ...  you never sent us word or anything," marakas
said.

"i couldn't.  how's--how's mother?"

marakas looked away and did not reply.  finally, he pointed toward a
small orchard.

"over there," he said at last.

after a time, mark asked, "how'd it happen?"

"in her sleep.  it wasn't bad for her.  come on."

they walked toward the orchard.  mark saw the small, rocked-over grave,
a part of the shadows and rootwork near one of the larger trees.  he
halted beside it, looking down.

"my going away .  .  ." he finally said.  "that didn't have anything to
do with it--did it?"

marakas put a hand on his shoulder.

"no, of course not."

"you never appreciate..  � till they're gone."

"i know."

got you in exchange.  'he called you a changeling.  that's all we were
so glad to take you.  mel's life was a lot than it would have been
otherwise.  mine, too.  i hope that doesn't change anything between us.
but i felt it was time for you to know."

mark embraced him.

'that's why the place is--not the way it used to be?"; i

"you wanted me," he said, a little later.  'what's more

"it's no secret i've been drinking a lot.  yes.  my hearti than a lot of
people can say."

hasn't been in things around here."

!  "it's good to see you again.  let's go back to the house.

mark nodded, dropped to one knee, touched the stones.  i there's some
food and stuff in the wagon."

"we could work the place together, now you're back,"'!

marakas said.

"i can't."

"they've got another smith now.  new fellow."

"i didn't want to do that either."

what will you be doing?"

"something new, different.  that's a long story, too. mother--"

his voice broke, and he was silent for a long whfie. finally, "mark, i
don't think too clearly when i've been drinking," marakas said, "and i
don't know whether i ought to tell you this now, later or never.  you
loved her and she loved you, and i don't know..."

"what?"

"i guess a man should know, sometime, and you're a: man now, and
things'd of been a lot different without you.

we wanted a kid, see?" mark rose slowly. "what do you mean?"

"i'm not y o, ur father.  she's not your mother.  natural-luke, i mean.

"i don't understand..."

"we never had any of our own that lived.  it was a sad thing.  so when
we had a chance to make a home for baby, we took it."

'thhen, who were my natural parents?"

after dinner, they finished a bottle of wine and marakas grew sleepy.
shortly after he had retired, mark returned to his shed.  they should
all be circling high above now, he realized, bearing the additional
equipment he needed, awaiting the signal to bring it to him.  he carried
the unit he had assembled earlier to a large, open area, from which he
transmitted the necessary orders.

the dark bird-shapes began drifting down out of the sky, blotting out
stars, their outlines growing to vast proportions. he smiled.

it took him several hours to unload the equipment and convey most of it
to the barn.  he was bone-tired when he had finished.  he sent all but
one of these products of his assembly lines flying back to his city in
the south.  that one he set to circling again, at a great altitude.

he returned to his shed to sleep, pausing in the orchard a final time.

the following day, mark assembled a small vehicle which, he explained to
marakas, drew its energy from the sun. he could not convince him that
this was not a form of magic.  that he did not wish to explain from
where the parts had come only added to this impression.  mark gave up
when he saw that it did not seem to matter to marakas, and he went on
with the installation of special features.

"i don't know.  it was right after the war--" that afternoon, he loaded
it with equipment and drove off

"i was orphaned?"

i along the trail that followed the canal.  he returned several

"i don't think so.  couldn't understand all the wizard' times for
additional tools and equipment.

fancy talk.  but they couldn't bring themselves to kill old for the next
five days, he remained away from the farm. devil det's kid, so they sent
him someplace far away andtthe afternoon that his work was completed, he
drove toward the village.  he headed the car down its street and halted
it at the same spot where his steam' wagon had been destroyed.  he
activated several circuits and picked up the microphone.

'this is mark marakson," he said, and his voice rang through the town.
"i've returned to tell you some of the things to which you would not
listen before--and many new things, as well ..."

faces appeared at windows.  doors began to open. "this wagon, like the
other, is not powered by a demon. it uses natural energies to do work. i
can build planting and plowing and harvesting devices of simfiar design
which will function faster and more efficiently than any a horse can
draw.  in fact, i already have.  i propose to furnish these for no
charge to all of the farms in the area and to provide instruction in
their use.  i would like to turn our !and into a model of scientific
farming techniques, and then into a manufacturing center for these
vehicles.  we will all grow rich, providing them to the rest of the coun
people emerged onto the street.  he saw familiar faces and some new
ones.  if any were shouting this time, he could not hear them above his
own broadcast words.

"i also have things to teach you concerning the alternation of crops,
the use of fertilizers and superior irrigation techniques.  the water
levels here have always been something of a problem, so i have set up a
demonstration of how this can be controlled by installing a series of
auto-marie fiow-contro{ gates along the ditches at the abandoned branson
farm above the west bend of the river i want you to go and take a look
at this--to see how they work all by! themselves--after you have had a
chance to think over my words.  no demons there either."

stones and pieces of dirt and dng had begun striking the vehicle while
he spoke, but these rebounded harmlessly and he continued:

"i have also fertilized, plowed, tilled and seeded one of the old fields
there.  i want you to see how smoothly and evenly this was done, and i
want you to watch and see what the yield from that plot comes to.  i
believe that you will be impressed ..."

four men rushed forward and set hands upon the side of the car.  they
immediately leaped or fell back.

"that was an electrical shock," he stated.  "i am not foolish enough to
give you the same opportunity to harm me twice.  damn it!  we're
neighbors, and i want to help you!  i want my town to be the center from
which the entire country receives the benefits i wish to bring it! i
have amazing things to teach you!  this is only the begin-ningl life is
going to be better for everyone!  i can build machines that fly and that
travel under water!  i can build weapons with which we can win any warl
i have an army of mechanical servants! i--"

the pelting had become a steady hail, and larger, heavier objects were
now falling.

"all right] i'm goings" he cried.  "all that i want you to do is to th.
ink about the thing?  that i have said] they may seem a lot more
reasonable later, when you have cooled otiq.  go and look at the branson
place! i'll be back another time, when we can talk]"

veh!cle move slowly forward.  a few people er xor a time, nursing some
final rocks and words.  then they fell behind.  he left the village.

as he swung to the left, climbing about the side of a small hill, he saw
a slim figure in a blue blouse and skirt, standing by the side of the
trail, waving to him.gey slowed immediately when he recognized nora.

coming to a stop, he leaned over and opened the door. "get in," he said.

she studied the car through narrowed eyes, then shook her head slowly.

"no," she said.  "i thought you'd come this way, and i came on ahead to
warn you--not to go for a ride in the thing."

"warn me?"

"they're angry--"

"i know that."

she struck her fist against her palm.

"don't interrupt! listen!  could you hear what they were saying?"

"no.  i"

"i didn't think so, over all that noise.  well, i could, and

i donlt think that they are going to calm down and see

things your way.  i think that the only reason you're alive right now is
that they couldn't break into this thing "

gingerly, she reached out and touched the door.  "don't go back to the
village.  you probably ought to leave again--" her vo,,ie?  broke and
she turned away.  "you never got in touch,' she managed later.  "you
said that you would, and you never did."

"ira i couldn't, nora."

"where were you?"

"far away .  .  � "far? as far as anvil mountain, or one of the other
forbidden places?  that's where you got this thing, isn't it?" he did
not reply.  "isn't it?" she repeated.

"it's not the way you think," he answered then.  "yes, i was there,
butre"

"go awayt i don't want to know you any morel i've, warned you.  if you
value your life, leave here again--and this time, don't come back!"

"i can convince you you're "wrong--if you'll listen, if you will let me
show you some "1 don't want to listen and i don't want to see anything!"
she turned and ran off through the trees.  he would have pursued her,
but he feared leaving the car there should any villagers be following.
"come backt" he called. but there was no answer.

reluctantly, he closed the door and continued on.  a puzzled centaur
peered after him from the hilltop.

ir/i the synthetic caterpillars crisscrossed the streets of the reviving
city, removing trash and rubble.  their super-intendant, a short,
wide-shouldered mutant with heavy brow-ridges, followed their slow
progress, occasionally leaning upon his hooked driving-prod.  the skies
were sunny today, above the shining spires about which laborers
clambered, building.  terraces were spreading under the care of a
company of robot attendants.  the steady throbbing of the restored
factories filled the air as other-styled robots, flying machines, cars
and weapons moved down the computerized assembly lines.  far below, a
line of passing routants genufiected as they passed the white-stone
monument above the entrance way to the old teaching machine's quarters,
which their leader had caused to be erected there and had designated as
a shrine.  giant bird-like forms departed from and returned to
flat-roofed buildings, moving into and out of their enormous patrol
patterns. the superintendant uttered a cry, swung his goad and smiled.
life had been growing steadfly better, ever since the arrival of the
suncrowned one, with his power over the old things.  he hoped that the
leader fared well on his latest quest.  later, he would visit the shrine
to pray for this, and that they might spread the blessings of warmth at
night and regular meals across the land.  a virtuous feeling he could
now afford possessed him as he swung the goad again.

michael chain, florid-faced, hair thinning now, sat across from daniel
in the small, quiet restaurant, trying to seem as if he were not
studying his reactions.  dan, in turn, uncomfortable in his best suit,
poked at his melting dessert and sipped his coffee, trying to seem as if
he were not aware of the surreptitious scrutiny. occasionally, his wrist
throbbed and somewhere a dish shattered. whenever this occurred, he
would hastily apply the biofeedback technique he had learned to suppress
it.

"the record isn't doing too well, eh?" michael said. dan raised his
eyes, shook his head.

"i seem to go over better in person," he replied.  then he shrugged.
"hard to tell what you're doing wrong the first time around, though.  i
can already see a number of things i should have done differently--"

"it was good," michael surprised him by saying.  "i liked it." he
flipped a palm upward and gestured vaguely away. "even so," he went
on."a small outfit, no promotion .  .  . do you have any idea how many
songs are recorded each year?"

"yes, i do.  it's--"

".  .  .  and you know something about statistics, even with a liberal
arts background.  it's practically a lottery situation."

"it's rough," dan acknowledged.

the hand turned over and struck the tabletop.

"it's damn near impossible to make it, that's what it is."

a sound of breaking crockery emerged from the kitchen. dan sighed.

"i suppose you're right, but i'm not ready to give it up yet."

the elder chain called for an after dinner drink.  dan declined one.  '

"still seeing that lewis girl?"

"yes."

"she strikes me as kind of cheap."

"we've had some good times together." michael shrugged. "it's your
life."

dan finished his coffee.  when he looked up, michael was staring at him,
smiling.

"it is," the older man said.  he reached out and touched dan's hand.
"i'm glad your mind's your own.  i know i sometimes push hard.  but
listen.  even without the greed, there'll always be a place for you in
the firm.  if you should ever change your mind, you can learn what you
need on the jobspick up some night courses...  no sales pitch.  i'm just
telling you.  there'll still be a place." 'hanks, dad."

michael finished his drink and looked about. "waiter!" he called.  "the
checki"

the chandelier began to quiver, but dan recognized the feeling and
quelled it in time.

mor stood, leaning against the bedpost for support.  he inserted a
knuckle into an eye-socket and rubbed vigorously. it seemed that all he
did these days was sleep.  and his ankles, swollen again .  .  .

he raised the water bottle from the bedside table and took a long drink.
he coughed, then swallowed a potion he had left ready, washing it down
with another gulp of water.

crossing the chamber, he drew back the long, dark drape and opened a
shutter.  stars sparkled in a pale sky. was it morning or evening?  he
was not certain.

stroking his white beard, he stared out across the hushed land,
realizing that something other than physiology had troubled his slumber.
he waited for the dream, the message, the feeling to recur, but it did
not.

after a long while, he let the drape fall, not bothering to close the
shutter.  perhaps if he returned to bed, it might come back to him .  .
.  yes, that seemed a good idea shaking his head slowly, he retraced his
steps across the room.  human bodies are so much trouble, he reflected.
an owl hooted several times. the mice scurried within walls.

deep beneath the ruin of castle rondoval, weighted by the heavy spell of
sleep that filled the cavern, moonbird, mightiest of the dragons,
assumed a stiff, beraldie pose upon the floor and relaxed it with equal
suddenness, his sigh moving like a warm wind across the forms of his
mates.  his spirit fled ghostly across the skies, passtng the forms of
giant, dark birds with bodies like sword metal at heights only his kind
had once held.  invisible, he threatened, then attacked.  the creatures
passed along their ways, unaffected.

raging in his impotence, moonbird retreated to the dark places of sleep,
narrowly missing a smaller form nearby as he tossed, his claws raking
furrows along a stony ledge.

mark was not awakened by the distant cries.  he slept on long after they
had begun and was only aroused when a figure entered his shed, seized
hold of his shoulder and shook him violently.

"wake up! please!  wake up!" came a sharp whisper. "vfaat--" he began,
and he felt a hand cover his mouth.

"keep your voice down! it's me--nora.  theyql get this one soon enough,
just for good measure.  you must the hand came away from his face.  he
sat up and reached for his boots, began drawing them on.

"what are you talking about?" he asked.  "what is happening?"

"i tried to get here in time to warn you, but they were too fast," she
said.  "i remembered you sometimes slept in this shed..."

he seized his swordbelt and buckled it on.

"i've weapons in the barn to stop anything," he said.  "i wish i'd kept
some here--"

"the barn is burning, tool"

"the house, the small stable and the two nearer sheds are also on fire."

he sprang to his fee{.

"my father was in the housei"

she caught hold of his arm, but he shook her off and made for the door.

"don'if' she said.  "it's too late[ save yoursehq"

he flung the door wide and saw that she had spoken the truth.  the house
blazed like a torch.  its roof had already caved in.  a number of
townfolk were headed in his direction, and a cry went up as they sighted
him.

he took a step backward.

"get out through the rear window," he whispered, "or they'll know you
were here.  hurry!"

"you come, tool"

"too ]ate.  they've spotted me.  go!"

he stepped out, shut the door behind him and drew his blade.

as they approached, faces dirt-streaked and sweaty in the firelight, he
thought of his last sight of old marakas, passed out on his pallet in
the loft.  too late, too late... father, they will pay for this!

he moved forward to meet them.  as he advanced, he saw that some of them
were armed with other than makeshift weapons.  old blades-some that he
might have forged himselfad been freshly oiled and honed.  several of
these shone in the midst of the mob.  he did not slow his pace.

"murderers!" he cried.  "my father was in there! you all knew him! he
never hurt anyone!  damn you!  all of youl"

there was no reply, nor did he expect one.  he fell upon them, swinging
his blade.  the nearest man, hyme the tanner, cried out and dropped to
the ground, clutching at his opened belly.  mark swung again, and the
butchef's brother screamed and bled.  his next attack was parried by one
of the blades, and a staff struck him upon the left shoulder.  he beat
down a thrust toward his chest and fell back, swinging his blade in a
wide arc, severing an extended hand clutching a club.

ashes fell about them, and a line of fire moved through the long grasses
toward the orchard.  the barn shuddered and a wall gave way, crashing
and spraying sparks off to his left.

he was struck upon the chest by something hard-thrown. he staggered
back, still swinging the blade.  a staff caught him again, this time
upon the thigh, and he stumbled. they were all about him then, kicking,
pushing.  his blade was wrenched from his grasp.  immediately, his hand
moved to the bracelet upon his left wrist.  he pressed several of the
studs...

,i a blade was swinging toward his head.  he twisted aside, felt it cut
into his brow, slip lower...

he screamed and covered his face.

and another voice also carried above the eries of his attackers.  beyond
the pain, behind the blood, he recognized nora's near-hysterical shout:
"you'll kill him! stop it! stop iti"

someone kicked him again, but it was the last blow that he felt.

a frightened scream arose nearby, soon to be echoed by many others, as a
dark form dropped from the sky and plunged into the midst of his
assailants.  its wings were like twin scythes and its metal beak rose
and fell among them.

mark drew a deep breath and staggered to his feet, his body a network of
pain, his left hand still covering that half of his face, blood
trickling between the fingers, running down the arm, filming the
bracelet toward which his right hand now moved.

a number of men lay still upon the ground, and the dark bird stalked
those who stood...

his fingers danced across the metal band.

the bird-thing halted, drew back, hopped, beat with its wings, rose into
the air, circled...

"you have decided your own fates," mark cried hoarsely. the bird
descended, seized hold of him by the shoulders, bore him aloft.  his
left hand was now entirely red and seemed firmly fixed to his face.

"i give those of you who still stand your lives-for nowm that memory of
this night shall remain among you, that witnesses be available," he
called down to them.  "i shall return, and all shall be done as i said
it earlier in town--but you will be subjects, not partners in the
enterprise.  i curse you for this night's work!"

the bird picked up speed, gained altitude. -...  save for you, nora," he
shouted finally.'l will be back for you--never fear!"

he vanished into the sky above.  the wounded moaned and the fires
crackled.  countercurses followed him across the night.  his blood was a
small rain over fields he had once worked.

about given up on his being at home.  she naa saso triea the door and
found it to be secured.  .

she was tirm.  it had been a long walk up to the place, after an
absolutely horrible night.  she leaned against the door frame, eyes
sparkling, but she simply did not feel like crying, she drew back her
foot and kicked the door as hard as she could.

"open up, damn you!" she cried, and she heard a click and the door swung
inward.

mot stood there, wearing a faded blue robe, blinking at the light.

"i thought i heard someone scratching," he said.  "you seem familiar,
but i don'tw"

"nora.  nora vail," she told him, "from the east village. i'm sorry i"

'mor brightened.

"i remember.  but i thought you were just a little girl ...  of course!
excuse me.  it flies" he stepped back. "come in.  i was just making some
tea.  don't mind the litter."

she followed him through one curiously furnished room and into another.
there, he cleared a chair for her and turned his attention to a boiling
pot.

"it's terrible..." she began.

"it will wait until tea is ready," he said sternly.  "i do not like
terrible things on an empty stomach."

nodding, she seated herself.  she watched the old sorcerer, as he put
out bread and preserves, as he brewed the tea.  there was a trembling in
his hands.  his face, 5.

always deeply lined, was now unnaturally pallid. been correct, though,
in that he had not seen her years--she had been but a small girl when he
stopped by for dinner, on his way to or from she recalled a surprisingly
long conversation ...

'ihere," he said, setting a plate and a cup on the beside her.  "refresh
yourself."

';thank you."

partway through the meal, she began talking.  the poured out in
disjointed fashion, but mor did not rnpt her.  when she looked at him,
she realized that color had returned to his cheeks and the hand that
held cup seemed steadier.

"yes, it is serious," he agreed when she had

"you were right to come to me.  in fact--"

he rose and slowly crossed the chamber to stand a small, dark mirror set
within an iron frame.

"--i had best look into it immediately," he finished, he passed his
fingertips near the glass and his back was to her and his right shoulder
partly her view of the glass, but she saw images dance within exposed
portions, and something like a section of a skyline appeared in the
upper right quadrant, a disturbing silhouette circling above it.  the
entire seemed to rush forward then, and she could not tell it was that
mor was now regarding.  changes in seemed to indicate several more scene
shiftings after but she could not distinguish the details of finally,
mor moved his hands once again, across of it.  all action fled, and
darkness filled the ink.

mot turned away and moved back to his seat.  he teacup, sipped, made a
face and dashed its into the fire.  he rose and prepared fresh tea.
"yes," he repeated when he had returned and

"it is very serious.  something.will have to be him ...  "

"what?" she asked. he sighed.

"i do not know."

"but could not you, who banished the demons of der--"

"once," he said, "i could have stopped this changeling easily.  now,
though .  .  .  now the power is no longer in me as it was in the old
days.  it is--too late for me.  yet, i am responsible in this."

"you?  how?  what do you mean?"

"mark is not of this world.  i brought him 'here as a babe, after the
last great batfie.  he was the means whereby i exiled pol detson, the
last lord of rondoval, also then a child.  it is a strange
feeling--knowing that the man we got in exchange is now a far greater
menace than anything we had feared.  i am responsible.  i must do
something.  but what, i cannot say."

"is there someone you could ask for help?"

he touched her hand.

"i must be alone now--to think," he said.  "return to your home.  i am
sorry, but i cannot ask you to remain." she began to rise.

'here must be something you can do."

he smiled faintly.

"possibly.  but first i must investigate."

"he said that he would come back for me," she persisted.  "i do not want
him to.  i am afraid of him."

"i will see what can be done."

he rose and accompanied her to the door.  on the threshold, she turned
impulsively and seized his hand in both of hers.

"please," she said.

he reached out with his other hand and stroked her hair.  he drew her
to-him for a moment, then pushed her away.

"go now," he said, and she did.

he watched until she was out of sight amid the greenery of the trail.
his eyes moved for a moment to a patch of flowers, a butterfly darting
among them.  then he closed and barred the door and moved to his inner
chamber, where he mixed himself powerful medicines.

he took a quarter of the dosage he had prepared, then returned to the
room where he had sat with nora.

standing before the iron-framed mirror once again, he repeated some of
his earlier gestures above its surface, as well as several additional
ones.  his voice was firmer as he intoned the words of power.

some of the darkness fled the mirror, to reveal a dim room where people
sat at small tables, drinking.  a young man with a white streak through
his hair sat upon a high stool on a platform at the room's corner,
playing upon a musical instrument.  mor studied him for a long while,
reached some decision, then spoke another word.

the scene shifted to the elub's exterior, and mot regarded the face of
the building with almost equal intensity.

he spoke another word, and the building dwindled, retreating down the
street as mor watched through narrowed eyes.

he gestured and spoke once again, and the glass grew dark.

turning away, he moved to the inner chamber, where he decanted the
balance of the medicine into a small vial and fetched his dusty staff
from the corner where he had placed it the previous summer.

moving to a cleared space, he turned around three times and raised the
staff before him.  he smiled grimly then as its tip began to glow.

slowly, he began pacing, turning his heal from side to side, as if
seeking a gossamer strand adrift in the air...  .

dan turned up his collar as he left the club, glancing down the street
as he moved into the night.  cars passed, but there were no other
pedestrians in sight.  guitar case at his side, he began walking in the
direction of betty's apartment.

fumes rose through a grating beside the curb, spreading a mildly noxious
odor across his way.  he hurried by. from somewhere across town came the
sound of a siren.

it was a peculiar feeling that had come over him earlier in' the
evening--as if he had, for a brief while, been the subject of an intense
scrutiny.  though he had quickly surveyed all of the club's patrons,
none of them presented such a heavy attitude of attention.  thinking
back, he had recalled other occasions.  when he had felt so observed.
there seemed no correlation with anything but a warm sensation over his
birthmark--which was what had recalled the entire matter to him: he was
suddenly feeling it again.

he halted, looking up and down the street, studying passing ears.
nothing.  yet...

it was stronger now than it had been back at the club. much stronger. it
was as though an invisible observer stood right beside him ...

he began walking again, quickening his pace as he neared the center of
the block, moving away from the corner light.  he began to perspire,
fighting down a powerful urge to break into a run.

to his right, within a doorway--a movement! his muscles tensed as the
figure came forward.  he saw that it bore a big stick ...

"pardon me," came a gentle voice, "but i'm not well. may i walk a
distance with you?"

he saw that it was an old man in a strange garment. "why...  yes. what's
the matter?" the man shook his head.

"just the weight of years.  many of them."

he fell into step beside dan, who shifted his guitar case to his left
hand.

"i mean, do you need a doctor?"

"no."

they moved toward the next intersection.  out of the corner of his eye,
dan saw a tired, lined face.

"rather late to be taking a walk," he commented.  "me, i'm just getting
off work."

"i know."

"you do?  you know me?"

something like a thread seemed to drift by, golden in color, and catch
onto the end of the old man's stick.  the stick twitched slightly and
the thread grew taut and began to thicken, to shine.

"yes.  you are called daniel chain--"

the world seemed to have split about them, into wavering halves--right
and left of the widening beam of light the string had become.  dan
turned to stare.

"--but it is not your name," the man said.

the beam widened and extended itself downward as well as forward.  it
seemed they trod a golden sidewalk now, and the street and the buildings
and the night became two-dimensional panoramas at either hand, wavering,
folding, fading.

"what is happening?" he asked.

"---and that is not your world," the man finished.

"i do not understand."

"of course not.  and i lack the time to give you a full explanation.  i
am sorry for this.  but i brought you this way years ago and exchanged
you for the baby who would have become the real daniel chain.  you would
have lived out your life in that place we just departed, and he in the
other, to which you now must go.  there, he is called mark marakson, and
he has become very dangerous."

red dragonflies wheeling and dipping above the lake's surface with
amazing dlicacy of motion, floating flowers, like pale, six-pointed
stars ...

he found his feet moving in that direction.  the call of the place grew
stronger ...

something yellow-eyed, long-cared and silver-furred passed him on the
right, running bipedally, nose twitching.

"late again!" it seemed to say.  "holy shift she'll have my head, sure!"

it looked at him for an instant as it went by, its glance sliding past
him along the way to the lake-scene.

"don't go there!" it seemed to yell after him.  "they eat warmbloods
alive!"

he halted and shuddered.  he looked way from the lake and its denizens,
sought the green line, located it, returned there.  by then, his
informant was out of sight.

he tried to keep his eyes on the line as he continued, avoiding' the
sideshows as much as possible.  it took an unexpected turn after a dozen
paces, and he felt as if he were moving downhill for a time.  something
like a red skateboard, bearing a large green scarab beetle, streaked by
him.  from time to time, he seemed to hear a chorus of voices singing
something he could not distinguish.

he walked down this branch, and a piece of the action to his right
seemed to beckon after his gaze.  this time, he resisted, only to
discover that the green line curved in that direction.  a side road grew
there as he advanced, and it seemed to lead on toward a forest.

the downhill sensation continued, and a breeze seemed to be blowing
toward him.  it smelled of leaf mold and earth and flowering things.  he
hurried, and the scene moved toward him at more than a reciprocal pace.
the tiny storms began to diminish underfoot, the green line was widening
...

suddenly, he heard bird-notes.  he reached out and touched a tree trunk.
the green line lost itself amid grasses. the world widened into a single
place of forest and glade, the stars went out overhead, to be replaced
by blue sky and clouds, crisscrossed by leafy boughs.  he looked behind
him.  there was no road--only, for a moment, what seemed a golden strand
of webbing, tossed by the wind toward his right, gone.

he began walking across the glade.  abruptly, he halted. he could wander
lost for a long while if this were a sizable wood, and he had a feeling
that it might be.

he removed his jacket, as the day was pleasant enough, placed it upon
the trunk of a fallen tree, hoisted himself some plan of action
suggested itself.  this spot might in some way be significant as the
terminus of his peculiar journey.

he opened the case to cheek on his guitar, which seemed intact.  he
raised it and began strumming upon it as he thought.  it sounded all
right, too.

he might locate a tree that looked more climbable than the giants which
surrounded him, he decided, and see whether he could spot a town or a
road from higher up. he looked about, without breaking his rhythm.  yes.
that appeared to be a good one, a few hundred meters right

rear he faced forward again and almost missed a beat.

the tiny creature which cavorted before him looked exactly like what it
was--a centaur colt.  its small hands moved in time with the rhythm, and
it pranced.

fascinated, he turned his attention to what he was playing, switching to
a more complicated right hand style.  softly, he began singing.  his
wristmark grew warm, throbbed. shortly, two more of the small creatures
emerged from the woods, to join the dancer.  as a number of leaves blew
by, as he felt they must--as he had half-consciously willed it he caught
these in the net of his playing and swirled them about the laughing
child-faces, the rearing pony-bodies. he drew birds to spin after them,
and a deer he had somehow known was present to join in the movements
which were now taking on a pattern.  the day seemed to darken, as he
willed itmthough it must only have been a cloud passing over the
sun---to transform the spectacle into a twilit scene, which somehow
struck him as most appropriate.

he played tune after tune, and other creatures ease to join in--bounding
rabbits, racing squirrels--and somehow he knew that this was right and
proper, exactly as it should be, in this place, with him playing, now...
he felt as if he might go on forever, building walls of sound and
toppling them, dancing in his heart, singing...

he did not become aware of the girl until sometime after her arrival.
slim and fair, clad in blue, she appeared beside a tree, far to the left
of the clearing, and stood beneath it, unmoving, watching and listening.

when he did notice her, he nodded, smiled and watched for her reaction.
he wished to take no chance of frightening her away, making no sudden
movements.  when she returned his nod, with a small smile of herown, he
stopped playing and placed the instrument back in its the leaves fell,
the animals froze for an instant then tore off into the woods.  the day
brightened.

"hello," he ventured.  "you live around here?"

she nodded.

"i was walking the trail back to my village when i heard you.  that was
quite beautiful.  what do you call that instrument?  is it magic?"

"a guitar," he answered, "and sometimes i think so.  my name is dan.
what's yours?"

"nora," she said.  "you're a stranger.  where are you from?  where are
you going?"

he snapped the case shut and climbed down to the ground.

"i've come a great distance," he said slowly, seeking the proper
sentence patterns, locating words with some hesitation, 'just wandering,
seeing things.  i'd like to see your village."

"you are a minstrel?  you play for your keep?"

he hauled down his coat and shook it out, draped it over his arm.

"yes," he said.  "know anybody who needs one?"

"maybe...  later," she said. "what do you mean?"

"there have been a number of deaths.  no one will be in a festive mood."

"i am sorry to hear that.  perhaps i can find some other employment for
a time, while i learn something of this land."

she brightened.

"yes.  i am sure that you could now."

he picked up the guitar case and moved forward. "show me the way," he
said.

"all right." she turned and he followed her.  "tell me about your
homeland and some of the places you've been."

best to make something up, he decided, something simple and rural.  no
telling yet what things are like here. better yet, get her to talking.
hate to start out sounding like a liar...

"oh, one place is pretty much like another," he began.

"is this farming country?"

"yes."

"well, there you are.  so is mine.  what sorts of crops do you grow?"

they came to the trail and she led him downward along it.  whenever a
bird passed overhead, she looked upward and flinched.  after a time, he
found himself scanning the skies, also.  he was able to direct the
conversation all the way into town.  by the time they got there, he had
learned the story of mark marakson.

the old man in the faded blue robe walked the streets of the drowsing
city, past darkened storefronts, parked vehicles, spilled trashcans,
graffiti that he could not read. his step was slow, his breathing heavy.
periodically, he paused to lean upon his staff or rest against the side
of a building.

slowly, light began to leak through the dark skyline before him, a
yellow wave, rising, putting out stars.  far ahead, a shadowy oasis
beckoned: trees, stirred by the faintest of morning breezes down a
wide.thoroughfare.

his stick tapped upon the concrete, more heavily now, as he crossed a
side street and negotiated another block with faltering steps.  his hand
trembled as he reached out to grasp a lamppost.  several vehicles passed
as he stood swaying there.  when the street was clear, he crossed.

nearer.  it was nearer now, the place where the boughs swayed and the
songs of birds rose in the early morning light.  he strode clumsily
ahead, the faintest of blue flickers occasionally dancing at the tip of
his stick.  the breeze brought him a weak, flower-like aroma as he bore
toward the final corner.

he rested again, breathing heavily, almost gasping now. when he moved to
cross this street, his gait was stiff, awkward.  once he fell, but there
was no traffic and he recovered and staggered on.

the sky had grown pink beyond the small park which now lay before him.
his staff, from which the final light had faded, swung clumsily through
a patch of flowers which closed immediately, undisturbed, behind it.  he
did not hear the faint hiss of the aerosols as he crossed the fake grass
to slump against the hole of a standard model midtown park area tree,
but only breathed the fragrance he had hoped might be there, smiling
faintly as the breezes bore it to him, eyes following the dance of the
butterflies in the still fresh light of the newrisen sun.

his staff slipped from his fingers and his breath came short and rushed
as unnumbered mornings past joined with this one to smear all colors and
smells into a greater reality which finally told the story he had always
wondered at, through to its vision past objects.  one of the
butterflies, passing too near on its beam, was overtaken by his life's
final throb, to settle, fluttering, upon his upturned wrist near to the
dragonmark it bore.

with a blare and a rattle, the city came alive about him.

strange feelings came and went.  each time that they came they were a
little stronger; each time they departed some residuum remained.  it was
difficult to pin them down, dan thought, as he drove a peg into a fence
post, but perhaps they had something to do with the land itself- this
place that felt so familiar, so congruent to his tastes ...

a cow strayed near, as if to inspect his work.

no, go that way, he willed.  over there, and his wrist felt warm, as
with power overflowing, spilling from his fingertips, and the cow obeyed
his unspoken command.

...  like that, he decided.  it feels right, and i set better at it all
the time.

a peg shattered under a hammer blow and a splinter flew toward his face.

away!  he commanded, without thinking.

reflex-like, something within him moved to stop it, and the fragment
sped off to the right.

�..and like that.

he smiled as he finished the work and began collecting his tools.
shadows were growing across the pasture as he looked back along the
lengths of fencing he had repaired.  it was time to wash, to get ready
for the dinner, the performance.

for three days now he had stayed at nora's unele's place, sleeping in
the barn, turning his hand to odd jobs the old man had been unable to
get to.  in that time, hs familiarity with the language had grown, just
as mot had said it would, almost as if he were remembering ...

mor...  He had not thought of him for a time.  it w sm if his mind had
locked away the entire experience of !

journey to this place in some separate, off-limits ment.  it was just
too bizarre, despite the fact that walked where he now walked.  but now,
the effects distancing made him east back, examining that walk,
wondering how his absence was being taken in own world.  he was
surprised to find that his own now, was beginning to feel dream-like and
unreal. this land .  .  .

he drew a deep breath.  this was real, and felt like home.  it would be
good to meet more of neighbors.

as he cleaned the tools and stored them in their he thought about the
evening's steer roast at the field toward town.  real country living
this, and he it.  he could think of worse places to be stuck for life.
afterwards, of course, he would play for them ...  he been itching to
get his hands on his guitar all day. seemed peculiar new
effects--para-musical, he could manage in this place, and he wanted to
ment further.  he wanted to show these things off, for neighbors, for
nora ...

nora.  he smiled again as he stripped off the workshirt belonging to her
uncle dar and walked bathe in the creek before donning h{s own garments.
was a pretty little thing.  it was a shame to see her frightened by the
local inventor of a few mechanical toys..

and if this--mark marakson--were indeed son...  he could almost see some
genetic factor both in the aptitudes and the total lack of appreciation
possible reactions to their operation.  too bad he back home and in the
business.  he and michael probably have gotten along well.

but, as he washed the sweat and dust from his another thought came to
trouble him.  why was he mor had spoken with some urgency, as if his
were a necessary thing.  for what?  something mark's creations.  he
snorted.  it did seem to have something of the sort, mentioned only in
the terms.  but what mechanical menace could a society simple turn out
in a single generation?  and why call him to combat it?  no.  he felt
under-informed and subject of an enigmatic old man's alarmist fantasies.
but he did not feel victimized.  when he got his bearings, he would
learn more about this place, though'he already felt it to be in many
ways preferable to the society from which he had strayed.  why, he might
yet become a genuine minstrel ...

he dried himself with a piece of rough sacking and donned the loose,
long-sleeved white shirt he had worn upon his arrival.  he changed back
into his black denim tousers, but retained the boots he had been given.
they fit him well and seemed functionally superior to the shoes he had
worn on his hike between the worlds.

he combed his hair, cleaned his fingernails and grinned at his
reflection in the water.  time to get his guitar and meet nora and her
uncle.  things 'were looking up.  he whistled as he walked back toward
the house.

there were bonfires and lanterns casting impressive shadows.  the
remains of feasting were even now being gathered up from about the
field.  at first, dan felt as if he should not have had those extra
glasses of wine, and then he felt that he should have.  why not?  it was
a festive occasion.  he had met a great number of the villagers, anxious
for some diversion after the unpleasant events of several days past, and
he had succeeded with some grace in parrying questions concerning his
homeland.  now he was ready to perform.

he dallied a little longer, until the hustle had ceased and people began
seating themselves about the low hill he was to occupy.  the lanterns
were moved nearer, encircling it.

he made his way forward then, breaking the circle, mounting the rise,
the instrument case a familiar weight in his right hand.  there came a
soft flutter of applause and he smiled.  it was good to feel welcome
after only a few days in a new place.  '

when he reached the top, he removed the guitar from its ease and put on
the strap.  he tuned it quickly and started to play.

partway through the first tune, he began feeling at ease. the good mood
grew within him as he played several more and began singing in his own
tongue.  then he attempted the first of a group he had tried translating
into theirs.  it was well-received, and he swung immediately into
another.

looking out over his audience, he could only distinguish the'
expressions on the nearest faces--smiling or concentratingin the lantern
light.  the listeners farther back were partly hidden by shadows, but he
assumed similar attention from their immobility, from their joining in
the applause whenever he rested.  he saw nora off to the let, seated
near her uncle, smiling.

he broke into a virtuoso number of his own composition, a rousing piece
which kept increasing in tempo.  he suddenly wanted to show off.  he
rocked back and forth as he played.  a breeze tousled his hair, rippled
his garments ...

it must not have been the first gasp, which reached him during the first
lull.  he would not have heard any earlier exclamation over his playing.
but there were also murmurs, where before there had been only applause
or silent attention: there came an indistinguishable cry from the back
of the audience.  he looked all about, attempting to ascertain its
cause.

then, "devill" he heard distinctly from nearby, and something dark flew
past his head.

"the markt the mark!" he now heard, and a stone struck him on the
shoulder.

"dragonmarkt"

he realized that his right sleeve had been drawn back almost to his
elbow during the last number, exposing his birthmark.  but still, why
should it cause such alarm? "detson!"

a shock went through him at that last word.  he instantly recalled old
mor's telling him that his name was actually pol detson.  but- the next
stone struck him on the forehead.  he dropped the guitar into the case
and snapped it shut, to protect it. another stone struck him.  the crowd
was on its feet.

he felt a terrible anger rise within him, and his wrist throbbed as it
never had before.  blood was running down his brow.  his chest was
sharply struck by another east stone.

he stumbled as he attempted to raise the case and turn away.  something
struck him on the neck, something sounded against the case's side ...

the crowd had begun to move forward, past the lanterns, up the hill,
slowly, stopping to grope for missiles.

away!  he was not aware whether he had shouted it or sounded it only in
his mind, accompanied by a broad, sweeping motion of his right arm.

people stumbled, fell, tripped over lanterns.  all of the other lanterns
seemed to topple spontaneously.  there were dark shapes in the air, but
none of them struck him.  the grasses at the foot of the knoll began to
take fire.  the cries that now came up to him seemed less angry than
frustrated, or frightened.

away!

he gestured again, his entire arm tingling a sensation of warmth flowing
through his hand, out his fingertips.  more people fell.  the flames
spread about them.

clutching his guitar case, he turned and fled down the rear of the hill,
leaping over sprawled forms and low fires, his breath almost a sob as he
tore across the field, heading toward the dark wood to the north.

the anger subsided and the fear grew as he ran.  his last glance back
before he entered the trees seemed to show him the beginnings of
pursuit.  supposing they fetched horses?  they knew their own country
and he had no idea where he was headed.  there might be all sorts of
places where they could cut him off, and then- why?  he wondered again,
dodging about trees, crashing through underbrush, wiping spiderwebs from
his face, blood from his eyes.  why had they suddenly turned on him when
they had seen the mark?  what could it mean to them?

after stumbling for the third or fourth time, he halted and stood
panting, resting his back against the hole of a large tree.  he could
not be certain how near his pursuers might be, unable to distinguish
other sounds over his breathing and the heavy beating of his heart.  but
this wild rushing was doing him no good.  he was hastening exhaustion in
addition to leaving a well-defined trail.  to move cautiously, to expend
his energies more economically... yes.  he would have to proceed
differently.

mor had addressed him as the possessor of some power, and he was not
blirld to the fact that he had just exercised it in a wild fashion in
escaping.  back home, save for mainly playfid interludes in smoky,
late-night clubs, he had always striven to suppress it, to keep it under
control.  here, though, he already had the name of witch or wizard, and
if there were some way that that power could serve him further, he was
ready to learn it, to use it to the confusion of his enemies.

his thoughts turned to the obvious connection, the mark upon his wrist,
as his breathing became more even. immediately, he felt the warmth and
the heightened sense of his pulsebeat.

he continued to dwell upon it in his mind.  what is it, specifwally,
that i need?  he wondered.

a safe way out of here, to a place of safety, he decided. the ability to
see where i am going and not run into things...

as he attempted to order this, he felt the forces within him stir, then
saw the dragonmark clearly, despite the darkness.  it seemed to move,
brightcuing, then drift away from his arm to hover in the air before
him, glowing faintly.

it passed slowly to the left and he followed it, its pale light dimly
but surely illuminating his way.  he lost all track of time as he
pursued its passage through the forest. twice, it halted, when he
realized how tired he had become. on these occasions, he restedonce,
beside a stream, where he drank deeply.

he remembered very few details of that long first night of his flight,
save that at some point he realized that his way had taken a turn uphill
and that this remained his course until light began to seep through the
leaves overhead. with this, a sense of fatigue and time passed came over
him, and he began casting about for a place to sleep. immediately, his
firefly dragon veered to the rigl ead ing downhill for what must have
been the first time in hours.

it led him among a maze of boulders to a small, rock-shielded dell, and
there it hovered.  accepting the omen, he sprawled in the grass.  from
somewhere nearby, there came the sound and smell of running water:

he fell asleep almost immediately.

when he awakened, it was late in the day.  his ghostly guide was gone,
he ached in a number of places and he was hungry.

the first thing that he did was to remove his guitar from its ease and
inspect it for damage.  he found that it had come through the night's
ordeal intact.  then he sought the water--a small stream, a hundred or
so meters to the right of the rocks--where he stripped and bathed and
cleaned his wounds.  the water was too chill for comfort, so he did not
dally there.  the sun was already falling fast, and he felt he could
continue in relative safety.

continue?  at what point had his flight become a journey? he was not
certain.  possibly while he slept.  for it did feel now that his glowing
guide had been doing more than helping him escape the villagers.  now he
felt, intuitively--certainly not logically--that there was a definite
destination ahead for him, that his will-o'-the-wisp had been guiding
him toward it.  he decided to let it continue on, if it would, though
first it would be nice to find some food ...

he repeated the process which had summoned the guide, and it came again,
paler in this greater light, but sufficiently distinct to direct his
course.  as he followed it, he wondered whether it would be visible to
another person.

it led him downhill for a time, and a little after sunset he found
himself in the midst of a large orchard.  he gorged himself and filled
his pockets and all the odd nooks in the guitar case.

the guide led him uphill after that, and sometime during the middle of
the night the trees grew smaller and he realized looking back by
moonlight--that had it been daytime, he could have seen for a great
distance.

before much longer, the way steepened, but not before he had caught a
glimpse of a large building on a crest ahead.  it was not illuminated
and it appeared to be partly in ruin, but he had a premonition the
moment that he saw it, reinforced by the behavior of the dragon-light.
for the first time, the light appeared as if it were trying to hurry him
along the trail.

he allowed himself to be hurried.  an excitement rising in his breast,
accompanied by an unexplainable feeling that ahead lay safety---as well
as shelter, food, and something else, something undefined and possibly
more important than any of the others.  he shed guitar ease to his other
hand, squared his shoulders and ignored his aching feet.  he even forgot
to wish again the coat he had left behind, when a chill wind came down
from the height and embraced him.

he would have liked to wander about the wrecked surveying some of the
more picturesque destruction, but the light pressed steadily ahead,
leading him along a back corridor and into what could only be a pantry.
the food stored all about him looked as flesh as if it had just been
brought in.  he reached immediately toward a loaf of bread and stopped,
puzzled, his hand blocked by an invisible barrier.

no...  not quite invisible.  for as he stared, he slowly became aware of
a mesh of softly pulsing blue strands which covered everything edible.

a preservation spell, came into his mind, as though he had activated a
mental recording.  use the guideto solve it--selectively.

he tried mentally calling upon the hovering image his mark for
assistance.  it drifted back and merged with the original one upon his
wrist, the light flowing outward, into his hand.  suddenly, he felt a
gentle tugging at it and relaxed and let it move through a series of
gestures which finally bore it forward into a gap now apparent in the
meshing.

he seized the bread; also, some meat and cheese that'll were within
reach.  after he had withdrawn his hand for the final time, he felt the
tugging again.  again, he let himself be guided, and this time he saw
the gap close, returning to its initial state of taut web work.

on another shelf, he located some wine bottles and repeated the
performance to obtain one.

as he gathered together the meal, he felt a strong urge to depart.  he
released the light and was pleased to see that it had a route mapped out
for him.  it led him up a flight of stairs and into a chaotic room which
once might have been a library.

he cleared a place on the writing desk and set down his supplies.  then,
by dint of intense concentration, he was able to cause his drifting
light to hover, successively, over the end of each taper in a heavy
candelabrum which he had uprighted and repaired, causing each to spring
into flame.  he seemed to grow better at such heat-thinking with each
effort.

when the room was thus more fully illuminated, he retired his pale guide
and seated himself to dine.  he noted that the chamber had indeed been a
library, many of its books now in disarray upon the floor.  as he ate,
he wondered whether mor's language-treatment had extended to the written
word.

finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he rose and retrieved a
volume from the clutter.  when he got it into the light, he smiled. yes,
he could decipher the runic lettering.  this one appeared to be a travel
book---though in his world it would have passed for some sort of
mythology text.  it described the dwellings of harpies and centaurs,
salamanders and feathered serpents, it showed pyramids and labyrinths
and undersea caverns, accompanied by cautionary notes as to their
denizens, natural and otherwise.  in the margins were penned an
occasional

"very true" or

"hogwash!"

as he read, dan--should he begin thinking of himself as

"pol" now?  he had wondered earlier.  why not?  he had finally decided.
a new name for a new life ...

/ks he read, pol felt his attention being eonstanfiy drawn toward the
middle shelf across the room to his left.  at one point, he put down his
book and stared at it.  there was almost something there ...

finally, when he had finished eating, he rose and moved to inspect the
shadowy section of as three faint, red threads seemed to be fluttering
at its rear. they were possessed of the same insubstantial quality as
the blue ones in the pantry.  was this land--or this place, in
particular---causing him to develop a kind of second sight?

he cleared the remaining books from the shelf and stacked them near his
feet.  then, slowly, he extended his hand, waiting for a guiding
impulse.  his left hand trembled at his side.  two hands seemed required
then, or just the left.  very well...  he raised it and advanced it.
then the middle fingers of his left hand caught the lower thread between
them and raised it.  the index finger hooked the upper strand and drew
it downward, twining the two.  his right hand was then drawn forward,
all fingers and the thumb bunching to seize the tip of the third thread,
to wrap it three times counterclockwise about the twisted pair...

he drew the bunch down, released it and struck it twice with his left
fist.

"open.  open," he said.

the panel at the rear dropped forward, revealing g hidden compartment.
he began to reach and recoiled instantly. there lay another spell,
hidden, coiled like a smoky snake, an interesting knot at its tail,
designed to trap the unwary.  he smiled faintly.  it was going to be an
intriguing problem.  the working out of the previous one had become
something of a conscious process as he had labored over it, gaining some
small understanding of the thought and effort that had gone into its
casting.  moving his left hand cautiously crossbody, two fingers
extended, he reached forward ...

later, he sat back at the desk, reading a history of the castle rondoval
and its illustrious if somewhat eccentric inhabitants.  several volumes
of personal observations on the art were stacked before him, along with
his father's journals and notebooks on sundry matters.  he read through
the entire night, however, before he realized his own connection with
the inhabitants of the place.  light had already spilled into the world
when he came across a reference to the dragon-shaped birthmark inside
the right wrists of the children of rondoval.

but this excitement spent the balance of his energy. shortly, he began
to yawn and could not stop.  his garments became a heavy weight upon
him.  he cleared a couch at the room's far end, curled up upon it and
was soon asleep, to dream that he wandered these halls in a state of
full repair and more than a little glory.

during the next afternoon, he ate a large meal and later solved the
spell for a sunken tub on the ground floor, bringing him water for a
bath (diverted, it seemed, from a nearby river, though he could not
understand the twistings of the yellow and orange threads which appeared
to govern its temperature).  he committed these things to memory as he
filled and drained the pool repeatedly, scouring if for his use.  then
he luxuriated for a long while, wondering how rondoval had come to
achieve its present state of decay, and what had become of the rest of
the family.

as he wandered later, uprighting furniture, tossing trash out of
windows, unscrambling and memorizing a number of minor spells, he
decided to return to the library for one of the secret books he had
thumbed, which had partly mapped the place.

the books now returned to their shelves, the room dusted after a
fashion, he poured a glass of wine and studied the materials before him.
yes, there were many drawings, a number of floor plans, sketches of the
place at various moments in its history and one rough outline of a vast
series of caverns below, across which someone had penned the beasts." he
did not know whether to chuckle or shudder.  instead, in response to an
unvoiced desire, a blue-green thread came drifting by him.  he hooked it
with the first joint of the little finger of his right hand, twined it
three times about his glass, tugged upon it twice with his middle finger
accompanied by the appropriate image-commands, untwined it and dismissed
it.  yes, now it was properly chilled.

rising he placed the book in the pocket of the dark

wz,d woald

jacket he had found in a wardrobe earlier and dusted thoroughly when he
saw that it fit him so well.  he carried the wineglass with him as he
walked out and descended the stair to the main floor.  "beasts," he said
aloud, and smiled .  .  .  images of the villagers hurling stones
through the night returned to him.  "beasts," he repeated, making his
way to a small storeroom where he had discovered lanterns and fuel
earlier.

walking the dim tunnels, occasionally consulting his guidebook, the
lantern in his left hand casting sharp-edged shadows upon the rough'
walls, he could almost smell the concentration of power ahead.  whenever
he looked in that certain way, he could see great multicolored bunches
of streamers in the air.  nowhere else had he yet witnessed signs of
such massive workings.  he had no idea what it represented, other than
that it must be something of great importance.  nor had he any notion
whether his newly awakened powers could have any effect whatsoever upon
it. as he brushed his fingertips against the strands, it seemed almost
as if he could feel the mumble of mighty words, echoing infinitely,
slowly, along a vast convoluted circuit. if he tried very hard .  .  .

several minutes later, he found his way barred by a huge slab of stone.
strands led around it, wrapped it, crisscrossed it.  there had to be a
spell involved, but he wondered whether he would also need a dozen men
with pry bars to dislodge it, once any magical booby traps had been
defused.  he moved nearer, studying the pattern of the strands.  there
did seem something of a method to their positioning ...

the strands faded as his eyes slipped back into more normal channels of
perception.  then he saw what it was that had distracted him.  he raised
the lantern and moved nearer, to read the inscription he now beheld:

pass at your peril.  here sleep the horrors of rondoval.

he chuckled.  they may be horrors, he thought, but i'm going to need a
little muscle in this world.  so, by god! now they're my horrors!

he set down the lantern and shifted his attention back to the colored
strands.

� .  just like unwrapping a very peculiar present, he thought, reaching
forward with both hands�

he felt the tangles of power and began the motions that would unlock
them.  as he worked, the subaural mumbling returned, growing,
intensifying, until words burst into his consciousness and he cried them
out at the same time, whipping his hands back from the final threads and
taking three timed paces backwards: "kwathad!  .  .  .  melairfi .  .  .
deystardi"

the slab shuddered and began to topple away from him. he realized then
that the spell must have been infinitely more difficult to lay than it
had been to raise.  all of that power had had to be channeled from
somewhere and bound up here.  his own work had been more on the order of
figuring out how to pull a plug.

the crash that followed echoed and reechoed until he could not help but
be impressed by the enormity of the cavern that must lie behind.

he had snatched up the lantern, covered half his face with his sleeve
and squinted until the reverberations and the hail of stone chips had
settled.  then he moved cautiously forward, crossing the cracked
monolith he had toppled.

he was about to raise the lantern to look around the vast hall, when his
new key of vision registered an enormous collection of filaments, like a
multicolored ball of string larger than himself, resting just off to his
left.  individual strands departed it in all directions before him.  he
realized that it would have taken ages to work each separate spell and
then, in some fashion, join them at this common center.  no ...  it had
to have been done the other way around .  .  .  he could not yet
conceive of the manner of its laying but he'd a sudden flash of insight
into its undoing.  it, too, could fall like the door before his new
skill.

however...  could he control whatever he released.  a good man had
obviously spent a lot of time and energy putting the thing together.
best to have a look around before doing anything else ...

he raised the lantern.

dragons, dragons, dragons...  acres of dragons and other fantastic
beasts lay all about him, extending far beyond his feeble light.  his
eyes caught them at another level, also.  to each of them extended one
strand of the master spell.

he lowered the light.  what the hell do you say to a dragon?  how do you
control one?  he shuddered at the thought of releasing any of the
slumberins, horrors. probably wake up hungry, too ... he began to back
away.

clear out.  forget this part of the family heritage.  they must have
bred tougher lords of rondoval in the old days ...

as he began to turn away, his attention was caught by a single green
filament.  its color was slightly darker than any of the others, and it
was also the thickest one in sight, almost twice the size of its mates.
what might it tether? he wondered.

suddenly, all the dreamlands he had ever read of or conjured in song,
all the fantasy worlds he had ever sculpted of smokb or walked through
at bedtime as a child rose before him, and he knew that he could not
leave this place without looking upon the prodigy bound by this mighty
spell.  turning back, he followed the strand among the massive sleepers,
averting his eyes as well as his feet in some instances.

when he reached out to brush the strand with his fingertips, a sound
like a crystal bell echoed within his head, "moonbird .  .
."--constantly fading--and he knew that to be the name of the creature
toward which he was headed.

"moonbird," he said, fingers still feeling the pulse of the cord.

lord, i hear, beyond the depths of sleep or life.  shall we range the
skies together, as in days gone by?

i am not the lord you knew, and rondoval has 'come upon sad times, he
thought back, still brushing the cord.

what matter?  so long as there is a lord in rondoval. you are of the
blood?

yes.

then call me back from these ghost skies.  i'll bear {tou where you
would.

i am not even sure i know what to feed you...

i'll manage, never fear�

� .  .  and then there is the problem of this spdl.

not for one such as- pol halted, for he could go no further.  his hand
had left the strand awhfie back, as it seemed tangled on an over head
ledge� for several moments, he had thought it was a huge mineral
formation which confronted him--a vast mound of scaly copper bearing the
green patina of age. but it had moved, slightly, as he had watched�

he sucked air between his teeth as he raised the lantern. there, there
was the great crested head!  how huge those eyes must be when opened! he
reached out and touched the neck.  cold, cold as metal� perhaps nearly
as tough�

"how low must your fires now be, bird of the moon .  .  ." he said.

back to him came a jumbled vision of clouds and tiny houses, forests
like patches of weeds .  .  .

� , .  shall we range the skies together?

the fear was gone, leaving only a great desire to see the huge beast
freed�

he moved back to the first place where the strand came within reach
again.  he touched it as he began to follow it back out.

patience, father of dragons.  we shall see ... � .  .  and kill tour
enemies. first things first.

he followed it back to the ball of phited rainbows near the entrance. he
traced its point of entry into the mass and noted each place where it
became visible again at the surface.  would it be possible to tease out
this one strand? could he arouse moonbird without awakening all the
others?

he stared for a long while before he moved, and then his first gestures
were tentative.  soon, though, his left arm was plunged past the elbow
into the glowing sphere, his fingers tracing each twisting of the thick,
green strand ...

later, he stood holding it free, its end twisted about his finger.  he
walked quickly back, to stand regarding the drowsing giant once again.

awaken now, he willed, untwining it, releasing it.

the thread drifted away, shriveling.  the dragon stirred. even bigger
than i thought, he decided, staring into the suddenly opened eye which
now regarded him.  much bigger ...

the mouth opened and closed in a swallowing movement, revealing
spike-like ranks of teeth. those, too... he moved nearer�

� .  .  must seem bold for a little longer, establish where we both
stand right away...

he reached out and laid his hand upon the broad neck.

i am pol detson, lord of rondoval until further notice, he tried to
communicate.

the giant head was raised, turned, the mouth opened � .  .  suddenly,
the tongue shot forward, licking him with a surface the texture of a
file, knocking him backwards...  master!

he recovered himself, dodged a second caress of the tongue and patted
the neck again.

contain lourself, moonbird!  i ara---soft.

sometimes i forget.

the dragon spread its wings and loweredthem, drew itself upright, raised
and lowered its head, nuzzled him. come, mount my back and let us where?

out the old tunnel, to view the world�

pol hesitated, his courage ebbing.

� .  .  but if i don't do it now, i never will, he decided.  i know
that� whereas if i do, i may be able to do it again one day.  and i may
need to .  .  .

a moment, he communicated, looking for the easiest way up.

moonbird lowered his head fully and extended his neck. come.

pol mounted, located what he hoped was a traditional dragon rider's
position, above the shoulders, at the widening base of the neck he clung
with his legs and his arms. behind him, he heard the vanes stir.

i sense that you play a musical instrument, moonbird began, as they
moved forward (to distract him?,no--too sophisticated a concept).  you
must bring it next time and play to me as we fly, for i love music.

that might be novel.

they sprang from the ground and moonbird immediately located a draft of
air which they followed into a broader, higher part of the cavern.  the
light from the lantern pol had left on the ground dwindled quickly, and
they flew through an absolute darkness for what seemed a long while.

suddenly, with a rush of cool air, there were stars all about them.  a
moment later, surprising himself, pol b gan to sing.

mark rolled out of his bed, drew the purple dressing gown about his
shoulders and sat clutching his head, waiting for the room to stop
spinning.

how long had it been--four, five, six days?  since the robo-surgeon had
worked him over?

he raised his head.  the room was dark, the thing which protruded from
his left eye socket hummed.  finally, it grew silent and he had vision
on that side.

he rose and crossed the meticulously well-kept chamber all metal and
plastic and glass--and regarded himself in the mirror above the
washstand.  he tapped lightly with his fingertips about the perimeter of
the lens case, where it joined his brow and cheekbone.

...  still too tender.  impair efficiency to take too many drugs, but
i'll need some more to be able to think at all ...

he withdrew a container of tablets from a drawer in the stand, gulped
two and proceeded to wash and shave without turning on a light.

� .  .  it does have some advantages, though, especially if you get
turned around this way.  must be the middle of the night...

he drew on a pair of brown trousers with many pockets, a green sweater,
a pair of boots.  he opened the rear door of his apartment and stepped
out onto the terrace.  his personal flier stood on the
pad--delta-winged, compact, glassy and light.  mechanical things rose
and fell in the distance, some only visible in his left field of vision.
he inhaled the fragrance of imported plants, turned, crossed to an
elevator hatch, dropped three levels--to a footbridge leading across the
road.  he crossed there, heading for the surveillance center in the
lower, adjacent building.

one of the small, gnarled men, clad in a brown and black uniform, sat
before a bank of glowing screens.  whether he actually watched any of
them was something markcould not tell from the rear---one of the reasons
he disliked using people except in situations such as this where he had
no choice.

as he approached, his optic prosthesis hummed, its lens becoming a
greenish color as it adjusted to the lighting. the man straightened in
his chair.

"good evening sir," he said, not turning away from the screens.

� .  .  damned sharp senses these fellows have. "anything to report?"

"yes, sir.  two surveillance birds are missing."

"missing?  where?"

"the village, your own--"

"what happened to them?"

"don't know, sir.  they just suddenly weren't there anymore."

"how long ago was this?"

"a little over three hours ago, sir."

"didn't you try to maneuver any of the others to get a look at what was
happening?"

"it was too sudden, sir."

"in other words, nothing was done.  why wasn't i notified immediately?"

"you had left orders not to be disturbed, sir."

"yes...  i know.  what do you make of it?"

"no idea, sir."

"it has to be a malfunction of some sort.  pull back the others in that
area for complete inspections.  send out fresh ones.  wait!"

he moved nearer and studied the appropriate screens. "any activity in
the village?"

"none, sir."

the girl has not been out of her house?"

"no, sir.  it has been dark for hours."

"i think i may pick her up tomorrow.  it depends on

wrzd wonlo how i feel.  plan b, three birdstwo for safety escort.  see
that they're standing ready�"

"yes, sir."

the small man stole a glance at him.

"i must say, sir.  the new eye-thing is most attractive."

"oh?  really?  thank you," he mumbled, then turned and left.

what had he been thinking?  the pills must be starting to work he
wouldn't be in shape by tomorrow.  wait another dat. should he go back
and countermand that last order? no.  let it stand.  let it stand ...

he wandered down to spot-cheek a factory, his eye humming its way to
yellow.

lantern-swinging shadows bouncing from his rapid step, the small man
passed along the maze of tunnels, occasionally pausing to listen and to
peer about abrupt cerners.  usually, when he halted, he also shuddered.

it might almost have been easier without the lantern, he thought, back
there.  and that slab ...  he did not remember that broken slab at the
cave mouth.

he thought back upon the scene he had witnessed immediately after
awakening.  the man acting almost as if he were talking with that
monster, then mounting it and flying off, fortunately leaving his
lantern behind.  who could it have been, and what the circumstances?

he turned right at the next branching, remembering his way. there seemed
to be no sounds, other than those of his own making.  rather peculiar,
in the aftermath of such a battle ...

when he finally reached the foot of the huge stair, he left the lantern.
he moved soundlessly through the darkness, toward some small
illumination above.  when his eyes just cleared the top step, he halted
and surveyed the hall.

"how long have i slept?" he asked of, perhaps, the tattered tapestry.

but he did not wait for a reply.

as the sun pinked the eastern corner of the sky, moonbird descended
slowly to land upon the last steady tower of rondoval.  pol dismounted
and slapped him upon the shoulder.

good morrow, my friend.  i will call you again soon.

i will hear.  i will come.

the great dark form leapt from the tower and drifted across the sky,
heading for one of the hidden entrances to the caverns.  a green strand
seemed to connect its shoulder to pol's still upraised hand.  it faded
soon to join the other strands of the world, drifting everywhere.

for several moments, he watched the stars fading in the west, wondering
at the strange flying things moonbird had destroyed earlier, wondering
even more at the beast's comment, they had troubled my dreams.

turning, with a glance to the sunrise, he entered the tower, to make his
way down and around within it, returning to the library which had come
more and more to feel like home.  he hummed as he walked, occasionally
snap.ping his fingers.  he finally felt that he belonged--a member of
the magic-working, dragon-riding family which had lived here.  he wanted
to take his guitar into his hands and sing about it, watching the dust
depart the surfaces in each chamber through which he strolled, the
furniture move itself about, the debris roll into heaps in corners, the
strands of power which controlled these operations attaching themselves
to, resonating with, his instrument.  rondoval did actually feel more
h/s at this moment than it had at any time before.

when he reached the library, he moved to pour himself a drink, to
celebrate.  he was surprised to find the bottle empty.  he had thought
that several inches still remained within it.  for that matter, he had
thought that some food also remained, though the serving board was now
empty.

shrugging, he headed for the stair.  he would charm more out of the
pantry.  he was ravenous after the night's adventures.

he had threaded them all through rondoval; and now, as the day
slackened, he was resolved to lie in wait, to learn whether they worked,
to see what they snared.

in a small sitting room he had not previously frequented, he seated
himself at the center of his web and waited.  he had set himself no
other chore than thinking during this period, but that was all right.
fine, in fact.

the strands lay all about him, silver-gray, taut.  he had strung them
throughout castle rondoval that afternoon, like a ghostly series of trip
wires.  he could feel them all knew where each one led.

by now, he had come to the conclusion that they were not visible to
other people under normal conditions summoning them, noting them, using
them, were all a part of his power--the same power that had led him to
this place he now knew to be his home.  the others who had dwelled here
had also possessed it, along with other knowledge and aptitudes---things
about which he was still learning.  he wondered about them ...

mor had taken him as a baby, the old man had said, and exchanged him for
the real daniel chain.  if he had been born here and removed at the time
of the batfie which had so damaged this place, then these depredations
had occurred a little over twenty years ago--presuming that time behaved
in approximately the same fashion here as it did there.  such being the
case, he wondered eonceruing the cause of the conflict and its
principals.  all things considered, it would seem that his parents had
been the losers and were doubfiess now dead.

he wondered about them.  there were intact portraits in various rooms,
one of which could have been that of the lord det, the author of the
journals, the man he judged to be his father.  the portraits were
untitled, though, and he had no idea at all as to his mother's identity.

his wrist tingled slightly, but there were no signs yet from the strands
he had laid.  he watched the hallway darken beyond the door.  he thought
of the world in which he now found himself, speculating as to whether he
might have been able to see threads in his own, had he known to try.  he
wondered what it would have been like to have grown up here.  now, now
he felt a proprietory attitude toward the place, even if he did not
understand its full history, and he resented the presence of the
intruder.

for an intruder there was.  he knew it as surely as if he had seen him
lurking about.  knew it not just from the fact that everything edible
and drinkable which he left about had a way of disappearing, but from
dozens of small telltales--suddenly bright doorknobs which he knew to
have been dusty, minor rearrangements of articles, abrupt scuff marks in
unused hallways.  it added up to a sense of the presence of another.
irrationally, he felt as if rondoval itself were passing him warnings.

and he had worked this spell out carefully, partly by intuition, partly
from hints in his father's books.  it seemed that everything had been
done correcfiy.  when the visitor moved, he would know it, he would
actagain, the tingling.  only this time it did not pass, and his finger
jerked toward a single strand.  he touched it, felt it pulse.  yes.  and
this one led to a ruined tower to the rear.  very well.  he caught it
between his fingers and began the manipulations, the sensations in his
wrist increasing as he worked.

yes.  a moving human body, male, had disturbed his alarm.  even now the
thread swelled, pulsed with power, was firmly fixed to the intruder.

pol smiled.  the workings of his will flowed forth along the line,
freezing the man in his tracks.

".  .  .  and now, my friend," pol muttered, "it is time for us to meet.
come to me!"

the man began descending the tower stair, his movements slow and
mechanical.  he tried to resist what he realized to be a spell, but this
had no effect upon his progress. perspiration broke out over his brow
and his teeth were clenched.  he watched his feet proceed steadily down
the stair, then along a hallway. he tried catching at door frames and
pillars as he passed them, but his hands were always torn free. finally,
they vanished beneath his cloak.

moments later, he held a long climbing cord, which he hurriedly knotted
about his right wrist.  he attached a small grappling hook to its
farther end and cast it up and out through a high window.  he tugged
several times upon it, saw that it held.  seizing the cord with both
hands then, he began to pray to dwastir, protector of thieves, as he
threw his weight upon it.

pol frowned.  he realized that the other's progress had ceased.  he
increased his efforts, but the intruder was no longer coming toward him.
rising with a curse, he walked out into the twilit hallway, following
the filament, candles flaring as he neared them.  it only occurred to
him after he had gone some distance that the other might also be some
sort of an adept.  how else could he have halted in the midst of such a
summons as he had received to walk in this direction?  perhaps he should
simply call moonbird, to overwhelm the intruder with sheer force...

no.  this act of defense, he decided, should be his own, if at all
possible.  he felt a need to test his powers against another, and the
defense of rondoval seemed as if it should be a personal thing now that
he and the place had claims on each other.

he might have missed the small, darkly clad man, had not the angle of
the sfiver-gray strand directed his attention upwards.  there, he saw
the kicking feet, as if they still strove to walk, as the figure dragged
itself upward using armpower alone.

"amazing," pol observed, reaching out and touching the strand again.
"halt all your efforts to flee me.  climb back down.  return.  now!"

the man ceased his climbing and his boots grew still. he hung for a
moment, began to lower himself.  then, at a point about ten feet
overhead, in full if not proper obedience to his order, the man let go
the cord at a certain

moment of its sway and, heels together, dropped directly

toward him.

pol leaped backward, struck the wall with his shoulder, spun aside.  the
man struck the floor nearby, fulfilling the

order, then began to run.

recovering, pol manipulated the strand so that it slipped

and caught like a lariat about the other's ankles.  the man

sprawled.

he moved to the other's side, maintaining the tension

upon the filament.  the man rolled, a knife appearing in

his hand, thrusting toward his thigh.  pol, already alert, danced away,
a loop appearing in the strand and twisting

itself about the other's wrists, tightening, the blade fell to the floor
and skidded a great distance

alon g it, vanishing from sight in the far shadows.  the

man's wrists were drawn together as tightly as his ankles.

his pale eyes now found pol's and iegarded him without

ression.

ex,, xtremely imaginative n executing ! must,, say you~,"!-- "you [ake
me literally when you an order, lol remm ...

choose to and take advantage of every loophole when you do not.  you
must have some legal background."

the other smiled.

"i have at times been very close to the profession," he said in a soft,
almost sweet voice, and then he sighed.

"what now?"

pol shook his head.

"i don't know.  i've no idea who you are or what you want.  my security
as well as my curiosity require that i find out."

"my name is mouseglove, and i mean you no harm."

"then why have you been sneaking about here, stealing

food?"

"a man must eat--and my own desire for security demanded that i sneak
about.  all that i know of you is that you are a sorcerer and
dragon-rider.  i was somewhat reluctant to come up and introduce
myself."now if i knew

"reasonable enough, t'oi ooservec.  , why you are here at all, i might
be in a better position to � with our plight."

sympat.h.ze" :a aouselove.  "i am, as they say, a

"well, yes, all ...

wzd

thief.  i came here for the purpose of stealing a collection of jewelled
figurines belonging to the lord det.  it was a commissioned thing.  i
simply had to deliver them to a westerland buyer, collect my fee and go
my way.  unfortunately, det caught me at it--much as you've trammeled me
here-and had me confined to one of the cells below.  by the time i
managed to escape, a war was in progress.  the castle was under attack
and the besiegers were about to break in.  i saw der destroyed in a
magical contest with an old sorcerer, and i decided that the safest
place for me was back in my cell.  i lost my way below, however, and
wound up in a cavern, where i slept.  i was awakened to the sight of you
flying off on a great dragon.  i left there, came up here, was hungry. i
couldn't get at the food in the pantry."

"i don't understand why you remained around at all." mouseglove licked
his lips.

"i had to cheek," he said finally, "to see whether the figurines were
still about."

"are they?"

"i couldn't locate them.  but from the growth-of the trees hereabout, i
began to realize that more time than i'd thought had passed while i
slept..."

"about twenty years, i'd guess," pol said, freeing mouseglove's legs.
"are you hungry?"

"yes."

"so am i.  let's go and eat.  if i release your hands, wfi] you use them
to help me carry food, rather than try to knife me?"

"i'd much rather knife you on a full stomach."

"that'll do."

pol untwisted the final loop.

"i'd give a lot to know that trick," mouseglove said, watching him.

"let's go to the pantry," pol said, "and on the way, i want you to tell
me how m/father died." mouseglove rose to his feet. "your father?"

"the lord der."

"there was a baby," mouseglove said, "twenty years," pol replied.

mouseglove rubbed his brow.

"twenty .  �� that is hard to believe.  i don't see how it could
happen."

"you were trapped in a grand sleep spell, along with the dragons.  i
must have released you when i awakened moon bird.  you had to have been
asleep nearby."

they began to walk.

'rhere were dreams of dragons, now you mention it." he turned and
regarded pol, "i first saw you in your mother's arms.  she burned me
when i tried to touch you."

"you knew her?"

the lady lydia...  yes.  l.o, vely woman.  i suppose i'd best start at
the beginning �� .

"please do."

they obtained food and drink from the pantry and returned to the
library, to spend most of the night talking. when they had finished
eating, pol strummed his guitar absently and listened to the other
speak, occasionally pans-ing to sip from his wineglass.  at one point,
he struck a chord which made mouseglove's hair rise and set his teeth on
edge.

"they killed my parents?" he said softly.  the villagers?"

"i guess there were other people in the army besides villagers,"
mouseglove replied.  "i even saw centaurs among them.  but it was
another sorcerer who actually fought der-- mor, i think he was called--"

"mor?"

"i believe so."

"go on."

"i think your mother was in the southwest tower when it fell.  at least,
that was where she was headed when i saw her with you.  you were
discovered alone outside the entrance to it.  you were taken to the main
hall.  the troops wanted to kill you.  mot saved you, though, by
exchanging you for another child from another place or rather, he
claimed that he could.  did he?"

"yes.  they killed my parents ...

"twenty years.  they'll be older now--perhaps even dead.  you could
never locate all of them."

"those who stoned me had the proper their recognition of my dragonmark
says something."

"pol--lord pol--i don't know your story--where' been, what it was like,
what you've been through, you came back but i'm older than you.  there
are things of which i am not sure, but one that i've had opportunity
than most to learn.  hate will eat you up, twist you--more so, perhaps,
if there is no longer, really, proper object upon which to vent pol
began to speak, but mouseglove raised his hand. "please.  let me finish.
it's not just a sermon on behavior.  you're young and i got the
impression on way up here that you had just come into your powers.  i',
a feeling that this may be a pivotal point in your looking back on my
own, i see that there were a of such occasions.  everyone seems to have
a few.  it to me as if you have not yet given thought to the path intend
to follow.  old mot seemed, basically, a white ma cian.  your father had
a reputation as one of the other sort. know that things are never really
black or white, pure simple, but after a time one can usually judge from
preponderance of evidence in which direction a great has led a person,
if you see what i mean.  if you looking for revenge after all these
years, at this time you life--using your newfound powers to do it--i've
feeling you may in some ways be twisted by the prise, so that everything
you touch later on will bear its mark.  i tell you this not only because
i fear another det loose upon the land, but because you young and
because it will probably hurt you, too."

pol was silent for a time.  then he struck a chord. "my father had a
staff, a wand, a red," he said. mentioned earlier that mor broke it into
three parts.

me again what he said he was going to do with it." mouseglove sighed.

"he spoke of something called--i believe--the triangle of int.  he was
going to banish each segment one point of it."

"that's all?"

"that's all."

"do you know what it means?"

"no.  do you"

pol shook his head.

"never heard of it."

"what do you think of my assessment of your position?" pol took a sip of
wine.

"i hate them," he said, as he replaced the glass.  "perhaps my father
was an evil man--a black magician.  i do not know.  but i cannot learn
of his death by violence and be unmoved.  no.  i still hate them.  they
responded like animals in their ignorance.  they treated me badly when i
meant them no harm.  and i recently heard the story of another man, who
meant them well and perhaps went about things incorrectly, but who
suffered greatly at their hands.  it is not so easy to forgive."

"pol--lord pol.  they were afraid.  you represented something they must
have had good cause to fear if its memory lingered this long, this
strongly.  as for the other man, who knows?  could there have been some
similarity?"

pol nodded.

"yes.  i understand that he tried to force something new upon themenew,
yet like something which had been rejected long ago.  i suppose you are
right.  have you more to tell me?"

"not really.  i would like to hear your story, though.  it seems only a
few days since i saw you as a babe."

pol smiled for the first time in a long while.  he refilled their
glasses.

"very well.  i would like to tell someone..."

daylight was trickling into the room when pol opened his eyes.  he had
slept on the sofa.  mouseglove was curled up on the floor.

he rose and soundlessly made his way downstairs, where he washed and
changed his garments.  he headed for the pantry to load a breakfast
tray.  mouseglove was up by the time he returned, grooming himself,
eyeing the food.

as they ate, mouseglove asked him, "what are your plans now?"

"a little vengeance, i think," pol replied. "i was aft, aid of that,"
said the other. pol shrugged.

"it's easy for you to say, 'forget it." they didn't try kill you."

"i spent time in the hands of your father's jailers."

"but you admit to attempted larceny here.  i doing a damned thing to
them, except providing a floor show.  there/s a distinction."

"you've made up your mind.  there is nothing more can say--save that i
would like to leave, if it is all with you."

"sure.  you're not a prisoner any longer.  we'll make up a food parcel."

"just these extra loaves here, and some of those leftovers would be
sufficient.  i like to travel light."

"take them. where are you headed?"

"dibna."

pol shook his head.

"i don't know it."

"a port city, to the south.  here." he turned and an atlas from a shelf.
"there it is," he finally said, pointing.

"fairly far," pol remarked, nodding

"a lot of dead country between here and there.  i'll take you, though,
if you're

"what do you mean?"

"dragonback.  i'll fly you down."

mouseglove paled and gnawed his lip.  then he smiled. "of course you
jest."

"no, i'm serious.  i feel indebted for all the information you've given
me.  i can postpone burning a few fields and barns for a day or so. i'll
take you to dibna if you're willing to ride with me on moonbird."

mouseglove began to pace.

"all right," he finally said, turning on his heel and halting. "if you
are sure he'll permit the company of a stranger."

"he'll permit it."

they sailed south on the massive back of the coppery dragon, the sun
still low to their left, the cool winds of the retreating night making
human conversation difficult. i wish you had brought the musical
instrument. it's a little crowded for it.

that human is somehow familiar.  from dreams, i'd say.

he was tangled in your sleep spell, nearby in the cavern. he dreamt of
dragons, he tells me.

strange...  i almost feel as if i could talk with him. why not try?
hello, human.t mouseglove started, looked down, stuffed. you are
moonbird?  he asked. yes.

i am mouseglove.  i steal things. we slept together? yes.

i am glad to meet you.

likewise...

the small man relaxed noticeably after that, leaning back at one point
to remark to pol, "this is not at all as i'd thought it would be.  he
seems awfully familiar.  those dreams..."

"yes."

they watched the countryside dip and rise beneath them, green wood,
brown ridges, blue waters. they passed an occasional isolated dwelling,
traced a track that turned into a road.  there were several orchards, a
farmhouse.  to the left, where the land sloped, pol saw the cluster of
stones where he had slept.  his mouth tightened. follow the road. yes.

the village would be coming up soon.  might as well take another look,
during daylight hours, he decided.  might even be able to frighten a few
people.

below, he saw a centaur on a hilltop, staring upward. what was it
mouseglove had said?  "i even saw centaurs among them?"

dive.  give him a good look.

they dropped rapidly.  the centaur turned and ran.  pol chuckled.

"it's a beginning," he remarked, as they climbed again. ahead, lord.
more of the flying things.  let me smash them.

pol squinted.  the dark metallic shapes were circling over a small area.
he looked below.

aren't there more of them on the ground?

yes.  but those in the air will be easier to get at.

he felt moonbird's body grow warm beneath him.

but isn't there someone--human--doum there with them?

it looks like a girl.

yes.

even from this height, he could see the color of her hair ...

let's go after the ones on the ground.  be careful not to harm the girl.

moonbird sighed and wisps of a grayish gas seemed to curl from his
nostrils, to be immediately dispersed by the winds. humans always
complicate things.

suddenly, they were diving.  the scene below enlarged rapidly.  pol was
certain now that it was nora, at the center of a triangle formed by
three of the flying things.  these seemed more elaborately constructed
than those he had encountered in the night.  they had landed and were
moving--hopping and crawling--along the ground, closing in on her.  she,
in turn, was using the rough terrain to keep them at a distance,
maneuvering so that rocks and stands of shrubbery barred their ways, as
she worked her way toward the fringes of the forest.  (])nee she got in
among the trees, he decided, she might well be able to elude them.
still, she might not.

he smelled an odor of rotten eggs now, as the results of some internal
chemical reaction of moonbird's seemed to fill the air about him.

suddenly, moonbird's wings were extended and his body was assuming a
more upright position as he slowed.  pol braced himself.  mouseglove,
seated before him, did the same.

the landing was even worse than he had anticipated--a spine-jolting
crash that nearly threw him loose from his position.  he squeezed with
his legs and his knuckles tightened. it was several seconds before he
realized that they had come down directly atop one of the devices.

then moonbird belched a moist, disgusting sound, which was accompanied
by an intensification of the odor pol had detected during their descent.
immediately thereafter, he appeared to be regurgitating.  a great stream
of noxious liquid spewed from his mouth to drench the second machine
nearby.  it fumed for several seconds after it struck, then burst into
flame.

pol sought nora.  she now appeared to be retreating as much from them as
from the final machine.  suddenly, however, she recognized him.

"poll"

"it's all right" he called back, just as moonbird advanced and began
striking at the device which was now bounding about as if attempting to
take flight.

the first blow damaged its right wing.  the second shattered it
completely.  by then, however, two more had descended and a third was
diving but pulled up and began to circle�

moonbird belched again and another began to flame. the final one
launched itself toward his face.

pol crouched 'low, as did mouseglove, but not so low that he could not
see what followed.

moonbird opened his mouth and raised his forelimbs. there followed a
crnnehing sound, and then he was tearing the wings off the flier.

� .  :not at all good to eat.

he spat.  the remains fell before him and began to smolder.

pol looked up.  the one remaining bird was climbing higher and higher.

chase it?

no.  i want to help nora.  wait.

he climbed down and threaded his way through the wreckage.

"hi," he said, taking hold of her hand.  "what happened? what are they?"

"they're mark's," she replied.  "the same sort of thing

that came to save him.  he sent them for me "

"why?"

"he wants me.  he said he'd come for me."

"and you don't want to go to him?"

"not now."

"then i think we'd better go see him and straighten this out.  where is
he?"

she looked at him, at moonbird, back at him.

"south, i believe," she finally said, "at a forbidden place they
sometimes call anvil mountain,"

"do you know how to find it?"

"i think so."

"have you ever ridden a dragon before?"

he squeezed her hand and turned.

"come on.  it's fun.  this one's named moonbird." she did not move.

"i'm afraid," she said.  "the last dragons anyone

were devil det's "

he nodded.

"this one's okay.  but it me ask you whether more afraid of this mark
guy and his gadgets or a tame housebroken pet i just rode in on."

she shook her head.

"where did you find it?  how do you control it?  is about your being
related to the house of rondoval?  said you were a traveler--" '"foo
much.  too long to tell you now."

... because, if you are of rondoval---as they then that probably is one
of det's dragons."

"he's mine now.  but i won't lie to you.  i didn't before either. i just
didn't know then.  yes, i'm related to house. i'd like to help you,
though.  will you show where this guy lives?  i want to talk with him."

she studied his face.  he met her eyes.  abruptly, nodded.

"you're right.  he means harm.  perhaps we can reason with him.  how do
we mount?"

"let me introduce you first...  u"

as the ground dropped away beneath them, pol leaned past nora and told
mouseglove, "there's going to be a little detour on the way to dibna.  i
want to visit the person who controls these things."

mouseglove nodded.

"you postponing your revenge, too?" he asked.

pol reddened.

"revenge?" nora inquired.  "what does he mean?"

"later," pol snapped.  '"fell me about forbidden places."

"they are areas containing leftover things from the old days when people
still used that sort of equipment. '"they are supposed to be haunted,"
she added.

"i've heard similar stories," mouseglove put in.  "seen some artifacts
too, in my line of work.  the day you were taken away, i heard mor speak
of some sort of balance. our world went the way that it did, the one he
was taking you to went the other way.  the two ways seem basically
incompatible, and attempts to combine them are dangerous. i got the
impression det might have been doing something along those lines."

"so mark could be a greater menace than is immediately obviousle'

"it seems that way."

pol shaded his eyes and stared ahead, locating the tiny dot the
bird-thing had become, "we seem to be headed in the same direction."

"what revenge?" nora said.

"i'm not sure.  let it go, huh?" he glowered at the small thief, who
smiled back at him.  "an intention is less than a deed," he said, "less
even than an attempt." his gaze grew unfocussed.  he seemed to pluck at
something in the air.  "you're a fine one to preach," he added, long
moments later, as the smaller man clutched suddenly at his chest, "when
you've got my figurines inside your shirt."

mouseglove blanched, then fell into a spell of coughing

"i'll deal with you later," pol said.  "i doubt you'll be running off in
the meantime. right now, though, i think i'm beginning to see what mor
meant about a menace when he was bringing me here."

"i can explain--" mouseglove began.

"old mor is the one who brought you to our land?"

nora said.

"yes."

"that is very interesting.  for he is the one i told about mark when it
happened.  he seemed ill at the time, though." pol nodded.

"he wasn't well."

the character of the land began to shir beneath them. the forest grew
thinner.  a large river which had followed roughly parallel to their
course in the west narrowed, finally passed beneath them and vanished
into the southeast. exposed areas of land were lighter in color now,
shading over toward yellow.

the dark speck that was the surveillance flier disappeared from pol's
sight far ahead.  it was not until noon that they encountered more of
them.  they first several wheeling at a great height far ahead.  they
lower and moved in their direction, half a dozen of pol felt a sudden
tension in moonbird's neck seemed that the dragon began to grow warmer.

more to smash .  .  .

wait, pol instructed.  they don't seem to be think he has sent us an
escort.

snmsh escort.

not so long as they keep their distance...  some time later. wait.

they continued on until the shape of anvil appeared low on the horizon
in the afternoon light. escort had maintained a regular flight about
them hours, unvarying.  as they drew nearer, they saw more of the birds
patrolled the skies above the height.  below, the land had assumed a
bleaker yellow, streaked with red, dotted with gray and outcrops of
stone; jagged cracks ran in dry, profusion, as on a dropped, earthenware
pot; small, bushes, wind-twisted, dung to the slopes of hills.

the mountain stood larger now, and they could out a skyline atop it
white, green, gray, a backdrop to many movements.  pol looked about as
drew closer and he felt moonbird stiffen, then change course slightly to
conform with the movements of the fliers.

go where they take us, for thetd are surely taking us him, he ordered.

moonbird did not reply, but as they neared the city on the rock, rising
and swinging the west, beginning a gradual approach to the great roofed
building near the center of the complex. downward, pol saw a tall,
red-haired man terrace outside what appeared to be a penthouse a flying
machine of unusual design rested landing area behind the strneture.  a
number of maehines of unknown function moved about in

"more magic," mouseglove muttered.

"no," said pol.  "not at all."

he felt nora's hand upon his arm then, gripping it. "you know this guy
pretty well, don't you?" he asked her.

"know him?  i've been in love with him for years," she replied.  "but
i'm afraid of him, too, now.  he's changed a !or."

"well, we seem to have a landing clearance.  let's go and talk with him,
if you want him to stop bothering you, tell him so and i'll back you up.
if you don't, now's your chance to straighten things out."

down, moonbird.  land in the clear area.

they descended into a much smoother landing than the previous one.  his
ears rang faintly as the winds finally ceased whistling about them.  he
climbed down and assisted nora to descend.  he heard her gasp.

"his eyel it was injured!"

7of turned.  the man in the khaki jumpsuit with numerous bulging pockets
was now approaching a peculiar device which covered his left eye
changing color as he left the shade, becoming a bright, then deep blue.
a vivid scar passed down his forehead above it, emerged on his cheek
below it.  pol stepped forward to meet him.

"i'm pol detson," he said.  "nora wants to talk to you. so do i."

mark halted at a distance of about two meters and studied him.  finally,
he nodded curtly.

"i'm mark marakson." he immediately turned to look at moonbird.  "i've
never seen a dragon before ,..  gods, he's bigi"

he returned his attention to pol, not even glancing at nora.

"detson...  magician?"

"i suppose so."

"i don't understand magic."

"i'm still working at it myself."

mark gestured suddenly, a sweeping motion of his left arm, apparently
intended to take in the entire city. '"this i understand," he said.

"me, too.  there's a lot of it where i come from." mark rubbed the scar
on his cheek.

"what do you mean?  where is that?" he asked. "we are step-brothers,"
pol replied.  "your parents me, in a !and much like this place you have
excuse me if i stare, but you do bear dad a very resemblance."

mark turned away, paced several steps, returned. "you're joking," he
said at last.

"no.  really.  for most of my life, i bore the name were given as a
child."

"which is?"

"dan chain."

"dan chain," mark repeated.  "i rather like that .  . but how could this
be?  i did learn only recently that i', been adopted, but this--- too
much coincidence!  i can' believe it."

"well, it's true, and it's not entirely coincidence. fact-- wait a
minute..."

pol dug in his hip pocket, withdrew his wallet. opened it and flipped
through the card ease.

"here," he said, stepping forward, extending it.

are pictures of mother and dad."

mark reached toward him, accepted the wallet, "'these aren't drawn!" he
said.  "'there's a very cared technology involved!"

"photography's been around f6r awhile," pol replied. the lens brightened
as mark stared. "their names?" he asked. "michael chain--and gloria."

"i-- yes, i see myself in these faces.  may im have others?"

"yes.  i have some more further down.  you can those.  just slide them
out.  yes, like that." mark passed the wallet back. "what sort of work
does he do?"

this time pol made a sweeping gesture.

"he builds things.  designs them, rather.  much on order of what you've
apparently been doing here."

"i would like to meet him."

"i believe he'd like you.  but i was thinking--as i quired certain
recent skills of my own---on the which i was brought to this world.  it
would take research and some experimenting, but i believe i could learn
to duplicate mor's stunt in transporting me.  it's occurred to me that a
guy like you might not be happy here especially after the story i
heard---and i wondered whether you might be interested in going to the
place from which i came.  you might like it a lot better there."

mark finally looked up from the photos and inserted them into a small
thigh pocket.  he stared at nora as if seeing her for the first time.

"she told you what they did to me, to my--stepfather?"

pol nodded.

"you have my sympathy.  i received very similar treatment myself, for
different reasons."

"then you must understand how i feel." he looked again at moonbird.  "do
you have plans for them?"

"at first, i did.  but now, no.  i can almost understand, almost
forgive.  that's close enough.  the longer i let it go, the less it
should bother me.  let them go their ways, i'll go mine."

mark struck his right fist against his left palm and turned away.

"it is not that easy," he said, pacing again.  "for you--a
stranger--perhaps.  but i lived there, grew up there, knew everyone.  i
took them a gift.  it was rejected under the worst circumstances.  now--
now i'm going to force it upon them."

"you will cause a lot of pain.  not just for them.  for yourself, too."

"so be it," mark said.  "they've made their own terms."

"i think i could send you home a place you'd probably like--instead."

for a moment, mark looked at him almost wistfully.

then, "no.  maybe afterwards," he said.  "now it's no longer the gift,
but its acceptance.  in a matter of weeks, i'll be ready to move.
later...  we'll see."

"you ought to take some time to think it over."

"i've had more than enough time.  i've done p!,enty of thinking while
recovering from our last encounter.

"if i could send you back for just a little while---and you rethought it
in a different place you might get a whole new perspective, decide that
it isn't really worth doing "

mark took a step nearer, lowered his head.  his new eye hummed and the
lens shone gold.

"you seem awfully eager to be rid of me," he said slowly. then he turned
and looked again at nora.  "might she be the reason?"

"no," pol said.  "she's known you for years, me for only a few days.
there is nothing between us."

"a situation you would probably like to remedy in my absence."

"that's your idea, not mine.  i'd like to keep you from making a mistake
i almost made.  but she can talk for herself."

mark turned toward her.

"do you want to get rid of me, also?" he asked.

"stay," she told him.  "but leave the village alone.  please."

"after what they did?"

"they showed you their feelings.  they were too harsh, but you'd seared
them."

"you're on their side!"

"i was the one who warned you."

"... and his sidet" he gestured at pol, lens flashing.  "magic! dragons!
he represents everything archaic and reactionary he stands in the way of
progress!  and you prefer him to mel"

"i never said that!"

she took a step forward, beginning to reach toward him.  he turned away.
he waved his right fist in pol's face.

"i could kill you with one hand.  i was a blacksmith."

"don't try it," pol said.  "i was a boxer."

mark looked up.  moonbird looked down at him.

"you think that ancient beast makes you invincible?  i, too, have
servants."

he raised his left hand, peeled back the sleeve.  a large control
bracolet, covering half his forearm, gleamed in the space between them.
his fingers danced upon the studs.  the man-sized machines all turned in
their direction and began to advanee.

pol raised his right hand.  his loose sleeve fell back.  the dragonmark
moved visibly upon his pulse.

"it is not too late," pol said, "to stop what i think 1 see coming."

"it is too late," mark replied.

one by one, the machines faltered and grew still, some emitting static
and strange noises, others ceasing all movement abruptly, without sound.
mark ran his fingers over his controls once again, but nothing
responded.

"dad used to call that my poltergeist effect," pol stated.

"now--"

mark swung at him.  pol ducked and drove a fist into his midsection.
mark grunted and bent slightly.  pol caught him on the jaw with a left
jab.  he'd a chance for a second blow to the other's face but pulled the
punch for fear of striking the eye prosthesis.  in that off-balance
moment of hesitation, mark swung his entire left arm like a club, his
heavy bracelet striking pol on the side of the head.

pol fell to his knees, covering his head with both arms.

he saw a boot coming and fell to the side to avoid it.

squash?  burn?

he realized that he had come into contact with the great beast.

no, moonbird!  no!

but a low rumble from the dragon caused mark to draw back, looking
upward, raising his hands.

vision dancing, pol saw the strands all about them.  that red one...

from the corner of his normal eye, mark saw the fallen man gesture with
his left hand.  he moved to kick at him again and felt his legs grow
immobile.  he began to topple.

he struck and lay there, paralyzed from the waist down.

as he struggled to prop himself with his arms, he saw that the other had
risen to his knees again and was still rubbing his head.  suddenly,
there {vas an arm about his shoulder.

he looked up.

"nora..."

"please, mark.  say you won't hurt our village, or any of the others."

he tried to pull away from her.

"you never cared for me," he said.

"that's not true."

"the first good-looking stranger comes along you lay your claim and send
him to get rid of me "

"don't talk like that."

he turned into a sitting position.

"flee while you have the chance," he said.  "warn the villages or not,
as you choose.  it will make no difference.  i will be coming.  i will
take what i want.  that includes you. what i bring with me will be more
than sufficient to deal with a dragonor a whole family of them.  col
tell them i hate them all.  tell them---"

"come on, nora," pol said, rising.  "there is no reasoning with the
man."

he held out his hand.  she rose and took it.

"i suppose i would be wise," he said to mark, "to kill you.  but she
would never forgive me.  and you are the son of the only parents i knew.
so you have some time.  use it to reconsider your plan.  if you come, as
you said you would, i will be waiting.  i've no desire to be the
villagers' champion.  but there is a balance you would upset which could
bring great danger to us all."

as he helped nora to mount moonbird, he saw that mouseglove had
vanished.  he looked about the rooftop, but the man was nowhere in
sight.

he climbed up behind her.  he looked down at mark. "don't come," he
said.

"i feel your magic," mark said softly.  "i will find a way to stop it.
it must be a wave phenomenon, tuned by your nervous system "

"don't lose any sleep over it."

moonbird, homel he felt the great muscles bunch beneath him.  moonbird
was running, hopping, gliding.  they sailed out over the edge of the
roof and began to climb.

"he will not be paralyzed for good, will he?"

pol shook his head.

"an hour or so.  the strands are tangled, not knotted."

"strands?  what do you mean?"

"he's a prisoner inside himself.  his body will recover soon."

"he will destroy us," she said.

"he's got quite an impressive base," said pol, looking down.  "you may
be right.  i hope not."

the sun had begun its long slide westward.  once more, the winds sang
about them.  below and behind, mark's mechanical servants began to move
long before he did.  he had not really paid attention to the third
person to regard him from the back of moonbird.  now, the shadowy image
of the small man was submerged by the torrent of his hate for the other,
passing altogether into oblivion.

clouds passed.  his lens darkened.  the bracelet began to function once
again.

the prototype blue-bellied, gray-backed tracer-bird with the wide-angle
eye and the parabola ear followed the dragon-riders north.  a series of
the larger fliers followed it at well-spaced intervals, to serve as
relay points for the spy broadcasts.  so far, however, the tracer-bird
had not yet gained sufficiently upon its objective that it had anything
to transmit.  had it been nearer, it would have overheard portions of
the story pol had recently recounted to mouseglove.  but as it was not,
it did not even hear nora's questions:

"i am surprised that you realized this much of your heritage so quickly,
so fully.  but even so, mark has had time to build his strength and you
have not.  how would you oppose a large flight of those birds, and a
mass of the ground machines?  and i thought that i saw men back there,
too.  or dwarves ...  supposing he has a large army?  have you any plan
at all?"

pol was silent for a time, then, "there was an instrument of power which
had belonged to my father," he said. "with it, i think i might be able
to command all of the, uh, resources of rondoval.  if i could get hold
of it before mark begins to move, i would have something formidable to
throw against him.  i'm still hazy on the geography and the political
setup of this land, though.  i don't know how much territory and how
many population centers he would be moving against, or what the local
defense apparatus is.

all of the books i have are older than !  am ! have maps, too, but i'm
not sure what goes where."

"i can show you," she said, "and tell you about it, when we get to the
maps."

"but i'll be dropping you in your village."

"no!  you can't do that!  i'm afraid.  he might come for me again.  who
would stop him this time?"

"you might not like rondoval."

"it's got to be better than anvil mountain.  you don't know any magic
that could change him back, do you?  to the way he was a few years ago?"

"i don't think any magic can undo what life has done to a person, or a
person to himself.  i'm sorry."

"i thought you'd say that.  the wise folk all seem to talk the same
way."

she began to cry softly, for the first time that day. though it was
gaining, the tracer-bird did not hear this either.  pol did, but he was
not certain what to say.  so he stared ahead and said nothing.

it was dark when they passed above nora's village and by then pol had
placed his cloak about her shoulders.  the stars had come forth in
profusion and shone with great brilliance.  pol realized for the first
time that he did not recognize any constellations.  moonbird, looking
down rather than up, noted the locations of all visible cattle against
his return for a late night snack.

he awoke in a dirty room far below ground level.  it seemed to be one of
the original ancient chambers in the rock, which the new occupants had
not yet gotten around to refurbishing.  possibly it had been some sort
of store-from. it was full of junk, dust and stale air.  this was why he
had chosen it.  it was far from the throbbing, or even the humming of
the great machines, and none of the lesser ones had rattled by.  as for
the small, long-armed, slope-shouldered men with the low brows--they
seemed to avoid this quarter.

he ate some of the food he had brought with him.  he secreted the parcel
of figurines beneath a trash heap.

� .  .  had to leave at this stop, he reflected.  once the kid caught
on, it was all over.  damned scary, the way he'd plucked the information
out of the air.  good thing there was a distraction..  �

� .  .  how many days' walk to dibna?  could take the better part of a
week, he guessed.  therefore, he needed a good supply of food before he
set out ...

... what time was it?  probably the middle of the night, judging by his
internal clock.  with any luck at all, he'd have the supplies by morning
and be ready to move the following night ...

he opened the door slightly and stared out upon the dim corridor. empty.
he was out, along it and up a ramp in a matter of seconds.  the air grew
somewhat fresher as he advanced, but was still warm.  keeping to the
darkest ways available, he mounted until he was several stories above
the ground.  he heard the distant noises of the factories now, the
nearer ones of servant machines passing on mysterious errands.

he stepped out beneath stars.  there was that low structure he had not
investigated earlier, some illumination within it now.  off to the left
and standing higher was the building from which he had descended that
afternoon. yes.  there was the bridge above the avenue by which he had
crossed over ...

he had seen pol and nora fly off, heading back to the north.  good that
they had gotten free.  he wished them no ill, particularly at the hands
of that tall, red-haired man with the glowing eye.  he had a fear of
something even worse than magic should he fall that one's prisoner, and
he resolved to avoid him at all costs.

they may keep the food someplace around here ...

he was attracted again by the small, dimly lighted structure. it was
probably not a supply house, but it might be prudent to know what it
was--situated in such a prominent position--in case any threats resided
there.

he moved nearer, circling to place a blank wall between his advance and
whoever was inside.  his tread was soundless. he was alert for
trip-wires, sentries.

finally, he touched the gray wall, slid his hand along it, flattened
himself and waited a moment.  then he edged his way to the corner,
peered around it, passed beyond it, moved toward the window near the
door.

nothing.  the view was blocked by some sort of equipment. he dropped and
passed beneath it, hastily passed the door.  he tried the next window.

yes.  there were two men, off toward the right, rear, seated before what
appeared to be a group of glowing windows which he knew did not
penetrate the wall.  but the angle was too sharp here, and the window
through which he peered was closed.

he passed on, turned the next corner, advanced even more cautiously
toward an opened window.  reaching it, he dropped to one knee and looked
in toward the right.

he heard an occasional voice, though it took him several moments to
realize that the figures within were not speaking. the words seemed to
emerge from the wall before them.  he squinted, he concentrated, he
breathed a few words to dwastir.

suddenly, he recognized one of the scenes on the wall. the peripheral
screens held strangely accented aerial views of countryscape, not unlike
some over which he had passed earlier on dragonback.  but the central
one, toward which the two men were leaning, showed, in much sharper
detail, the library at rondoval, where he had spent so many hours.  it
was as if he were peering in through the end windows.  there was pol at
the desk, candles flickering near at hand, a number of books opened
before him. nora was dozing on the couch.

abruptly, be realized that the larger of the two men viewing the screen
was mark marakson.  he fought an impulse to flee.  both men seemed too
involved with the display to be exceptionally wary.  so, checking about
him periodically, mouseglove continued to stare.  the men's attitudes,
the surreptitious quality of the enterprise, both convinced him he must
be witnessing something important.

time slipped by, with pol occasionally muttering something about the
points of a triangle.  once or twice, this drew a sleepy reply from
nora.

an hour, perhaps longer, passed before pol spoke again. he was smiling
as he looked up.

"a pyramid, a great labyrinth and the itzan well," he said, "in that
order.  that's the triangle of int.  nora?"

"mm?"

"can you find them for me in the big atlas?"

"bring it here." she raised herself upright and rubbed her eyes.  "i've
never been anyplace far, but i always liked geography. what were they,
again?"

pol was rising, a book in his hands, when the view was suddenly blocked
by a movement of mark's.

mark half-rose to scrawl something on a writing sheet, which he folded
and inserted into one of his pockets.  pol's and nora's voices had
resumed, partly muffled now.  mark leaned forward, moving his face close
to the screen.

"i've got you," he said softly.  "whatever the weapon you seek to use
against me, you shall not have it.  not when i have three chances--"

his voice broke.  he raised a hand as if to cover his eyes, forgetting
for a moment the red lens that he wore. "damn!"

he turned away and mouseglove ducked quickly, but not before he had
glimpsed the screen and what might have been an embrace.

moonbird drowsed, riding a thermal to a great height, then dropping into
a long glide.  when he lowered the night-membrane over his eyes, he saw
another thermal, like a wavering red tower, ahead and to his left.
unconsciously, he shrugged himself in that direction.  he'd a full belly
now, and it was pleasant just to drift home, watching the dreams form in
the other chamber of his mind.

he saw himself bearing the young master and the lady across a great
desert, heading toward a mountain that was not a mountain.  yes, he had
passed that way once before, long ago.  he remembered it as very dry. he
saw a gleaming bird pass and lay an egg which bloomed into a terrible
flower.  this, he felt, he should remember.

he glided into the next thermal and rose again.  it was good to be out
of the cavern once more.  and he saw that they would be leaving for the
dry place tomorrow.  that was good, too.  perhaps he would sleep in the
courtyard, where he could show them the carrier and the saddle come
morning.  they would be up early, and they would be needing them ...

near to the tower's top, he spread his wings and torn roeneed a long
glide.  somewhere in his dreams, the one with the strange eye moved, but
he was difficult to follow.

the sun was already high when pol finished packing the gear.  again,
nora's argument that she would be in greater danger alone than with him
prevailed.  he packed two light blades, along with the food, extra
clothing, blankets � .  .  no armor.  he did not want to push moonbird
to the limits of endurance, or even to slow him with more than the
barest of essentials.  besides, he had learned to fence in a different
school.

how did he know?  he wondered, hauling the parcels out to the carrier
the great beast had located for him.

crossing the courtyard, he placed his hands upon moonbird's neck.

how do tou know what is needed?

i--know.  now.  up high.  look!

the massive head turned.  pol followed the direction of its gaze.

he saw the small, blue-bellied, gray-backed thing upon the sill
overhead.  it was turned as if watching them.  a

ortion of its front end caught the sunlight and east it own toward them.
what is it?

something i do not know.  see how it watches?

it must be something of his.  i wonder how much of plans it has learned?

shall i upchuck jrestuff upon it?

no.  pretend that it is not there.  do not look at it.

he turned and crossed to the castle, entering there.  he had come upon a
description of an effect in one of his father's volumes and had been
meaning to try it when he had the time.

he hurried up the stair, to halt outside the library where nora sat
sketching some final maps.  peering in, he saw that she wore a pale
tunic, short gray breeches, a metal belt and sturdy boots she had
located in one of the upstairs wardrobes.  her hair was bound back by a
black strap.

she looked up as pol entered.

wizabd wobld

"i am not entirely finished," she said.  'aere's another page."

"go ahead:"

she completed a drawing she had been making, took up another writing
sheet, turned a page, began another map.

she glanced up at pol and smiled.  he nodded.

"soon," she said.

she worked for several minutes.  finally, she sighed, closed the book
and took up the papers.

"would you step outside for just a moment, please' "your voice sounds
strange."

"yes.  i talked too much.  please."

she crossed to the door.  he waited beside it.  his face was
expressionless.  she paused.

"is something wrong?" she asked.

"no.  go out."

his lips, now that she looked closely, did not seem to move in proper
time with his words.  she passed through the doorway and halted.  in the
corridor, pol stood off to the right, fingers to his lips.

"how?"

"this way," he whispered, taking her hand.

she followed him.

"it is a simulacrum spun of magical strands, my likeness laid upon it. i
don't know how long it will last.  maybe all day, maybe only a little
while." he began gesturing, slowly at first, then more rapidly.
something took shape between his hands, a faint glow to it.  "this one
is yours," he said. "it will go back in there and keep mine company, to
distract the spy device, while we depart.  he's been watching us.  i
want as good a lead as possible."

later, nora seemed to stroll back into the room, taking the hand of pol,
who still stood beside the door.  they erossed slowly to a pair of
chairs and sat facing one another. "lovely weather."

"yes."

periodically, one of them would rise and walk about the there were a
number of things they would do, together and apart, taking perhaps an
hour before the sequence began again.

the prototype blue-bellied, gray-backed tracer-bird fol

1owed their every step, hung upon their words.  it did not turn away at
the noises below, or as moonbird rose above the flagstones, drifted over
the far wall, pivoted on the point of a breeze, bore east and vanished.

as the night progressed, mouseglove had slowly come to feel as if he
were a prisoner.  despite several near-disasters, he had remained
undetected, gradually enlarging his mental map of the area and
developing an awareness of the city's peculiar defenses.  but he could
find no way off of anvil mountain.  the perimeters of the plateau were
extremely well-patrolled, both by the small men and the half-mechanical
caterpillars, as well as being subject to the scrutiny of fixed
mechanical eyes and those of the circling birds.  it seemed that not
even an insect could pass undetected.

picking lock after lock, he had finally located stores of foodstuffs and
transferred what he judged a sufficient quantity to his hiding place. he
memorized every niche, every unfrequented passage' he came upon.  with a
thief's eye, he studied the various fixed detection devices from a
distance and finally close up, coming to appreciate their functions and
some of their weaknesses.

it was only by chance---chance, and mark's immediate decision to bolster
his combat forces above the level he had formerly felt adequate--that
mouseglove happened upon a newly formed ground school for the
preliminary training of pilots for a series of manned fliers on which
production had been stepped up.

lying fiat on the roof, blocked from overhead detection by an angled air
duct, he could hear the words and view the training machine through a
grating he had exposed by removing a small panel.

he listened to the entire lecture.  when it was over, he had convinced
himself.  if he could audit just a few more sessions, he would be
willing to steal a flier by night and take his chances in the air. short
of finding a hidden tunnel through the rock itself, it seemed the only
way to manage an escape.

feeling a grudging respect for the red-haired man who had brought this
city back to life, he returned to quarters to rest until evening when he
intended upon the surveillance center once again and into the classroom
to study the trainer's controls at range.

following a full meal, he slept deeply; one hand his dagger, a stolen
grenade he knew was some sort weapon beneath the other.

statue-like, an old female and two young stallions on a crag in the
midst of a stand of dwarf pines, castle rondoval.

"there is nothing out of the ordinary," she said.

"i saw lights last night, stel, and i heard noises.

in the south, did report a dragon."

"the place is probably haunted," she said.  "enough gone on there."

"and what of the dragon?" asked the younger

"if one has come awake, it will be dealt --by those it most oppresses.
it could also be a beast."

'rhen we should do nothing?"

"let us watch here, a day and a night.  we can turns..i've no desire to
enter the place."

"nor i."

it was much later in the day that they saw the and drift eastward.

"there'"

"yes."

"what do we do now?"

"alert the others.  it may never return.  but then, it may."

"it appeared that there were two riders."

"i know."

"you were there on the day of the battle, stel.  was one of the old
dragons of bondoval?"

"all dragons look alike to me.  but the riders...  one them looked. like
devil det himself, younger and than i ever saw him."

"woei"

"alas!"

"go and spread the word among the folk.  and we had best talk with the
men of the villages, and with old mor."

"mor is gone.  a wise one---grane--said that he walked the golden road
and will not return."

"then things are becoming difficult.  go!  i will investigate further."

"you would enter the castle yourself?."

"go!  do as i say!  now!"

the youths obeyed her.  they knew the look in her eye, and they still
feared her hoofs.

during his evening explorations, mouseglove was attracted by a series of
screams emerging from a small, barred window.  approaching, he ventured
one quick glance through the opening, then ducked into a pool of shadow
to digest what he had seen and, if possible, to eavesdrop.

the first impression had shaken him.  but upon reflection, he wondered
whether the small man in the reclining chair had indeed been covered
with snakes.  the black things did seem overlong to qualify for
serpenthood, and their farther ends did all appear to be attached to the
large metal box nearby.  also, their movements could have been a result
of the man's own thrashings.  mark had stood nearby with a small metal
case in his hand, turning something on the face of the unit.

he listened to the shrieks a little longer, wondering for what offense
the man might be undergoing discipline. wondering, too, whether anything
was to be gained by remaining, or by venturing another look.

there was sfience.  he waited, but the cries did not resume.  he decided
to remain.  there came faint sounds of movement from within.

finally, he could bear it no longer.  he rose for another glimpse.

mark, facing away from the window, was detaching what now appeared to be
a series of shiny black ropes from the suppine form, coiling them and
placing them in compartments within the large box.  the smaller man's
eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.  when the last of the leads

wlzad woald

were removed, he stirred weakly.  mark passed him a glass of something
pink and he drank from it.

"how do you feel?" the large man asked.

"shaky," the other replied, flexing his arms, his legs.

"but everything's all right again."

"did it hurt?"

"no.  not really."

"you screamed a lot."

"i know.  some were blue, but most were red."

'the screams.?"

"yes.  and i could smell them."

"excellent.  you were a brave man to volunteer for this, and i want to
thank you."

"i was happy to serve."

"tell me more about it."

"i tasted the colors, too--and the sounds."

"it was a fine mix, then� pity it only has such a short range.  there
are all sorts of problems in scaling it up, too � .  .  i wish i had
more time."

"what do you.  call thething that did it?"

mark hefted the small unit.

"for want of a better name, i call it a jumble box.  it smears your
sensory inputs, mixes them.  instant synesthesia." the man gestured
toward the huge unit to his right. 'what didn't do it?  just the little
one you're holding?"

"that's right.  the other just recorded what was happening. if you
didn't hurt, tell me why you cried out so much?"

"l--i couldn't understand what was happening.  every-thin g, was still
there, but it was changed ...  it scared me.

"no pain?"

"no one place that hurt.  just a feeling that disaster was coming.  most
of the time, it kept getting worse.

sometimes, though---"

"what?"

"there were moments of great pleasure."

"you were able to count all right."

"yes...  most of the numbers were yellow.  some tasted sour,"

"did you feel you could have gotten up, walked about?"

"maybe.  if i'd have thought of it.  it was hard to think. too much was
wrong."

"you are a brave man, and i thank you again.  i will not forget this
service.  now, let's test your reflexes."

mouseglove heard some instruments being shifted about. silent}y, he lid
off through the night.

it was difficult for stel to place her hoofs quietly on stone and tile
unless she moved very slowly.  this she did, however, with the patience
of a huntress and former commando.

memories returned to her as she passed through the great hall where she
had stood dripping blood and sweat that final day of the battle.  ahl
the stallions had had much work that night...  she recalled the
sorcerers' confrontation, and her eyes automatically sought that ruined
area of ceiling which had settled der for good, before he could call
upon his hidden powers.  much of the rubble beneath had been cleared for
the removal of his body.  she recalled how mor had borne it away into
the west ...

shepaused periodically and stood listening.  her ears pricked forward.
there were voices.  somewhere up higher, to the left.

she crossed the gallery, came to the foot of the stair, halted again.
yes, up there .  .  .

slowly, keeping near to the wall, she began to climb. the place appeared
to be in better condition than she had remembered.

as she made her way along the hall, the voices came louder.  to her
right now, that third door...

she noted that the door was ajar.  approaching, she stopped directly
beside it.  she heard nothing from within, not even the sounds of
breathing.  venturing farther forward, she looked around the corner,
then drew back in puzzlement.

the couple had just seated themselves, facing one an-other--the young
man with the white streak through his hair and the slim blonde girl. but
...  these were the same people she had seen departing on dragonback.
she had not seen them return.  strange .  .  .

wizabd wobld

she looked again.

more than strange...

the girl's face seemed to be melting, pieces of it falli drifting away,
decomposing in the air.  the man---who bore a striking resemblance to
old det--seemed oblivious to the fact that portions of his left arm and
thigh appeared to be unravelling, as though he were posed of thin strips
of cloth wound about nothing.

fascinated, stel did not retreat, but stared in astonishment as the
couple came apart.  finally, she forward and entered the room.  what was
left of the paid her no heed whatsoever. "lovely weather."

"yes .  .  ."

the man's face now began to melt, the girl's ran from her body like
liquid, drifted in the air like strands of silk.  their conversation
continued. "..  , though it could rain."

"that is true."

the man rose to his foot and crossed to the girl. "you have lovely
eyes." she rose slowly.

stel watched them embrace, losing larger and pieces of themselves every
moment, to drift before her, fading from view as they crossed the room.
"i-arrooowarnn..."

the words slowed and deepened, the mouths were gone, the hair went up
like smoke.  another half-minute, they had intertwined and vanished.
stel whinnied backed away.  she had never before seen the like of
superstitious dreads rose to harry her.

the prototype blue-bellied, gray-backed focussed its attention upon her
as she circled the room, studying it carefully without paying real
attention to opened atlas, as she retreated out the door and into
corridor beyond, her hoofs clattering rapidly as she down the corridor.

mouseglove heard the great doors opening below made it to an appropriate
vantage in time to see the birdforms launched like blown leaves into the
dark sky, where they rose to swirl beneath stars, then assumed a
formation which tightened itself as it wound and unwound, took its
course and passed in a direction he deemed to be roughly southeast. this
troubled him as he made his way to the surveillance center, he managed
the approach once more and heard mark within, cursing and giving orders.
the one glimpse he got of the screens showed nothing of interest.

he did not understand mark's, "they're gone!  more of that magic, i
suppose.  that damned centaur had something to do with it!  bring me a
centaur!"

mouseglove decided to leave it at that.  less now than at any other
time, did he desire to fall into the hands of the ruddy giant the small
men treated like a god.  as he backed away, though, the words, "...  at
the triangle's point!" reached him from within.  it would not be until
later, however, that these would set off lengthy trains of speculation.

instead, immediate considerations occupied him for the better part of
several hours: time to get out.  things are getting more frantic and
life gows less certain.  the longer i stay, the worse my chances ...

the lock on the training room door barely halted his stride.  slowly and
carefully, his fingertips found the controls in the model cockpit.  he
was afraid to make a light.

� .  .  funny if i can only fly it with my eyes closed, he reflected.
it's scary up there, but it's worse down here. anyway, better this than
a dragon.  what did he say about this little lever?  oh, yes ...

batteries fully charged, the dark birds fled across the night, the land,
the water.

east and south.  they traveled until fatigue overcame them.  night was
rising when they located the island they had marked, and there they
slept unmolested� the following day, before the night was fully
departed, they crossed over the waters to the land, to sweep above
mountains, dwindling rivers, desert.  the next night was spent among
chilly hills, where pol reviewed all that he knew concerning their route
and destination.  the geography here was not congruent with that of his
previous world.  in that place, the larger land mass he had departed did
not even exist, and that over which he was crossing, while similar in
places, was not a true match� distances varied radically between locales
which seemed to possess some reconcile-ability on maps of the two
worlds. but they both had pyramids in several places, though the one he
sought had the way to its entrance flanked by rows of columns
alternating with sphinxes, many of them fallen, damaged, but most still
visible something in the description he had read seemed to indicate that
he should commence his entrance at the end of that way.

the dark birdforms dotted the mountaintops like statues of prehistoric
beasts, wings outspread.  had there been an eye to observe them, it
might not even have noted their minute, tropism-like pursuit of the sun
across the sky as they recharged their batteries for the night's flight.

the day had beaten its way well on toward evening before they stirred,
almost simultaneously, as if shaken by a sudden breeze� they began to
flex their wings.

soon, one by one, they dropped from the heights, caught the air, rose,
found their way, found their patterns, resumed their journey ...

pol's wrist began to itch some time before their goal came into view. he
felt that it was not just the now-darkening sunburn, and increased his
surveillance of the bright and wavering horizon.  minutes later, a
pointed dot resolved itself before him and he licked his dry lips and
smiled.

your internal compass seems to be working fine. i do not know what you
mean. that seems to be it up ahead. of course.

"nora!" his voice came out as a croak.  "i see it!"

"i think i do, too!"

it grew before them until there could be no doubt as to its nature.
there were no signs of movement anywhere about the dark stone structure.
the plain before it was dotted with columns and statues.

moonbird took them down near the far end of the approach, and pol's
joints creaked as he alighted.

"i can't persuade you to wait here?" he said, as he helped nora down.

she shook her head.

"if anything happened to you, i'd be in to investigate later, anyway.
waiting would just defer things."

he turned to moonbird.

wish i could take you with---but the entrance is too small.

i will guard.  you will play sweet music for me later.

i appreciate your confidence.

pol turned and looked up the sand-scoured roadway, pylons and beasts
converging upon the dark rectangle of the structure's entrance way.

� .  .  walking into a vanishing point, he mused. "okay, nora.  let's
go," he said.

his vision blurred and cleared again as they advanced. for a moment, he
thought it was an effect of the brilliant sunlight or the sudden
activity after hours of sitting crouched.  then he saw what he took to
be flames forth from the opening before them.  he flinched. nora took
hold of his arm. "what is it?"

"i---oh, now i see.  nothing."

the flames resolved themselves into great billows what he had come to
think of as the weft of the world. had never seen them bunched so
thickly before, save the great ball in the caverns of rondoval--and here
were flapping and drifting freely.

"you must have seen something," she said as they ued on.

"just an.indication of sorts, showing a concentration magical power."

"what does it mean?"

"i don't know."

she loosened her blade in its scabbard.  he did same.

his right wrist, which had not stopped its itching tingling was now
throbbing steadily, as if that special of him which was best suited to
deal with such matters now fully alert.

he brushed his fingertips across the massed strands felt a surge of
power.  he tried to locate some clue as to nature, but nothing suggested
itself�

the red, the rod...  he concentrated.

you...

a pale green strand, like milky jade, drifted him, separating itself
from the mass.  as he raised hand, it seemed drawn toward his
fingertips.  once touched it, he willed it to adhere and held it,
knowing this was the one.

"now," he told nora, advancing to the threshold, know the way--though i
know nothing of what it will like"

he entered the narrow passage and halted again. dimness about them
deepened to an inky blackness only few paces ahead.

"wait," he said, commencing the mental which had summoned the phantom
dragon from his the night he had fled her village.

it rose and drifted before him again, exactly as it had on that earlier
occasion.

is this a phenomenon i am destined never to use in the absence of
danger?  he wondered.

behind him, nora drew her blade.  his chuckle rang hollowly.

'lhat is my doing," he told her.  "it is our light.  nothing

"i believe you," she said, "but it seems a good time to have a weapon."

"i can't argue," he replied, beginning to move once again, following the
pale thread through the new light.

they came to a flight of steps where they descended perhaps ten meters,
the air growing pleasantly cool, then elammy about them.  from the foot
of the steps, passages ran to the right, the left and straight ahead.
the thread followed the one before them.  pol followed the thread.

after several paces, the passage began to slant downward, its angle of
steepness seeming to increase as they continued.  the air was thick now,
and stale, with a scent of old incense or spices buried within its
dampness.

the light danced before him.  the walls vanished.  at first, he thought
that they had come to another set of side passages.  as he willed his
light to brighten and move, however, he saw that they had come into a
room.

he sent the dragon-light darting before him, outlining the chamber,
revealing its features.  the walls were dee rated with a faded frieze,
the ceiling was cobwebbed, the floor dusty.  at the far end of the room
was a stone altar or table, a band of carvings about its middle.  a dark
rectangle stood behind it.  the strand at pol's fingertips ran directly
across the block of stone and vanished into the shadowy oblong.

pol listened but heard nothing other than their own breathing.  he moved
forward, nora at his side, their footsteps muffled.  for him, the air
was alive with strands, as if they passed through a three-dimensional
web woven of rainbows.  still, the milky green strand could not be lost.
eyes open or closed, he knew precisely where it hung.

they separated to pass around the altar, and pol in creased his pace to
reach the small doorway first, duck head and pass within, a mounting
feeling of hinting at some climax beyond its threshold.

the light shot in before him and, on his willed mand, rose to a level
above his head and increased brilliance.

this room was smaller than the outer one and it, possessed something
resembling a low altar at its end.  flanking this was a pair of stone or
stuffed eyes fixed forward.  a great mass of the strands, of the darker
shades, were woven into strange about the altar and the jackals.  no
doorway was behind this carved block, but rather a tall, shadowy roughly
man-shaped save for its head which those of the jackals.  something
small and glowing upon a dark green cushion atop the stone before it.
pol swept his arm backward, halting nora. "what do you see?" he asked
her.

"another table and two statues," she said.  "something on the table.  ,
."

"according to the description and the sketch, that pears to be what i'm
after," he said.  "i want you to here while i go and try to take it.  i
expect to meet som sort of resistance and i'll probably have to
improvise. those braided areas look menacing."

"braided areas?  what do you mean?"

"there is some sort of spell protecting it.  you guard while i find out
what it does."

"go ahead.  i'm ready."

he took a single step forward.  a pulse of light about the loops, the
knotted junctions, leaping from to figure.  he took a second step.

hold, came a command he was certain that nora not hear.  it seemed to
beat upon him from the vibrations of all the strands, passing down them
from th shadowy figure behind the stone.

wht?  he sent back immediately, deciding that it was time to be shy.

he halted, to see what the reaction would be. figure actually seemed to
deliberate for a moment.

you aiyroach a thing i guard, presumably to remove it, it replied.  i
will not permit it.

you refer to the section of rod on the stone before that is correct.

i confess that i would like to have it.  does your charge permit you to
make any sort of deal whatsoever for it? no.

pity.  it would make life so much simpler for both of us. i see that you
are a young sorcerer, but recentbj come to the art.  if you were to
live, you would probably become a great one.  if you depart immediately,
you will have that oportunity.  i will let you go unmolested. pol took
another step forward. that is your answer? i'm afraid so.

the jackal-headed figure raised its right arm, pointed a finger.  the
hovering dragon-light went dark.  pol felt a shock in his wrist.  his
vision seemed unimpaired, however, as if he viewed the chamber in the
light of all the strands.

"poll what happened?" nora cried.

"it's all right," he said.  "stay put."

he decided against resummoning the glowing image. that did not seem
terribly imaginative, and it would probably just be put out again.  it
seemed that some measure of variety and originality should govern in
these matters.

he sent the power that throbbed in his wrist out along the jade strand,
eausing the rod-section itself to begin glowing where it lay upon the
table of stone.  he pictured himself turning a lamp switch for a
three-way light bulb, willing more wattage, raising the glow.  the
chamber brightened on a mundane level.

"better?" he asked nora.

"yes.  what is happening?"

"a conflict seems to have begun--with the forces which guard here.  hold
on."

young man, do you think you are the first to come here, to seek the rod?

the figure raised both arms, spreading them.  the light pol had summoned
trebled in intensity.  dim forms, which he had taken for rubble--on the
floor, in corners, near the statues---were suddenly clearly illuminated.
he saw many strewn bones.  he counted four skulls.

all those who came remained.

pol felt his fingers twitch toward a yellow strand, but he suppressed
the impulse to seize it.  it drifted nearer.  he knew that his magical
sense was showing him a weapon, and for the first time he overrode
it--his reason telling him that its employment had better be a matter of
careful timing.

the strand doubled and redoubled, 1ooping back upon itself, hovering
near his shoulder.

uh--is it possible, pol inquired, edging forward, simply to borrow it
and bring it back later?  i've an excellent guitar i could leave for
securit- this is not a pawnshop.t i am a guardian and you are a th yt.

that is not true.  it belonged to my father.

there came another pulse of light, and the beast to his right and ahead
began to move, slowly at first, taking a step toward him.  the other
blinked and twitched its ears. now it belongs here, came the reply.

pol reached up and seized the bunched yellow strands. with a jerk and a
burst of power that ran along his arm, he tore them down and back, then
brought them forward like a lash across the face of the advancing beast.
it snarled and cried, drawing back, and he struck again.  the third time
that he hit it, it cringed, lowering its belly to the floor.  at that
moment, he noticed that the second jackal was about to spring.

even as he turned and drew back his arm, he realized that he would not
be able to strike in time ...

moonbird's view of the west was partly blocked by the pyramid, so that
he did not see the bird-things dark against the brilliant sky until
their van was near.  several began to dive as he raised his head, but
they pulled up sharply and continued on.

then he saw the falling object, and superimposed upon it came the image
out of his dream.  he spread his wings immediately to take to the air.

by the time the bombs struck, he was fifteen meters above them and
climbing.  he felt the heat building within his stomachs.  above him, he
counted eight of the fliers. good, he acknowledged.  he had been waiting
for an opportunity to meet them when he was unenonmbored with
passengers.

the bright flames were faded to smoke beneath him. above, the formation
had already begun its turn.  extending his neck and plowing the sky with
his wings, he rose to meet them.

� .  .  and as he turned to strike at the leaping form, pol saw nora's
blade fall upon it--a two-handed, overhead blow that landed upon its
right shoulder behind the neck. crying out, the creature twisted, giving
pol the opportunity to sidestep and bring his magical whip lashing
sound!essly down upon it.

he moved ahead and to the right as it fell, writhing to the floor.  the
strands of his yellow weapon cut it again, across the face.  nora had
withdrawn her blade and moved back to heft it for another swing ...

continuing his advance into a position very near to the altar, he
brought his whip-arm out and around to deliver another, heavier blow ...

he was almost pulled from his feet as the figure at the back of' the
altar extended its arm and seized the falling strands that he wielded.
at that moment, it seemed that the ground shook beneath him.  , the
strands were torn from his grip as his momentum sent him spinning,
catching at the edge of the stony table. realizing where the fall was
bearing him as he plunged before that awesome presence, and certain that
its next move would be to extinguish his life if he did not act
immediately, he reached out with his right hand and seized the section
of rod that rested on the cushion nearby.  it responded with the
immediate surge of energy he had felt might be present, a force his new
sensitivity reeoguized as utilizable.

he turned the end of the rod upward the moment he caught hold of it,
channeling the power from its manifold connections into a white,
flame-like burst of power shot against the animal-headed figure's
inclined breast. no!

he saw it driven backward even as he slipped to floor.  from his hand,
the glow of the rod still illuminated the entire chamber.

rolling to the side, he saw that both jackals lay still nearby.  he felt
nora's hand take hold of his left arm, helping him to his feet. "you're
all right?"

"yes.  yourself?."

"yes."

he looked back.  the strands still billowed about the stone, but were
now in total disarray, their patterns undone. the shadowy figure was far
dimmer but seemed in the process of reassembling by attraction several
portions of itself which had dispersed.  he held his new weapon before
him and backed away, nora at his side.

when they reached the doorway to the next chamber, they turned and fled
through it.  rounding the altar, they continued on.  the air seemed much
dustier here than it had been earlier.  when they had mounted the stair
and were traversing the forward passageway, a crashing sound came to
them from outside.

racing toward the light, they emerged to view a crumpled flier beyond
the first column to their left.  there were two large craters ahead and
to the right.  one statue was upset and broken and a column had fallen
across the way. farther along, there were two more wrecked fliers.

pol heard a sound from overhead and looked upward. there was nothing in
view in the sky.  turning, he then saw that two more of the birds were
shattered against the side of the pyramid.  as he stared, another
circled into and out of view above that mountain of stone.  since
moonbird was no longer where he had left him, he was not surprised,
moments later, to see his great green and bronze form wheel into view
over the top of the monument.  two of the fliers then came into sight,
circling, diving at the dragon. as their positions continued to shift,
pol saw that there was a third.  he thought, too, that he detected an
occasional puff and the echo of a small report from the machines.  if
they did have guns, they at least did not appear to be rapid-fire
automatic weapons.  their main tactic seemed to consist of darting
attempts to slash at their larger, slower opponent with their spear-like
beaks and the fore-edges of their wings.  they were closing with him
again even as pol watched.

not knowing what he might be able to do at this dis� rance, he sought
strands.  they seemed to be everywhere, just awaiting the proper act of
discernment and manipulation indeed!  they became visible to him--an
orange trail idling upward.  he reached for them and they drifted toward
him, along with an enormous feeling of separation and the formula for
electrical resistance, which he had learned one summer while working for
his stepfather.  he took this as an indication that he was not going to
be able to do much to help moonbird.  then the rod-segment jerked in his
hand and he wondered. he studied it for the first time in full light.

it was of a light, heavily tarnished metal--possibly an alloy of some
sort; and if so, far too technologically sophisticated for anything he
had seen here, save for mark's creations--and this seemed old, felt old,
as his special sense measured things.  it was about eight inches long
and opened at one end, presumably to accommodate the sue-ceeding
section; its other end was a simple hemisphere, possibly of a different
metal.  about the shaft itself was chased a pattern of stylized flames
within which a rich variety of demons danced and engaged in peculiar
acts.

he raised it--it seemed that it might be some sort of magical battery,
or transformer--and, with a rapid twisting motion, he twined an orange
strand about it.  nora, who had been about to speak, realized from his
gesture and his intent expression that he was conjuring and she remained
silent, eyes fixed upon the shaft.

suddenly, the distance seemed telescoped, and he found himself working
with the far end of the strand, weaving, 1ooping, turning it into a wide
net before a diving flier.  to affect something of that mass and
velocity, at that distance, he realized that an enormous amount of power
would have to flow upward.  he felt it go out of him as he willed it,
and the rod jerked within his grip.

the flier sped into the trap he had attempted to lay, it did not seem
impeded by it.  it rushed on moonbird's flank, as pol felt weak from
willing energy his snare.

then, all at once, it veered crazily--one wing held high the other low.
it seemed frozen in that position, ahead, slowing in a dropping,
drooping trajectory it beneath the dragon, turning until it was headed
ward.  it rotated all the way to the ground, where stopped.  even before
it struck, another followed it, ing, target of moonbird's fiery
regurgitations.

pol turned his attention to the final flier, which denly seemed bent
upon a suicide attack on the turning skybeast.  he knew that no time
remained for slow knottings of another spell, and he doubted that this
distance he could release an effective blast such that which had felled
the guardian in the pyramid. even as he raised the rod for the attempt,
he saw the white puff and moments later heard the report.

moonbird showed no sign of having been hit, and as the bird-thing
plunged toward him, he moved meet it, twisting in a serpentine fashion,
acquiring speed than the moment seemed to offer. as they met, clasped
the flier to him and began his descent.

nora and pol watched him spiral fashion, coming to rest near the rim of
a nearby turning so as to !and directly atop the captive flier with
series of crunching noises which ceased only when moved away from the
broken device, which a sent toppling and sliding into the hole.

well-fought, great one, he said.  you were injured..

hardly at all.  and dragons heal quickly{t.  you have thing {tou sought?

yes.  this is it.

he displayed the piece.

i have seen it before, joined with the others.

tour things, come mount me and let us be on our woj wherever {tou would
go now.

you should rest after such a struggle.

a dragon rests on the wing.  let us leave this place are finished here.

pol turned to nora.

"he is able to go on now.  how about you?"

"i'd like to get out of here myself."

he looked at her for the first time in a long while. dishevelled and
moist with perspiration, she still clutched the blade in her right hand.
but he saw no signs of injury.

noting his regard, she relaxed her grip on the weapon and sheathed it.
she smiled.

"all right?"

"all right.  yourself?."

he nodded.

"then let's get our stuff together and move on.  have you any idea how
he knew we'd be here?"

"no," she said.  "you say that the things he does are not really
magic--but they do seem that way to me.  it's just that he has a
different style."

"i hope you like my style better."

"so far," she said.

as moonbird lifted them above the desert and bent his course northward,
the skies were clear and the sun had already begun its western plunge.

land where you would to forage, pol told him.  once we hit the northern
sea, we'll be island-hopping-and the maps are not all that good on
distances.

i have been this way before, moonbird told him.  i will feed in time.
now, will you make some music to warm my cold reptilian heart?

pol unearthed his guitar, tuned it and struck a chord. the wind whistled
accompaniment as the land unrolled like a dry and mottled parchment
beneath them.

that night, as they lay listening to the sound of waves and breathing
the smell of the sea on a small island far from the mainland, moonbird
sought sustenance far afield and nora studied the red from the pyramid.

"it does have a magical look, a magical feel to it," she said, turning
it in the moonlight.

"it is that," pol replied, stroking her shoulder, "and the other two
pices should do more than just add to its potency.  each should multiply
the power of thos which precede, several times."

she put it aside and reached out to touch his wrist. "your birthmark,"
she said.  "�l'hey weren't really wrong the villagers.  you are of that
tribe with your feet in hell and your head in heaven."

"no reason to throw rocks," he said.  "i wasn't doing anything to them."

'"l'hey'd feared your father--once he got involved in blood sacrifices
and the treating with unnatural beings who had to be paid in human
!ives."

pol shrugged.

" .  and they took his life to balance accounts.  also, my mother's. and
they wrecked the place.  didn't that pretty much square things?"

"at the time, yes--as i understand it.  but you stirred up fears as well
as leftover hatred.  supposing you'd come home to avenge their deaths?
you did have that in mind, too, didn't you?  that's what that mouseglove
person said."

"not at the time, though.  i hadn't even realized who i was when they
attacked me.  but it made it easier for me to hate them when i did
learn."

"so, in a way they were right."

pol took the rod into his hands and stared at it.

"i can't deny it," he said, finally.  "but i didn't' follow through on
it.  i've harmed none of them."

"yet," she said.

he turned onto his side and glared at her, the covers slipping from his
shoulder.

"what do you mean 'yet'?  if i'd been that serious about it, it would
have been my first order of business."

"but you still dislike them."

"wouldn't you, in my position?  so far as i'm concerned, they're not
very likable people.  and if they'd handled mark a little differently,
they probably wouldn't have him on their backs."

"they are quick to react to the unknown.  theirs is a settled way of
life--traditional, slow to change.  they saw both of you as threats to
it and acted immediately to preserve it."

"okay.  i can see that.  but i can understand something without liking
it.  i've called off the feud i almost declared on them.  that should be
enough."

"only because you've got a bigger one on your hands. you know that if
you don't destroy mark he's going to destroy you."

"i have to operate under that assumption.  he's given me every
indication.  the time is past for trying to talk with him."

she was silent for a long while.

"so why aren't you like the others?" he asked.  "you were a friend of
his and now you're hanging around with a dark sorcerer helping me, in
fact."

she remained silent.  then he realized that she was crying softly.

"what is it?" he said.

"i'm a pawn," she answered in a low voice.  "i'm the reason you got
involved--you were trying to help me."

"well--yes.  but sooner or later mark and i would have met, and the
results would probably have been the same."

"i'm not so sure," she said.  "he might have been more inclined to
listen to you if it hadn't been for me.  but he was jealous.  you might
have become friends--you have much in common.  if you had--think what an
aliianco that might have been--a sorcerer and a master of the old cience
oth'out for revenge on my homeland.  now that cannot b, and the wheels
are turning to bring you into a struggle to the death, supposing i
really hated you both?  it wouldn't make a bit of difference--now."

"do you?" he asked.

"...  and i'd be damned if i'd tell you."

"you wouldn't have to sleep with me.  once those wheels are in motion a
roll in the hay wouldn't alter them."

"it might make the winner more disposed to leave us alone, out of a
certain fondness."

"and telling him about it might have just the opposite effect."

"it's a good thing i'm talking principles and not cases. she replied,
touching his shoulder again.  "as i said, i do feel like a pawn, though,
and you wanted to know why.  as for your last question, i was answering
it as things could be, not informing you.  it was the wrong question,
anyhow."

"you're too tough to be a pawn," he said, "and you know who the only
woman on the board is.  and we can sleep with a sword between us if you
want."

"it is not cold steel that i want," she said, nearer.

he saw a pale blue strand drifting by, but he ignored it. everything
shouldn't be gimmicked, he thought.

it?

he heard the voices again, in that place where he drifted between sleep
and wakefulness.

"mouseglove, mouseglove, mouseglove .  .  ."

yes.  it was not the first time he had heard them--weak yet insistent,
calling to him--and on awakening he always forgot the small chorus.  but
this time there seemed more strength to the calls, almost as if he might
come away with the memory, this time...

"mouseglove!"

he began to remember his circumstances, sprawled the secret apartment
atop anvil mountain, unwilling guest of mark marakson, a.k.a.  dan
chain, taboo-breaking engi necr from the east village.  he was trying to
find a way out, past the man's gnome-like legions and electronic spies,
trying to learn to fly one of the small cra small, yes, not like the
battle-wagons with the six-man crews, two cannons and a rack of bombs he
had seen take off earlier, sailing in every which direction across the
sky, rotors whirling, wings tilting all about them--small, just right
for himself and the jewelled figurines which would make him his fortune
...

"mouseglovei"

he was moved a jot and two tittles nearer awakening yet still the
chirping cries came to him.  it was almost as if...

he tried.  suddenly, somewhere inside himself, he answered.

"yes?"

"we bring warning."

"who are you?"

immediately, his dreamsight began to function.  he seemed to stand at
the center of a 1ow-ceilinged room, illuminated by seven enormous
candles.  a figure, human in outline, stood behind each of them.  the
flames obscured the faces, and no matter how he turned or stared,
nothing'more of them was revealed to him.

"you sleep with the figures beneath your head," said the one at the
extreme left--a woman's voicedand immediately he knew.

four men, two women and one of uncertain gender, out of red metal,
studded in peculiar places with jewels of many colors .  .  .  somehow,
they addressed him now:

"we gained power when the triangle of int was unbalanced by the heir of
rondoval," said the second figure-- a mrn.

"we are the spirits of sorcerers vanquished by der and bound to his
statuettes," said the third---a tall man.

"we exist now mainly to serve him or his successor," said the fourtha
woman with a beautiful soprano voice.

"we see futurea and their likelihoods," said the fffth--a gruff-voiced
man.

"we have c-me into your possession for a reason," said the sixth---of
uncertain gender.

" for we can to some extent influence

finilei the man on the right--the seventh.

"what is your warning?" asked mouseglove.  "what

you want?"

"we see a great wave about to break upon this

said the first.

"...  at this place," said the second.

"soon," said the third.

"...  to settle the future of this world for some time

come," said the fourth.

"pol must be protected," said the fifth.

".  ..  at this point of the triangle," said the sixth.

a map was lying before him on the floor.  it was

a part of the floor, he now realized, cunningly inscribed.

seemed that it had been there all along, as he looked, spot grew light
upon it.

"steal maps, steal weapons, take mark's flier and go

that place," said the seventh.

"take mark's flier?" he asked.

"it is the fastest and is capable of the greatest ran

said the first.

"pol isn't a bad guy," mouseglove said, "and i wish

no ill, but my intention is to get as far away from him

mark as soon as i can, as fast as i can."

"your willing cooperation would make things easier,"

the second.

"...  but it is not absolutely necessary," said the

"...  as our power rises," said the fourth.

"i've never had booty talk back to me before,"

replied, "except for a parrot, when i was a lad.

doesn't count.  you're asking too much.  i've 1od a

ous life, but this was to be my last big risk.  you are

.retiremen, t, security.  i want nothing to do with your

mg wave.

"fool," said the fifth.

"...  to think you have a choice," said the sixth.

"you have walked a charmed line since the day

entered rondoval," said the seventh.

"we had a part in everything that brought you to

point," said the first.

"even our theft," said the second.

mouseglove chuckled.

"if i have no choice, then why do you request my cooperation?" he asked.
"no.  perhaps i was manipulated up to this point.  now, though, i think
you need my help and your power has not risen sufficiently to insure it.
i'll take my chances.  the answer is no."

silence followed.  he felt himself the object of intense scrutiny.

then, "you are shrewd," said the third, "but incorrect. the answer is
merely that it would be easier for us with your cooperation.  we could
devote our energies to other matters than your coercion."

"we can see that you are suitably rewarded," said the fourth.

"rewards are of no benefit to a dead man," he stated. "no deal."

"you will not like what mark does to this world," said the fifth.

"i've never been totally happy with it the way that it is," he replied.
"but i get by."

"for your own protection then, learn to use the grenades. they practice
with them on the southern rim," said the sixth, neutral-voiced.

"...  and get the' maps," said the seventh.

"that much i intended anyway," mouseglove answered. "but i am not going
to the place you showed me and do any fighting there."

the candles flickered, the room expanded toward nothingness and his
consciousness faded.  the last thing that he heard was the sound of
their voices, laughing.

three flying boats approached castle rondoval cautiously, guns loaded
and swiveling in pace with the vessels' circling movements.  as the
circles diminished, the first battle-wagon discharged a shot across the
battlements.  at this point, all three were poised to withdraw and
regroup in the face of a severe reaction.  nothing however, followed.

the circling continued for the better part of an hour, though no more
shots were fired.  finally, the vessels very close, very low now--broke
formation to drift about among the still-standing towers, to hover while
their pants peered through windows and damage gaps in walls.  slowly,
then, one of the three floated to a landing the main courtyard.  none of
its occupants emer immediately, and the other two ships moved above guns
ready.  a quarter of an hour passed, and stirred but the leaves on the
trees and a lizard on the at last, a large hatch at the rear fell open
and five figures emerged, weapons held ready, to rush for cover five
different directions, dropping to earth and ' '

motionless as soon as it was achieved.  after several minutes, they rose
and began to move, entering the castle.

it was over an hour before they emerged, more casual, their weapons
slung.  their leader to the other two vessels, which immediately began
descend.  when they were down, five more emerged from each of them.

the fifteen men stood about, conferring on the ing's layout.  at last,
they returned to the vessels to brin forth heavier weapons for
emplacement inside.

later that afternoon, when rondoval had been one of the vessels
departed, leaving behind a dozen one on permanent duty in each of the
remaining ships, th other ten set to patrol the castle.

the departing battle-wagon spiraled outward, movin more rapidly than on
its inward journey, ship's sweeping the rocky heights and, finally, the
forested of the vicinity.  still, it was nearly an hour before a group
of centaurs was detected in a distant glade.

the sky boat dropped immediately to level, out of line of sight of the
creatures.  it into the first clear area it reached, where its engines
and its hatch opened.  the five infantrymen moving away into the trees,
the pilot remaining behini with the vessel.

they passed slowly and silently through the forest, ing spent basically
predatory existences before their ent level of culture had been thrust
upon them.  now fanned, like a well-organized hunting team, moving
surround their prey.  as they neared the glade, munieated entirely by a
kind of sign language, passing from man to man about the circle they
formed. taking up their positions, they studied the disposition of the
eight centaurs in the area and commenced a rapid and elaborate sign
discussion as to target assignments.  then they raised their weapons.

the signal was then passed, and each of the five fired one round.  five
centaurs jerked and bled.  two fell immediately. none of the riflemen
paused to reload his single-shot weapon.  instead, they rushed forward
to use the butts as clubs, only two finally drawing the blades they wore
at their sides.  there were only a few cries from the centaurs, but the
smells of sweat and urine were suddenly strong upon the' air.

one of the wounded ones rose unexpectedly, crushing an attacker's skull
with her forehoofs.  she was beaten down along with the three unwounded.
the lightest of the uninjured had his legs bound together and hands tied
behind him.  three of the remaining attackers slung their weapons moved
to transport him, the fourth reloading and them.

they bore their burden back through the woods, eneoun-no resistance.
they entered and secured the vessel. thereafter, the rotors became
shimmering blurs and the ship rose slowly, took its course and drifted
southward, acquiring altitude, its speed slowly mounting as it passed
above the deepening forest.

moonbird flew above the dark, convoluted patterning---a large, flat
design within the field of rock--at the other end of the long island
from the city and its ports.  shadows cast by the morning's sun broke
the scheme in numerous places, and the entire prospect caused a swimming
effect whenever one stared for too long.  pol gestured as if to
interrupt his vision, for countless dark strands now drifted from it,
further blurring, confusing the image.

some power lies there, beneath the ground, moonbird remarked.  this is
the place?

yes.

pol scanned the skies carefully, then looked down once again.  there was
one break, at the pattern's northern edge, where the strands billowed
like an inkpot dropped into an aquarium.

take us clown at that far end, where the stand of trees comes in like a
spear point, nearest to the thing.

moonbird slowed and began his descent.  pol strained forward, studying
the terrain.  soon, he saw that the marked area was an elaborate,
monolithic construction, the dark lines representing a continuous
overhead opening presumably running the entire length of many
interconnected interior corridors for purposes of some small
illumination. the structure itself stood perhaps twice his height above
ground level.  as they slowed to land, pol saw the single pale jade
strand he sought among the masses of sable and ochre lines.  a faint
bellowing noise reached his ears from some undeterminable point.

as he touched the ground, moonbird asked:

play me one more song.

do you fear that you will never hear one again? humor an old sauroid
servitor.  dragons have their reason8.

very well.

po] uncased his guitar, not even bothering to dismount. "what are you
doing?" nora inquired.

"request performance,!" he answered, and he began a long, slow,
nostalgic ballad.

thank you, moonbird replied, when it was finally concluded. that was
soothing, and you reminded me of a story that a griffin once told mei'm
afraid that i do not have the time to hear it now. more of those metal
birds with bombs could- did you notice anything special as you sang?

no.  what do you mean?

the bellowing sounds.  they stopped.

pol climbed down and assisted nora in alighting.  he patted moonbird's
neck.

thanks.

"how to you intend to approach this one?" nora asked. "the same way as .
.  ."

she had barely noticed the twirling motion of pol's left hand, two
fingers extended, slightly bent.  as they moved near to her face, it
felt as if a black bandage were sliding across her eyes ...

pol caught her as she slumped, bearing her to a spot beneath the
branches of the nearby trees, largely sheltered from overhead view.

guard her while i'm inside, he told moonbird.  if more of those things
show up, it would be better if {tou stay hidden here for so long as {tou
are undetected.

i can break them.

but then nora will be unprotected..  no.  onl{t fght if tou are
discovered.

moonbird snorted and drops of spittle fell upon the ground and began to
smolder.

very well.  i can at least listen to the music.

pol turned away and approached the high, wide entrance. a snuffling,
growling sound commenced somewhere within--distant or near, he could not
be certain.  it shifted about him, moving, growing, diminishing.

the corridor he had entered ended abruptly several paces before him.
there was a lower, narrower opening to his right and the strand led
directly into it.

he halted and hung the guitar by its strap.  he began to play, a slow,
lullaby-like tune, into which he poured a wrist-throbbing desire to
calm, to charm any listener.  several strands drifted near and he caught
them on the neck of the instrument and saw them grow taut and begin to
pulse in time with the music.

slowly, he turned, still playing, and entered the opening. he found
himself in a dim passageway, a narrow band of sky visible high above
him, running like a blue brook to separate into several tributaries at a
place where a number of corridors met.  he stood still for a time,
strumming and humming, letting his eyes adjust to the lesser light.  he
realized then that the snorts and snufflings had ceased, though there
was now a sound of heavy breathing all about him.

he moved forward, following the pale green strand.  he turned right when
it did, and left and immediately left again.  two more paces bore him
into a circular chamber, ten equidistant doorways in its walls,
including the one from which he had just emerged.

his strand led through the one to the immediate right, though another
section of it crossed the chamber, stretched between two other doors. he
ignored this and followed it to the right.

there came a series of left-right, left-right, then left-left,
right-right turns which left him dizzy.  he paused to regain control of
his music.  the sounds of breathing still came heavily about him,
filling all the passageways, accompanied now by a strong barnyard odor.
a tiny bit of cloud drifted across the blue band above him.  switching
to another tune--still languid, dreamlike--he continued on.

after a time, he entered a circular chamber with ten doors, following
the strand across it.  he felt that it was the same one through which he
had passed earlier, because of a familiar pattern of cracks in the wall,
but there was no trace of the green strand passing between the adjacent
doors across the way.

then, looking behind him, he realized that the jade strand was shrinking
or being gathered before him as he progressed.  it was then that it
occurred to him that while the force within the object he sought made it
easy to describe a spell that would lead him to it, finding his way back
out again might be a little more difficult without such a goal.

he ducked and squatted as he traversed a low passage---hell of a place
to get caught!--and turned sideways as he negotiated a narrow one.  he
then entered upon a fresh series of turns, most of them doubling back
upon themselves.

how long?  he wondered.  surely i don't have to go through the entire
thing ...

shortly thereafter, he realized that the breathing sounds had grown
louder.  and it was not long after that that he entered the long, low
hall where the minotaur paced ...

mouseglove leaned forward again.  the light in mark's penthouse had been
out for the better part of an hour, yet he had learned by observation
that the sometime flashing device which had replaced the man's left eye
was capable of very effective night-vision.  he was.also aware of mark's
restless disposition, of his inclination to pace within his quarters, to
burst suddenly forth and embark upon surprise inspections of his
installations, his factories, the barracks, his laboratories, his
fields.

is it better to assume that sleep has claimed him?  he wondered.  he's
had a busy day.  still, he's so full of nervous energy...  he could come
out at any time.  once he's off and running again, it would be easy ...

more maps than he really needed were folded in the various pockets of
his cloak.  the package containing the seven figurines was there, also.
the grenades--about which he felt even more uncomfortable, having
earlier witnessed their power--hung from his belt, along with one of his
daggers.  he carried a parcel containing food and a pistol he had
stolen.

he leaned back behind the duct again and breathed more deeply of the
chill and smoky night air.  the longer he waited, of course, the greater
the risk of discovery by one of the gnomes or machines.  he was certain
that he had spotted all of the stationary alarm devices, yet there were
mobile units.

still, he realized that he could not enter the flier and secure it about
him without making some noise.  even if mark were already sleeping, it
would be well to let him drift further along into oblivion.

he looked up at the stars.  the moon had not risen. good for stealth.
less good for one's first flight.  he touched each grenade.  he checked
his supplies, he had no intention of being captured.  especially after
having seen what they had done to that centaur they had brought in
earlier. and he was convinced that the poor brute had not even
understood what it was that they wanted to know.

patience had long been a way of life with mouseglove. he commenced
massaging major muscles, pausing periodically to listen, to peer about
him.

over an hour went by.

time, he decided.  the belly of the night.  two hundred paces now.  slow
and steady.  patron of thieves, be with it was time to think of nothing,
to be an eye, to be an ear, to breathe just so, to feel vibrations.  the
hatch would have to be on the side facing mark's door ...

twenty more paces, ten .  .  .  what are they burning in those
factories, anyway?  it bites the nose...

he circled the vehicle twice, seeking alarms.  finally, he extended his
hand, touched the smooth, cold body of the ship...

now, little man, there is no retreat, he told himself. he cracked the
hatch, drawing slowly and steadily upon it.  silently, it came open.  a
moment later, he was inside, scanning the rooftop, seeking the hatch's
interior handle. there would be an unavoidable noise in closing it.  he
located the handle and pulled downward upon it until it was only opened
a crack ...

no!

the door to mark's apartment banged open and the man himself emerged.
mouseglove's fingers outlined and dug for the pistol within his parcel
on the seat beside him. there was not time in which he might take off,
no way in which he could flee.

yet, mark did.  not immediately advance.  he stood with his thumbs
hooked behind his belt, studying the sky, the roof.  could it be that it
was only the man's insomnia which had brought him outside?

mouseglove realized that he was holding his breath.  he let it out
slowly and took the pistol onto his lap.  his left arm was beginning to
tremble, from holding the door nearly closed against the tension of its
spring.

� .  .  and don't let it rattle, he appended to his latest prayer.

he located the trigger and raised the pistol.  abruptly, mark buttoned
his jacket and closed the door behind him. he began walking across the
terrace.

i'd shoot him.  right now.  if i could be sure of getting him.  but i've
never used one of these things.  and already my grip is slippery upon
it.  i'd take the chance with a crossbow, if i had one.  if this door
were shut and the window down .  .  .  if...

mark passed within five meters, without even glancing at the flier.
mouseglove, deep within his cowl, crouched, arm aching, watched him go.

it was another ten minutes before he dared to slam the hatch and turn
his attention to the controls.

pol did not permit the music to falter� the manwbeast's eyes had passed
over him several times as it moved slowly back and forth along the hall.
it was well over two meters tall, with dark, curved horns.  the room
stank.  pol wondered what sort of teeth the creature possessed, with the
head of a herbivore and the reputation he was still fresh on from his
recent readings� he decided that he was willing to leave the question to
sorcerers of a more academic bent.  he turned his full attention to his
playing.

only his hands moved� he imagined that he plucked strands extending from
the instrument to the horns of the beast.  the force that grew within
his wrist seemed to flow out through his fingertips, into the guitar,
across the distance that lay between them.

...  rest.  a nervous life such as yours requires some interlude of
peace, he sent within the song.  not merely sleep, but the deep,
muscle-easing joy of total rest that is almost pain, it is so sweet ...

the minotaur slowed even more, finally coming to a standstill beside the
wall.  even its awful breathing slowed.

� .  .  forget, forget the moment.  the dream-sights dance already
behind eyes that would close.  approach the cloud-strewn border of the
land where visions dwell.  they beckon ...

the minotaur put out his right hand and leaned upon the wall.  his head
nodded.  he snorted softly, once.

� .  go, go o that place.  there, skie towers caressed by cool breezes
make sweet the forgetting--and in fields of flowing green you wander.
delight spills across your body like a gentle rain.  you bathe in the
pools of healing.  bright colors fill your vision.  there comes a song
that brings you peace ...

the creature knelt, lowered himself to the floor.  his eyes closed.

pol continued to play for a long while.  there was little expression
upon that sleeping face, other than a certain slackness.  and the
minotaur's breathing had grown much slower and quieter� for the first
time, pol dared to look away from him, to trace with his eyes the path
of strand he had followed.

the green line led to a niche, high in the wall at end of the room.
there were several clusterings of darker strands about it, but these
were far less than those he had encountered beneath the apparently east
where they were mainly for protecting the faintly glowing cylinder from
the minotaur himself.

pol moved quietly across the stone floor in that tion, his hands
antomatieally continuing the studied the knottings of the spells.  there
were them, any one of which might have stopped the or an ordinary man.
yet, their undoing should competent sorcerer no more than- he glanced
back at the sleeping creature as he that he would have to stop playing
in order to unwind spells.

he reduced the tempo and strummed more softly.

� .  .  sleep, sleep, sleep...

he stopped and lowered the instrument.  his left twisted forward.  when
the first spell was undone, glanced back and saw that the beast still
slumbered.

as he worked on the second one, he heard a behind him, but at that
moment he could not look finally, it fell apart beneath his hands and he
quickly, strands dispersing all about him.

the minotaur had only turned in its sleep.

he returned to the consideration of the final spell was no more
difficult than the others.  but he could rush its untwining for the
proper pace was as matter of necessity as the appropriate movements. his
hand darted, hooked and twisted.  these last strands colder than the
others and, correspondingly, greater feeling of heat when they were at
last undone. again, pol looked back.

the minotaur's eyes were open and staring at him. who are you? a singer.

what do you want here?

a mere bauble.

the thing in the niche?  it bites.  take care.

i shall.  you do not mind that i take it?

why should i?  it is nothing to me.  where have i been? dreaming.

i had ndver been there before.  there were bright things i'd never seen
...

colors?

perhaps.  everything was good.  like never before.  i want to go there
again.

that can be arranged.

i want to dwell there forever.

close your eyes then, and listen to the music. the minotaur closed his
eyes. bring this music and send me away ...

pol began to play, recovering all the visions which had come to him
earlier.  as he did, his eyes passed over the second section of the rod
in its niche-longer, narrower than the first segment, bearing a scene of
animals and men and woodland spirits, free of strife, dancifig, eating,
loving...

he struck the strings, reached out, seized the rod-section and fitted it
into the first at his belt.  then he resumed playing as the minotaur
still drowsed.  he felt the increased warmth, the mightily enhanced
sense of power that now twisted about the rod.  as he played, he called
upon it for a new usage and he felt that power move warmly through his
abdomen, down his arm, into the guitar, to be joined with the music
itself.

.  .  across the.fields, where there is no strife, no hunger, no pain,
where no one is a monster, where the light is soft, where the birds call
and the brooks burble, where twilight comes on bringing stars like
swarms of.fireflies--to dwell there forever, never to awaken, never to
depart--sleep, bull-man, in the peace you have never known--always,
ever...

pol turned away from the sleeper.  he touched his wrist to the new
section of the rod.  somewhere, buried in his unconscious, it seemed
that there should be a record of every step, evei'y turning he had taken
on the way in. therefore- the dragon-image rose like a phoenix glowing
above his wrist.  surely, it should be able to reach those memories.

go/he commanded.  i follow!

it darted away from him, to depart the hall from doorway nearest the
niche, rather than the one which he had entered.

he hesitated only a moment, then followed, smiling. much for theory.  he
took it as a message that the his special sense reached and manipulated
were not to categorized in so facile a manner.

as he took his first turn beyond the doorway, he final glimpse of the
sleeping minotaur, over his der.  he saw the knot of his own spell
drifting above prostrate form, like a giant, yellow butterfly.

mouseglove's relief was immense as the highest tower and soared out,
away from anvil mountain. already, the lights of its city were small
beneath him, he was surprised to be taken by a sensation of viewed as he
looked upon it.  turning away, he to direct the vessel up past the
regions where the bird-things wove their interminable patterns.  so far,
was no indication of pursuit.  he pushed the ship to ultimate speed and
held it there until the mountain only a dim outline behind him.  at
last, this, too, only the stars gave him light.

then he relaxed, unclasping his cloak and over the back of his seat.  he
sighed and rubbed and ran his fingers through his hair.  agreat tension
draining away, and the beginnings of delight in the flying under his own
control came over him.

soon .  .  .  at this speed, he would be in dibna morning.  that would
provide ample time for hid! vessel and walking into town.  in a day's
time, he sh able to locate a buyer or a middle-man for the disposition
the figurines.  unless, of course, the men who had missioned their theft
were still alive, still wanted them. either way .  .  .  a few days
more, possibly, to tie up deal.  then, his purse full of coins, he would
treat him to a bit of revelry.  after that, use the flying machine
travel to another town where no one would know of transaction.  in fact,
it might be best to do that before celebrating. then find a place to
settle down.  a villa on a hillside, with a view of the sea.  a cook, a
manservant, a gardener--it would be pleasant to have a gardenmand a few
assorted slave girls ...

he turned the control wheel slowly to the right.  more, more .  .  .
southeast, south .  .  .  he began to wonder why he was doing it.  this
was no longer the way to dibna.  he struggled to halt the motion, but
his hands continued to move the control.  southwest ...  he was almost
completely turned around.  it would simply have to be corrected. only...

his hands refused to obey, to turn him back.  it was as if the will of
another now directed his actions.  he fought against it, but to no
avail.  he was now headed in almost exactly the one direction that he
did not wish to go.  as he watched himself being directed, the entire
sequence of his actions took on a dreamlike quality, as though he
himself were being forced further and further into the background, as
though .  .  .

dreamlike.  for a moment, the tiny control lights swam before him,
rearranging themselves into seven flickering forms.  the full memory of
his dream crashed down upon him then, with a feeling that somewhere the
last laughter continued.

he had a strong premonition that he was saying goodbye to his villa.

pol's first impulse on reaching the labyrinth's exit was to rush out
through it.  instead, he halted just within the doorway.  something--he
was not certain what--was amiss. it was as if he had been granted such a
brief glimpse of a danger that he could not name it, could only be aware
of its existence.  had something moved?

he wondered, looking out to the place where moonbird watched a sleeping
nora.  he took the rod into his hands and tried to reeall elaborate
spells from the books he had read in his father's collection. everything
seemed to be all right, yet...

a slow-moving shadow slid across the ground before him, twisting itself
over every irregularity.  still, it was easy for him, coming from the
world that recognize the outhne as that of a flying larger than the dark
birds, if the sound whiel his ears were any indication of its nearness.

there was a partial spell he had studied, the complete version of the
same thing.  it considerable energy, but then, he need no solely with
his hands upon the fabric of reality.

he raised the rod and began moving it catching and swirling large
quantities of the every color.  as the shadow receded, the clot grew
before him, assuming a disc-like shape. drained from it as it spun and
increased in at length, it was a shimmering shield larger objects beyond
it rippled and swam and the steadily, silently within his grip.

now.  he took a step forward and the shield similar distance.  its size
seemed sufficient for and he slowed the swirling movement to restrict to
maintain it at its present size.

the shadow had passed away to his left, and the rod in that direction
and tilted it upward.  i another step and scanned the sky carefully.
complete spell, which rendered its caster hie, the partial spell he had
been able to only a flat screen, capable of blocking single direction.

another step, and he caught sight of the swinging away, farther to the
left.  turning adjusted the shield and began walking toward he were to
remain stationary, there was a way arm.  as it was...

he crossed the cleared area, turning to follow ment of the vessel, like
some after an anti-sun, distorting the light that fell finally he was
walking backward when he trees.

standing now before the tree of the girl he spun the shield larger,
watching the the circling battle-wagon through the upper rant of the
screen.

he reached out and touched moonbird.

i am going to awaken her now, he indicated.  when i do, we are going to
retreat within the wood."

and not fight?

we might not have to.

i could barf it to ruin .  .  .

not if it gets you first.  trust me.

he turned to nora and began releasing her from the sleep-spell,
reflecting on how much simpler things would have been with the minotaur
had he been able to do it at other than close range.  nora stirred,
looked at him.

"i've been asleep!  you did it to me!  i---"

"shh!" he cautioned.  "they're up there!" he gestured with his head.
"sounds carry in a quiet place like this. save it for later.  i've got
the second piece.  now we have to get off into the trees.  we're
invisible from just this one side."

she got to her feet and stood stiffly erecc

"it was not a nice trick," she said, "and you won't catch me that way
again."

"i'll bear that in mind," he stated.  "now let's head back that way."

she glanced at the ship in the sky, nodded and turned. moonbird shifted
his great bulk and edged slowly after her.

as he retreated, pol slowed the swirling motion, withdrew his energies,
released the spell.  the trees covered them adequately now.  it seemed
that they had escaped from immediate danger.

pol seated himself beneath a tree, hands clasped under his chin.

"what now?" nora finally asked him.

"i am wondering whether i might be able to bring that thing down, as i
did that lesser one at the pyramid.  now that i have two of the sections
together, it seems possible."

"it sounds worth trying."

"i am going to wait until its course brings it nearer. distance does
seem to be a factor."

for over a quarter of an hour, he watched the vessel, attaching strand
after gray metallic strand to the rod that he held.  finally, when the
ship swept by them again, felt ready.

he raised the instrument and stared past r

gaps among the branches, amid the leaves, grow taut, imagined that he
could hear them singing as caressed by some cosmic wind.  the rod grew
warm hand as he felt the energies flow forth.

for a time, nothing seemed to happen.  then they heard a cough and a
rattle, fellowed by a sputtering noise.  two of the ship's rotors began
to slow.  it listed to starboard as a third prope]lor went out.
immediately, it began to descend, and pol guessed that this was an
action of the pfiot's in trying to avoid a crash, rather than an
indication that it might not remain airborne a while longer.  his
knuckles grew white as he grippe,'d the rod, willing more force into his
spell.  more rattling and coughing noises came from the sinking vessel.
a thin wisp of smoke arose from beneath the cowling at its forward end.
two more rotors halted, but by now it was only fiteen or twenty meters
above the ground, near to the western perimeter of the labyrinth.

it dropped only a short distance, moments later, and a hatch at its rear
fell open.  three men hurried out and another followed more slowly,
coughing.  pol saw a darting of flames within and more moving forms
beating at and attempting to smother them.  he lowered the rod and
extended his hand to nora.

"let's get out of here," he said.  "i've burned out several engines.
they won't be able to follow."

they clambered up onto moonbird's back. now/hurry!  take us await! we
can finish them off first.

they are helpless now.  get us aloft!

moonbird began a waddling run beneath the trees, fanning the air with
his wings.  when he broke into the cleared area, he lifted above the
ground.  a cry came up from somewhere to the right.

pol saw the three men-who had fled the smoldering battle-wagon.  they
were kneeling and had raised their weapons.  white puffs emerged from
the muzzles, and he immediately felt a burning pain in the back of his
neck and slumped across moonbird's shoulder.  he heard nora cry out and
felt her catching at his shirt, his belt.  his head swirled through dark
places, but he did not immediately lose consciousness.  a distant
booming sound came to his ears.  his neck was wet.

we should have finished them first .  .  .  moonbird was saying.

nora was talking as she did something behind him, but he could not hear
the words.

then his eyes closed and everything diminished.

when the world came back, her hand was on his neck, holding a cold
compress in place.  he smelled the sea.  he felt the play of muscles
beneath the scales against which his cheek was pressed.  moonbird
smelled a bit like old leather, gunpowder and lemon juice, he suddenly
realized. somehow the thought struck him as funny and he chuckled.

"you're awake?" said nora.

"yes.  how serious is it?"

"it looks as if someone laid a hot poker across your neck and held it
there for a time."

"that's about how it feels, too.  what's on it?"

"a piece of cloth i soaked in water."

"thanks.  it helps."

"do you know a spell to heal it?"

"not offhand.  but i may be able to think of something. tell me first
what happened, though."

"you were hit by something.  i think it might have come from one of
those smoking sticks the men were pointing."

"yes, it did.  but what was the crashing noise?  did their ship
explode?"

"no.  it had larger--things--like those pointed by the men.  these
turned to follow us, then they began smoking and making the noise.
several things seemed to explode near us.  then it stopped."

pol propped himself and looked back.  it hurt to turn his head.  the
island was already receding in the distance, its outline vaguely misted.
he looked down at the sea, up toward the sun.

moonbird, are you all right?

yes.  and you?

i'll be okay.  but we seem to be heading northwest, rather than
southwest.  maybe i'm wrong, though.  you are the expert.

you are not wrong.

"let me tie that in place for you."

"go ahead."

why?  what is the matter?

the place you wish to visit next--it lies a great distance from here,
many day's travel.

yes, i know.  that is why it is important that we follow the route i
have laid out.  many island stopovers will be necessa.

not really.  maps mean less to me than my feelings.  1 realized recently
there is a shortcut.

how can that be?  the shortest distance between two points is a---a
great circle segment.

i will take us the way of the dragons.

the way of the dragons?  what do you mean i have been that way before.
between some places there are special routes.  holes in the air, we call
them.  they move about, slowly.  the closest one to a place near where
you would go now lies in this direction.

holes in the air?  what are they like?

uncomfortable.  but i know the way.

anything that is uncomfortdble to a dragon might prove fatal to anyone
else.

i have borne your father through them. they are much faster? yes.

all right.  go ahead.

how far is it?

!  may get us there by evening.

is there a place before that where we can stop for' repairs?

several.

good.

the sun hung low and red before them.  to the right, a fuzzy line of
coast darkened the horizon like a rough brush stroke.  mounds and
streamers of pink and orange clouds filled the sky to the left and
ahead.  moonbird was climbing and the wind seemed to grow colder with
each beat of his wings.  pol stared upward and rubbed his eyes, for his
vision had suddenly blurred.

the blur remained.  he moved his head and it stayed in the same place.

moonbird.  .  .  ?

yes, we are nearing it.  it will be soon now.

is there anything special that we should do?

do not let go.  mind your possessions.  i cannot help you if we becdme
separated.

the wrinkle in the sky had grown larger as they climbed, reminding pol
of the invisibility shield viewed from the user's side.  they reached
its altitude and passed it.  looking down upon it, he saw it to be
silvery, shining and opaque, like a pool of mercury, touched fainfly
pink by the receding sun.  it achieved an even more substantial
appearance as they rose higher above it.

why have we passed it?

it must be entered from the bright side.

"we are going to dive through that?" nora asked. "yes."

pol touched the back o� his neck and elt only a moderate ache.  already,
the healing spell he had concocted seemed to be working--or at least
killing the pain.  nora squeezed his shoulder.

"i'm ready."

he patted her hand as mo0nbird achieved a position above the circle and
began to slow.

"hang on."

they began to drop.  moonbird's wings beat again, driving them faster.

it is not solid, pol told himself without conviction, as the shining
thing grew before them, suddenly, they were past it, and there was no up
or down, only forward. right and left would not stay put, for they
seemed to be swirling, spiraling about a light-streaked vortex while a
continuously rising scream pierced their ears.  pol bit his lip and
clung tightly to moonbird's neck. nora was hugging him so hard that it
hurt.  he tried closing his eyes, but that worsened things, making his
rising vertigo near to unbearable.  there did seem to be a bit of
brightness far, far ahead.  his stomach wrenched, and whatever emerged
was mercifully whipped away. moonbird began expelling flames which fled
back past them like glowing spears.  the wailing had now reached at
least partially into the ultrasonic.  if he stared too long at the
smears of light they seemed on the verge of becoming grotesque,
open-mouthed faces.  the one steady patch of brightness seemed no
nearer.

are all of the shortcuts like this?  pol asked.

no.  we're lucky, moonbird replied.  there are some bad ones.

eyes aching, shoulders sore from the long flight, mouseglove circled the
tumbling stone structure, saw no sign of other visitors and was about to
land nearby.  his hands jerked, however, swinging the vessel out over
the jungle until a cleared area came into sight.  his sigh was voluntary
as he brought the small ship down for a landing, but when he attempted
to utter a choice from his amazing collection of curses, he discovered
that his tongue would not respond.

you could at least let me rest, he mentally addressed his unseen
manipulators.  whatever it is that you want of me, you will get a better
performance if i am not exhausted.

we regret the inconvenience, came their first communication since his
dream on anvil mountain, accompanied briefly by a peculiar doubling of
vision, as if the scene about him were momentarily overlaid by the image
of a flickering taper, a dark presence moving near it.  but there is no
choice.  you overtook the other vessels during the night.  we gave you a
different course, and yours is a faster ship.  but your lead is not that
great.  there is no time to rest.  take the wide, flat blade from the
sheath on the door.  go outside.  cut branches, fronds.  conceal this
vessel.

he felt free�ree to comply.  he did not. but-he was seized once again.
he felt himself begin to rise, springing the hatch, taking the blade
into his hand.  there were no replies to his next inquiries.

the great-leaved plants were easy to cut.  it did not take him long to
cover the small ship.  then he opened a compartment toward the vessel's
rear, to strip it, clean it and snap auxiliary fuel cubes into its
chambers.  the thought of this situation had troubled him during a more
alert moment.  there was no way the sunlight converters could do the
entire job required for the return trip, even if his unwilling hands had
not covered over their panels with leaves.

when he had finished the work he stood still for a moment, breathing the
warm moist air, listening to the morning calls of the bright parrots,
wondering whether he would now be permitted a brief rest.  almost as he
thought it, however, his feet began to move, bearing him in what he
believed to be the direction of the stone structure with the grotesque
carvings.  he swung the blade as he went, widening the trail.  after
only a few paces, he was drenched will perspiration.  insects buzzed
about him, and the most maddening part of the entire experience was his
inability to brush them away.

at last, he staggered into the cleared area where the stepped structure
stood, stylized stone beasts projecting from its vine-covered walls,
grinning past him.

i must rest, he tried.  in the shade.  please! there is absolutely no
time, came the reply, with another flickering image.  you must go around
to the other side of the building and enter there.

he felt himself beginning to move again.  he wanted to cry out, but this
was still denied him.  he moved faster and faster, barely aware of where
he stepped, yet somehow he did not stumble.

he was halted again, before the weed-clogged, vine-hung doorway.  then
the blade flashed forward and he began clearing it.

soon he was through the opening and rushing along a corridor.  his eyes
had not yet adjusted to the gloom, but whatever was in charge of him
seemed to know where he was going.

it was only when he neared the head of a wide flight of stairs that he
began to slow, finally coming to a halt to regard the scene that lay
below and before him, partly illuminated through an irregular gap in the
roof where several stone blocks had fallen--the result of an earthquake
perhaps...

at the far side of the chamber below was a low stone wall.  beyond it
was the blackness of a hole.  before it was a diminutive version of the
entire stepped building itself, complete with tiny statues and carvings.
atop this, in a crumbling orange basket, lay a narrow cylinder half the
length of a man's forearm.  it appeared to be glowing with a faint,
greenish light.  mouseglove took advantage of the respite to breathe
deeply of the moist air, to enjoy the coolness...

that, thief is the object you must steal. again, the candle; again, the
imperative. the cylinder? yes.

why bother to tell me?  you're pulling all the strings. not any longer.
we are about to release you.  your native wit and reflexes are superior
to anything we might compel you to in such matters.

suddenly, he was free.  he mopped his brow, dusted his garments and fell
to his knees, breathing heavily.  one of his reflexes kept him silent,
if this were indeed to be a piece of work.  mentally, he framed his most
immediate question:

what is so difficult about descending these stairs, crossing the room
and picking that thing up? the dweller in the well. what is it?  what
can it do?

if it detects your presence it will rise up and attempt to prevent the
theft.  it is a great leathered serpent.

mouseglove began to shake.  with his cloak, he muffled the lowering of
the blade to the stone floor.  he covered his face with his hands and
rubbed his eyes, massaged his forehead.

this is so unfair!  i only work in prime form, not when i'm half-dead
with fatigue!

this time, there is no other way.

damn you!

we are wasting time.  will you do it?

have i any real choice?  if there is any justice- then be about it!

mouseglove dropped his hands and straightened.  he swung into a seated
position upon the top step and adjusted his boots.  he ran his fingers
through his hair, wiped his palms on his trousers and took up the blade.
he stood.

with a silent, sweeping movement, he took himself to the left hand side
of the stair.  turning sideways then, he began to descend a step at a
time, slowly and soundlessly.

when he reached the bottom, he stood perfectly still, listening.  was
that the slightest of rustling noises from the well?  yes.  it came
again, then ceased.  would it be better to dash forward, seize the
cylinder and run for it now?  or should he continue to rely on stealth?
how big was the creature, and how fast could it move?

as no answers were forthcoming, he took it that his guesses were as good
as his tormentors'.  he took a single step forward and paused again.
silence.  he took another. yes, the thing was definitely glowing.  it
was what pol would be after and apparently would not have time to reach.
why not?  those approaching ships of mark's...  ? probably.  so where
would that leave him, mouseglove, even if he succeeded in making off
with the bauble?  had the seven something more in mind for him?  or
would he finally be totally free, to go his own way?

another step...  nothing.  two more quick ones... a rustling, as of
scales against stone...

he controlled a shudder and stepped again, over a small heap of rubble.
the rustling continued, as if something large and coiled were unwinding
itself.

the grenade!  heave one down the well!  fall flat!  cover your head!

he did as he was told.  the grenade was in his hand, then in the air. as
he threw himself forward behind the pedestal, he caught a glimpse of an
enormous, bright, feather-crowned head rising above the low wall, of
huge unblinking eyes, dark as pits, turned in his direction, a green
excrescence, like a blazing emerald, set in the brow above them.  then
an explosion shook the building.

a large block fell from the ceiling at the corner to the left of the
stair, followed by a fall of gravel and dirt, dust particles dancing in
the light rays.  the orange basket tumbled from its rest, the rod
rolling from it.  it struck the lower step of the small pyramid, bounced
and came to rest beside mouseglove's elbow.

you've got it!  take it and run!

he looked about, discovered it, seized it, scrambled to his feet.

too late!  he replied, the rod in his left hand, the blade ' in his
right.  it's not dead!

an explosive hissing drowned the final rattlings of the stonefall.  the
orange, red and pink-bonnetted head was swaying as if disoriented, but
moving steadily in his direction, too rapidly for him to escape it.

strike at the jewel between the eyes!

he darted backward, raising the blade, knowing he would have but one
chance.

as the serpent struck, so did he.

they burst into the dawn, retching and gasping, ears ringing, pulses
pounding.  pol leaned forward and looked down at beaches running back to
a line of lush tropical growth.

down, moonbird!  we can barely hang on! moonbird dropped lower, slowing.
on the beach?

yes.  i want to bathe, to eat, to walk.

"pol, i ean'tw"

"i know.  neither can i.  just another minute." moonbird settled gently.
they slid off and lay unmoving on the sand.  after a time, pol reached
out and touched nora's hair.

"you did well," he said.

"you hung right in there, too." she patted moonbird, "good show." then,
"where are we?" she asked.

how much farther?

we will reach it before the sun stands in the high places.

good.

"we'll be there by noon," he said to nora.

after a time, they undressed and bathed in the ocean, then cleaned their
garments while moonbird hunted and ate things that squealed a lot back
among the trees. own breakfast was more silent as they watched the
dappled waves and the fire-splashed clouds.

"i would like to sleep for an awfully long time," finally said.

"we have been rather busy."

"when this is over, what are you going to do?"

"if i live," he said, "i would like to read the rest of books in my
father's library."

"and with that knowledge what?"

"i look upon it as an end, not a means.  i don't what i'll do then.  oh,
i want to rebuild rondoval, course, whether i stay or move on."

"move on?  to where?"

"i don't know.  but i once traveled a golden road went by wondrous
places.  perhaps one day i'll walk further and see more things."

"and will you be coming back if you do?"

"i think i must.  your land seems more like home to than any other place
i've ever lived."

"it's nice to have such choices," she said.

"if i live," he said.

when moonbird returned, they stretched, brushed sand and mounted,
holding hands.  the sun was and the jungle seemed greener now.  they
rose again, soon moonbird was bearing them south.

it was nearly noon when they sighted the stepped mid, approached it and
began to circle.

you may be too late, moonbird stated.

what do you mean?

among the trees there are ships like the one you on the island.

i don't see...

i see their heat.

how many are there?

i count six.

i wonder how long they have been here?  it could be ambush.

perhaps.  what should i do?

i have to have that piece an explosion shook the pyramid.

"whatre?" nora began.

go low and pass it fast.  i want a better look. moonbird circled,
positioned himself and began to fall. pol studied the jungle, still
unable to detect the vessels of which the dragon had spoken.  as they
descended, he turned his eyes toward the pyramid itself.  clumps of dirt
slid down its sides, and a minor cave-in had occurred at one point.  a
cloud of dust rose like smoke above the structure.

they passed through the dust and swept in low, regarding the pyramid and
the trees beyond it.  nothing stirred. moonbird commenced climbing once
again.

"gods!" nora shouted above the wind.  "what is it?"

a small man in dark garments had just emerged, running, from an opening
in the far side of the pyramid. moments later, a gigantic feathered head
followed him out, to rise, swaying, tongue flashing like fire or blood.
it continued to emerge, at great length, with such rapidity that the
likelihood seemed strong that it would soon fall upon the man.

moonbird!  stop!  go back!  the jade strand-- that man has the rod!

moonbird was already braking, turning, growing warmer. it is the serpent
of the well!  i have always wanted to meet him .  .  .  you must slide
off and run as soon as i strike.  take those things you would preserve.

strike?  no!  you can't!

i must.t i have waited ages for this!  it is also the onl{t way to save
the man with your thing of power.

pol struck him with his fists, but it seemed unlikely that moonbird even
felt the blows.

"get ready to jump down and run!" he cried to nora, slinging his guitar
case, grabbing at the basket of water bottles.

the serpent heard the shout and turned its head upward. moonbird landed
upon its back a moment later.  pol slipped off to the right and began
running.  a great roaring and a loud hissing rose up behind him.  he
felt a wave of heat.  he saw the giant serpent body twisting toward him.
he dodged it, looking about for nora as he moved.  she was nowhere in
sight.  but the small man with the rod had stumbled and picked himself
up again.  they sighted one another at the same time, and pol realized
that it was mouseglove.

"noral" he shouted.  "can you see her?"

mouseglove gestured toward the trees on the other side of the sealy
turmoil.  nora had apparently jumped or been thrown in the opposite
direction from pol he began circling, running toward mouseglove, well
past the place where moonbird, caught in a colorful coil, had begun to
spew smoldering liquids upon his twisting adversary.  ignition followed,
and he smelled burning feathers as he ran.  at about the same moment, he
caught sight of nora, surrounded by a large body of short, stocky men
resembling those he had seen upon anvil mountain.  several of them lay
unmoving among the grasses and nora's left shoulder was bloodied.  he
saw there were dark cords wrapped around her, and that she was being
pushed off among the trees.

at that moment, the reptilian combatants rolled toward them and they
fled.

they came together among the high growth to the east, gasping, leaning
upon vine and fungus-decked trees.

"hurryv pol said, extending his hand.  "the rod i need itl"

mouseglove passed it to him, a thin, long section, sculpted with elouds,
the moon, stars and a eelestial palaee set above them, angelic spirits
passing through the high places. pol dropped it twice before he
succeeded in fitting it into place at the end of the other sections. the
feeling of power that washed over him as he did so was immense.  it
steadied his hands as it made his head swirl.  he straightened.

"we have to go after her," he said, facing back toward the sounds of
crashing and roaring.  he pointed to the left of that place.  "we can
move faster if we return to the elearing, stay away from the fight,
skirt the jungle." mouseglove nodded and put up his hand.

"i don't think we'll succeed, but i believe that she is safe for now,
anyway."

"what do you mean?"

"i know those dwarves fairly well.  she'd be dead by now if they didn't
have orders not to kill her.  they came here in flying ships and they'll
doubtless take her back in one.  they must be to them by now."

"i thought it was me they were afterr the last piece of this rod."

"yes, but they'll avoid you rather than confront you now that you've got
it.  she was probably second choice as hostage, possibly."

"what do you mean 'possibly?""

"mark likes her himself, you know."

"yes, i know," pol said.  "fill me in later.  let's move." he raised the
rod, and a blinding flash of white light leaped from it, cutting a path
through the jungle.,without pausing, he headed forward along it.

when they came into the clearing once again, they saw that moonbird and
the feathered serpent were locked together, unmoving, pressed up against
the side of the pyramid.  the dragon was still caught within a coil, and
his teeth were now locked upon the great snake's side.  the serpent had
his fangs fixed in moonbird's left shoulder.  a portion of the pyramid
had collapsed about them.

as they turned and began to pass to their left, a sudden resumption of
activity shook the ground.  the singed serpent was thown fiat as
moonbird, wings freed, rose into the air, his shoulder still in the grip
of his dangling adversary. pol swung about and raised the rod.

no.t the word vibrated along a green strand which suddenly sprang up
between moonbird and himself.  this is between us.t stay away.t without
pausing to acknowledge the message, pol continued on his way toward the
place where nora had been borne into the jungle, mouseglove close behind
him.  there came another roar.  shortly, he smelled the stench of
burning flesh.  he did not look back.

they reached the spot where the bodies lay among the reddened grasses,
nora's blade protruding from one of them.  now that they were away from
the scuffling beasts, other noises came to their ears--mechanical
humming sounds from beyond the trees.

a dark shape rose into the air some distance to the south of them.
almost immediately, two more followed it.

"no?" pol cried, and he raised the rod.

mouseglove caught at his arm, dragging it down. "you'll kill her if you
shoot it downl" he shouted.  "besides, you've no way of knowing which
one she's in.  you can't afford to hit any of themi"

pol's shoulders sagged.  two more vessels climbed into the air.

"of course," he said, his arm falling.  "of course ...

he turned and looked at mouseglove.

"thanks," he said.  then, "i've got to go after her.  i have to do what
mark wants-take things to a full conflict. he doesn't know what i've got
to bring up against him, but he has to find out before he can embark on
his campaign. now he is about to learn.  i'm going back there and take
anvil mountain apart, if moonbird can still fly ..."

"i've got a ship," mouseglove said.  "i stole mark's.  i can fly it.
i'll show you."

he took pol's arm.

as they passed the pyramid again, the struggle was still in progress
with neither combatant showing any sign of weakening.  great furrows and
pits had been torn in the charred ground; thick, sweet-smelling blood
was smeared everywhere, and both dragon and serpent were soaked in it.
at the moment, they were so intertwined that it was impossible for pol
to assess their damages, let alone to use the rod on moonbird's behalf.

he summoned the strand by which moonbird had addressed him earlier.

i must return to rondoval now and prepare for battle, he said.  mark has
nora.  mouseglove can take me there in his flier.  i cannot await the
outcome of your struggle. go.  when it is finished, i will return.

immediately, the two began to thrash about again.  the serpent, half of
its feathers missing, began to hiss violently. flames blossomed about
it, upon it, as pol and mouseglove hurried by.  it succeeded just then
in throwing a cofi about moonbird's neck, but the dragon's claws were
now raking its midsection.

'rell him to go for the green jewel in the thing's head," mouseglove
said.  "i stunned it for a moment when i hit it there."

strike at the jewel in its head, pol immediately relayed to moonbird,
but there was no reply.

they hurried past, coming shortly to the trail mouseglove had hacked
through the brush.

"this way," said the smaller man.  "i've concealed it in a place not too
far ahead.  but--pol, i'm too tired to make the flight all the way back.
i'd fall asleep and kill us both."

"just get us airborne," pol replied� "i'll watch and ask questions.  we
can take turns flying if necessary."

"you look fairly tired yourself."

"i am.  but it is not going to be as long a haul as you might think."

they entered a cleared area.  mouseglove paused and gestured, crossed to
a green mound, began removing fronds.

"what do you mean?" he asked.  "i just made the trip." pol moved to
assist him.

"you're not,, going to like it," he said, "but i know a shortcut ...

� .  .  he strode past the glassed-in banks of fiat-faced machines,
their huge metal eyes rotating, stopping, reversing, rotating again,
ceaselessly, silently, to his left.  to his right, a line of men and
women, seated before glowing screens, traced designs with electric
pencils upon them. the rug was soft and resilient, making the floor seem
almost nonexistent.  a gentle light emanated from glowing tubes
overhead.  the abstract design upon the wall to the right changed as he
passed.  a soft, characterless music filled the air ...

...  he halted when he came to the large window looking out upon the
city.  far below, numerous vehicles passed on the streets.  boats moved
upon the distant river, and an airplane was passing overhead.  towering
buildings dominated the prospect, and everything was clean and shining
and smooth, like a piece of well-tended machinery. a certain warmth grew
in his breast as he regarded the power and magnificence of the scene.
his fingers tapped at a latch, and he drew the window upward, leaning
forward to drink in the full range of sensations which emanated from the
city...

� .  .  a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he turned toward the
tall, heavyset man who stood smiling beside him, drink in hand, face as
ruddy as brick, red hair mingle,,d with white, red scalp showing through

.  .  yes, mark, admire it," he was saying, gestu ring with his glass.
"one day, all of that will be yours ...

� .  .  he turned to look again, having drawn back slightly from the
aura of power which surrounded the larger man.

something at the left side of his face clicked against the window's
frame.  raising his hand to explore, he discovered a huge protruberance
above his left eye.  immediately, he remembered that it had been there
all along. turning farther, with something like shame, he reached up and
touched it again ...

.  .  .  his vision doubled.  beyond the window now, he saw two discrete
scenes.  half of the city before him was still bright and beckoning. the
other half was gray, drab, the air filled with ashes and yellowish
fog-like tentacles. raucous noises, as of the rattling of heavy
machinery rose up on that side of the split scene, accompanied by a wave
of acrid odors.  moist, sickly patches of color clung to the buildings.
the river was muddy.  the ships' smokestacks poured filth into the air
...

� .  .  he drew back, turning again toward the big man, to discover that
he, also, had doubled.  the man to the right stood unchanged; the one on
the left was even redder, his face partly shadowed, eyes flashing
baleful lights ...

"...  what is the matter, my son?" he was asking ... mark could not
speak.  he gestured toward the window, turning slightly in that
direction, to discover that the scene was no longer split.  the left
side had superimposed itself upon his entire field of vision.  his
father merged also at that moment, and only the darker version remained
...

� .  .  gesturing frantically, mark tried to inform him as to what had
occurred.  suddenly, a dragon appeared above the skyline, pol mounted
upon its back, headed in their direction ...

" oh, him," the shadowy figure at his side was saying.  "he is a
troublemaker.  i cast him out l o, ng ago.  he comes seeking to destroy
you.  be strong ...

� .  .  mark stared as the figure grew larger and larger, until finally
it was crashing soundlessly, through the wall, reaching for him.  then
there came a knocking sound, growing louder as it was repeated.
everything began to come apart about him, and he was failing ...

he sat up in his bed, drenched with perspiration.  the knocking
continued.  he rose and turned on the light, despite the fact that his
left eye saw clearly.  throwing his robe about his shoulders, he moved
to the door and opened it.  the small man drew back, extending a piece
of paper� "you asked to see this as soon as it came in, sir." he glanced
at it and lowered it.

"we have nora, and pol got away with the magical device," he stated.

"yes, sir.  they're already in the air, bringing her here."

"good� notify the force at rondoval that he may be on his way back
there�" he looked out, past his new flier, into the night.  "i'd better
check on the status of our mobilization.  return to duty."

"yes, sir."

when he had finished dressing, he withdrew the photograph from his night
table and stared at it for a time.

"we'll see," he said, "who falls�"

mouseglove was at the controls as they neared rondoval. "i don't see how
you can seem so rested," he remarked, "after such a short nap.  mine
didn't do me that much good --not after that damned shortcut of yours,"

he looked about the messy cabin and wrinkled his nose. "i seem to be
drawing some sort of energy from the scepter," pol answered.  "it feels
as though i have an extra heart or lung or both.  that--"

a puff of smoke appeared above the battlements.

"what was that?" mouseglove asked, as two more appeared�

"it almost seems as if it could be gunfire.  veer off.  i don't want to
take--" the ship shuddered, as if from a heavy blow, "--any chances,"
pol finished, bracing himself and seizing the rod with his right hand.

a moment later they were falling, smoke coming into the cabin.

"is it out of control?" pol shouted.

"not completely," mouseglove replied, "but i can't pull it up.  i'm
trying to miss the rocks, at least.  maybe those trees over there .  ..
can you do anything?"

"i don't know."

pol raised the scepter and strands were drawn to it through all the
walls.  to his eyes, it seemed again as if he sat at the center of an
enormous, three-dimensional spi derweb.  all of the strands began
pulsing in time with the throbbing that rose in his wrist.  the ship
seemed to slow. "we're going to miss the roeks]" mouseglove shouted.

perspiration sprang forth on pol's brow.  the lines between his eyes
deepened.

"we're going to crash!"

a final burst of power fled from the scepter along the strands.  then
there were treetops before them, up-thrust branches reaching, then
breaking.  abruptly, they came up against one which did not yield and
they were pitched forward at the impact.  the ship was torn open about
them, but they were not aware of it.

pol came awake with his hands tied behind him and did not open his eyes,
as all his recent memories were immediately present within his throbbing
head.  he heard voices and smelled horses.  there followed a sound of
retreating hootbeats.  if whoever had shot at them had ridden down from
the castle, the fact that.  they had not ldlled him immed'mtely seemed
to offer some sort of chance. he tested his bonds and found them very
secure.  he wondered how long he had been unconscious, and he wondered
whether mouseglove had survived the crash. and the scepter...  where was
it?

he opened his eyes to the barest of slits and began turning his head,
slowly.

he flinched, just slightly.  but that was sueient.  he had not expected
to see a centaur.

"ahal you are awakeg" cried the horse-man, who had apparently been
scrutinizing him.

the well-muscled human torso towered above the sorrel horse-body, long,
black hair pulled back from the dark-eyed, heavy-featured, masculine
face and tied behind the head in something, pol almost giggled, that he
had once known as a pony tail.

"i am awake," he acknowledged, heaving himself toward a sitting
position.

he succeeded on the second try.  he saw mouseglove lying on his side,
hands similarly bound, still apparently unconscious, perhaps four meters
away, beneath a large tree.  the guitar ease, apparently unscathed,
rested against the tree's trunk.  pieces of wreckage lay between them,
and when he looked upward, he saw the balance flier hanging like a
giant, squashed fruit among the

"why have you tied us up?" he asked.  "we've nothing to you."

"ha!" snorted his captor, executing a small maneuver.  "you call murder
nothing?"

"in this case, yes," pol replied, "since i've no idea you are talking
about."

the centaur stepped nearer, as if considering him.  behind him, pol saw
mouseglove stir.  there to be no other centaurs about, though the ground
great number of hoofmarks.

"is it not possible that you could be mistaken?" continued.  "i know of
no deaths hereabout--unless a of our ship fell on someone---"

"liar," said the centaur, leaning forward and directly into his eyes.
"you came in your ships and tered my people." he gestured toward the the
treetop.  "you even kidnapped one of them.  you this?"

the hoofs were darting and dancing uncomfortably him as pol shook his
head.

"i do," he said, staring back, "but i would like to more about what
happened, if i'm to be blamed for it.

the centaur wheeled and paced away from him, dust into his face.  po]
shook his head, which had aching more severely, and he automatically
called for h ing strands to wrap it, as he had for his neck wound. came
and attached themselves to his brow, some of the pain.  he thought of
his wrist then, partly numbed by the pressure of the cord. whether he
could manipulate strands in more patterns without seeing what he was
about, or there might be some other way to gain control over captor.

"the others have gone to fetch a warrior to decide to do with you," the
centaur stated.  "she may wish to about these things.  i don't.  it
should not be long believe that i hear them approaching now."

pol listened but heard nothing.  a purple strand near him, its farther
end passing across the centaur's der.  he willed that it come into
contact with his fingertips. it passed behind him, and shortly he felt a
tingling in his left hand.  his fingers twisted.  there came a famfiiar
sensation of power.

"look at me," he said. the centaur turned. "what do you want?"

pol caught his gaze with his own.  from his left hand, he felt the power
move:

"you are so tired that you are almost asleep on your feet," he said.
"now you are, but don't bother closing your eyes.  you can hear only my
voice."

the centaur's gaze grew distant.  his breathing slowed. he,.  began to
sway.

'...  but you can move about just as if you were awake, when i tell you
to.  my hands have been tied by mistake.  come over here and free them."

he rose to his feet and turned.  the centaur came up behind him and
began fumbling at the knots.  pol recalled seeing a knife at the
ereature's side.

"cut the bonds," he ordered.  "quickly!" a moment later, he was rubbing
his wrists. "give me the knife."

he accepted the blade, crossed to where mouseglove lay beneath the tree,
watching him.

"are you hurt?" he asked, as he faced the smaller man.

"i ache all over.  but then, i felt that way,, before the crash, too.  i
don't believe anything is broken.

mouseglove stood and turned about, raising his hands. as pol slit the
cord, he said, "must be mark's people in your castle.  no one else has
weapons like that-- uh-oh." the sound of hoofbeats now came to their
ears. "shall we run for it?" mouseglove asked.

"no.  too late.  they'd catch us.  we'll wait and have this out here."

pol slipped the knife behind his belt and turned to face the wood.  a
mental order to the centaur he now controlled moved him off to the
tight.

shortly, the figures came into sight four male centaurs led by an older
female.  she halted, about ten meters from where he stood, and regarded
pol.

"i was told you were bound," she stated.

"i was."

she stepped forward, and pol started as he saw that she held the scepter
in the hand which had been out of sight at her side.  she raised it and
pointed it at him.  he saw a cluster of strands rush toward it.  he
issued a mental command and the centaur under his spell stepped between
them.  new spells suggested themselves to him and he summoned strands of
his own.

the female centaur's eyes widened. "what have you done to him?" she
asked. "return my rod and we'll talk about it."

from the corner of his eye, pol saw that mouseglove was edging away.

"where did you get it?" she asked.

"i recovered it, piece by piece, from the points 'of the triangle of
int."

"only a sorcerer could do that."

"you noticed."

"i, too, have some familiarity with the art, though only the middle part
of this rod will respond to me.  mine is an earth magic." she gestured
upward.  "why then were you tiding in that thing?"

"my dragon was occupied.  that vessel was stolen from my enemy, mark
marakson, who has many such, atop anvil mountain.  perhaps you have seen
his dark birds, who are not of flesh, in the skies."

"i know who he is and i have seen such birds.  some of my people were
killed and some injured by men who came in larger vessels such as the
one you rode."

the strands came into his hands and pol felt the power throb in his
wrist.  still, he had no wish to face a person who could use even the
middle section of the rod.

"small men, i daresay," he answered, "for such is the stature of the
race which serves him.  i have never harmed a centaur and i've no desire
to.  this will be the first time, if you force me to fight here."

"sunfa, come forward," she said, and a smaller male moved from among
those to the rear of the group to a position beside her.  there was a
long gash upon his left shoulder, and he was missing several teeth.
"were either of these men of the party which attacked you that day?" he
shook his head.

"no, stel.  neither of them."

her head snapped forward.

"you know my name now," she said.  "so know, too, that i was among the
force which stormed rondova.] the day this rod was wresteel from der
morson."

pol raised his right hand so that his sleeve fell back, revealing the
dragonmark.

"i am po] detson," he stated.  "i have heard stories cencerning my
father.  but i was taken from this land as a child and raised in another
place.  i' never knew him.  the past is dead, so far as i am concerned.
i have only been back for a short while.  i need that scepter for
purposes of arousing the forces of rondoval against those of anvil
mountain.  are you going to return it to me?"

"in many ways," she replied, "this is even more disturbing than your
being what we had thought you.  for the moment, it is good if our enemy
is also your enemy.  but to see the hordes that lie beneath rondoval
roused once again is a frightening thought, especially for those of us
who were alive in your father's day.  so tell me, what do you propose
doing when your battle is over?"

pol laughed.

"you are assuming that i win and that i live.  but, all right .  .  .  i
would lay most of my forces to rest again.  i would like to be left
alone to pursue my studies, and i would be happy to return the favor and
leave everyone else in the neighborhood to his own devices.  after a
time, i may do some traveling.  i don't know.  i am not attracted by the
darker aspects of the art.  i have no desire to conquer anything, and
the idea of ruling over anybody bores the ass off me."

"commendable," she said, "and i find myself wanting to believe you.  in
fact, it seems likely that you are telling the truth.  however, even
granting that, people do change.  i would like very much to see you deal
with the people who feel that they can hunt centaurs whenever they
choose. but i would also like some assurance that you will not one day
be inclined to do it yourself."

"my word is all that i can give you, take it or leave it."

"but you could give me moreland in return, your own way might be eased."

"what have you in mind?"

"swear an oath of friendship w/th us, upon your scepter."

"friendship is a thing that goes further than nonaggression," he
replied.  "it is something that works both ways.

"i will be willing to swear the same oath for you."

"on your own, or on behalf of the other centaurs as well?"

"for all of us."

"you can speak for them?"

"very well.  i'll do it if you will."

he looked back at mouseglove, who was about to slip off among the trees.

"stay put," he called back.  "you're safe."

"for now," mouseglove replied.  but he returned.

pol moved around the cataleptic centaur who stood between stel and
himself, destroying the spell which held him with a twisting motion of
his hand as he passed.  that one drew away, eyes shifting rapidly, until
stel spoke some reassurance.

"tell me the words of the oath," pol said, coming up before her.

"place your hand upon the middle section of the rod, and repeat after
me."

pol nodded and complied.

as she began to speak the words, a series of dark strands knotted
themselves aboat them.  he felt a vaguely threatening force accumulating
within them.  when they had finished speaking the knots separated and
drifted away, like small, dark clouds.  one went to hover behind stei.
he felt such a presence behind himself, also.

''here," she said, passing the rod to him.  "we have created our own
dooms, should we betray one another." they clasped hands.

"no problem then," pol answered, smiling "and it's good to have some
friends.  i'd like to stay and visit, but now i've some monsters to
rouse.  hopefully, i'll be back."

he turned away and fetched his guitar case.

a weapon?  she asked as he raised it.

"no, a musical instrument.  maybe i'll be able to play it

for you one day."

"you are really going to rondov01 now?"

"i must."

"give me time to raise a force, to rid the pla,,ce of your

enemies.  now we are allies, it is our fight, too.

"not necessary," pol said.  'rhey are up in the castle.

my destination is far below it.  moonbird--my dragon- showed me a tunnel
to the place.  i'll go in that way and

bypass the bastards.  there is no need at all to deal with

them now.

"where does the tunnel open?"

"down the slope, to the north.  i'll have to do a little

climbing but i foresee no real difficulties."

"--unless your enemies see you and go after you in

their flying boats."

he shrugged.

"l'here is always that chance."

"so i will take a small force and lead a diversionary

assault from the south.  two of my "males will bear you and

our friend to the northern slope.

y ,'wv has mns, which kill from a distal.  .", � , a -- ' s risks

"so do arrows.  we 11 take no unneces ary.  am

going to send runners now, to tell the others to arm and to bring them
here.  while we wait, i would like to hear your music.""

"okay. me, too," said pol.  "let's get comfortable.

"you were with him," mark said to nora, as they both leaned upon the
railing to his roof garden.  "what is his power, anyway, now he has that
scepter?"

"i don't know," she replied, looking at the flowers."

"i really don't know.  i'm not even sure that he was absolutely certain.
or else he was being very close-mouthed."

"well, i think it possible that he is dead.  on the other hand, i've no
idea how he got across the ocean as quickly as he did.  he has something
going for him.  he was in my flier at one point--and it was shot down
near rondovol.  still...  supposing--just supposing--he is still alive?
how would he attack me?  what sort of forces might he bring?"

she shook her head and looked at him.  his lens was a pale blue and he
was smiling.

"i couldn't tell you, mark," she said, "and if i could..."

"you wouldn't? i'd guessed that much.  it didn't take long did it?  for
you to fall in love with a flashy traveler with a good story?"

"you really believe that, don't you?"

"what else am i to think?  we've known each other most of our lives.  i
thought we had something of an understanding.  then, practically
overnight, you're in love with a stranger."

"i am not in love with pol," she said, straightening.  "oh, it could
happen, very easily.  he's quick and strong--clever, attractive.  but,
really i hardly know him, despite what we've been through together.  on
the other hand, i thought that i knew you--very well---and now i see
that i was mistaken about a great number of things.  if you want
honesty, rather than sweet words, i am not, at this moment, in love with
anyone."

"but did you once feel that way about me?"

"i thought that i did."

he hammered his fist against the rail.

she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"it's this lens, isn't it?  this damned, ugly bug-eye!"

"don't be silly," she said.  "i wasn't talking about appearance. i was
talking about what you axe doing.  you've always been different.  you've
always had a way with mechanical things.  that in itself is hardly bad,
but what you are doing--what you are planning to do--with your knowledge
and your contrivances--that is."

"don't let's go into it again." she withdrew her hand.

"you asked me.  if he still lives, pol has to fight you--some way--now.
sometimes it almost seems that a conflict between the two of you was
ordained before you both were born.  other times i've thought of it,
though, it seemed that it need not be so.  you could be friends.  he is
the closest thing you have to a relative.  and it is probably that way
for him, also.  i will tell you what i told him.  i feel like a pawn.
you are jealous of him, and he will want to rescue me from you.  i
almost feel as if my life has been somehow manipulated to bring me into
this position, to insure that a battle will occur.  i wish that i'd
never met either of you?

she turned away.  he guessed that she was crying, but was not certain.
he began to extend his hand.

sr.  sir!"

a captain of his guard was rushing toward him.  scowling, mark turned.

"what is it?"

"castle rondoval is under attack!  the message just came through! should
we send reinforcements?"

"who is attacking?  how?  what are the details?"

"there are none.  the message was short, garbled.  we are waiting for an
answer.

"divert all the nearest birds.  get me a picture of what's going, on.
i'll be down there shortly.  we're going on alert.

he raised his hand and two guards, pretending to study the garden from
its opposite end, immediately moved toward him.

"i'd wager your lover lives," he said, "and that this is his doing.  at
any rate, your talk of pawns has given me an idea.  guards!  take her
away.  protect her, watch her well. she may be of some use yet."

turning on his heel, he headed toward the elevator.  he did not look
back.

mouseglove moved with near-acrobatic skill up the final few meters of
the eliif-face,.  hauled himself into the cave mouth, turned, stooped
and assisted pol.

"all right," he said then, "i am about to keep a promise. i vowed that
if they would leave me alone, i would bring them back to rondoval." he
groped beneath his cloak and withdrew a parcel.  "they did and i have.
so here."

he handed the package to pol.

"i don't understand.  what is it?" pol asked.

'whe figurines of the seven sorcerers i stole from your father.  as you
gained sections of that scepter, they grew in power until finally they
were able to control me.  during the trip back here, i told you
everything i had done, but 1 didn't tell you why.  they are the reason.
surely, you don't think i'd go and play games with a leathered serpent
for laughs?  they are powerful, they can communicate if they wanted i
have no idea what they are up to.  also, they are all yours now.  don't
worry, though.  a big part of their purpose in life seems to be taking
care of you.  i would try to learn more about them soon, if i were you."

"i wish i had time," pol remarked, "but i don't.  not now." he secured
the parcel at his belt and turned.  the dragon-light sprang forth to
dart before them.  "let's go." mouseglove fell into step beside him.

"i wonder how the centaurs are doing?" he said.

pol shrugged.

"i hope they get the message soon that we made it safely.  if the two
who brought us hurry, they will.  then they can lay off and return to
the woods.

"if you really meant that oath, perhaps you ought to send something
particularly nasty upstairs to clear the halls."

"why?"

"i've seen how centaurs fight.  they're tough, but they also get kind of
frenzied after awhile.  i've a hunch they won't be falling back."

"really?  i didn't know that."

"oh, yes.  so, surely you could spare a dragon or an ogre or two, to
clean house and protect your new friends."

"i guess i should."

they walked on for a time, following the pale light.  at several points
they had to climb down over rocky regularities.

"uh, i guess we'll be parting company soon," mouseglove said as they
entered the first of a series of larger caverns. "i've done what i came
back to do, and i promised myself i'd never set foot on anvil mountain
again."

"i didn't expect you to accompany me there," pol replied, "and it's not
your fight.  what have you in mind to do now?"

"well, after your servant's made it safe for the likes of me upstairs,
i'll head in that direction.  be sure to tell him that i'm okay.  i'll
borrow some fresh garments, if that's all right with you, clean up, have
a nap and be moving on." they passed a large, winged, sleeping form,
"you have my permission, my thanks and my blessing,"

pol said.  "also my ogre, to clear your way."

mouseglove chuckled.

"you are a difficult young man to gull.  i'm actually coming to like
you.  pity, we'll probably never meet again."

"who knows? i'll ask the seven when i get, a chance."

"i'd rather you didn't remind them of me.

the next cavern they entered was even larger, though more level.  pol
looked at the humped and massed bodies among which they made their way.
there seemed to be no way of estimating their number, though the strands
ran thick and numerous through the gloom.

as they trudged on, coming at last into the major cavern and starting
across it, pol finally glimpsed the soft glow of the master spell at its
farther end.

'yell me," he asked, "do you see any light in direction?"

"no.  just the one we're following."

pol gestured and seized a strand.  soon it took on a color and something
of incandescence.

"see that?"

"a line of light, running before us."

"good.  i'll give you one of that sort to follow out.

is that thing in your hand?"

"a pistol i've carried since i left mark's place."

"i thought so.  you won't need it here."

"it comforts me,"

after a considerable interval, they stood before the globe.  pol held
the scepter as he faced it.

"i hope this works as i'd anticipated," he remarked.

"i feel some force, but i see nothing special "

"go and stand over in that niche." he gestured, and a moment the scepter
blazed like a captive star.  "i will you when it is safe to depart.
there is your strand."

gestured again, and a line of pale fire grew in the before the niche.
"good lueki"

"to you, also," mouseglove replied, clasping pol's and turning.

he moved quickly and backed into the opening, to take his eyes from the
spectacle of the younger man who had already begun a series of seeming
ritual ments, his silhouette distorted by guitar case and cloak, his
face pale and mask-like in the blaze of the rod beneath the dark,
silver-splashed wings of his hair mouseglove clutched the pistol more
tighfiy as the dance of the hand and the rod progressed, for he felt
chill followed by a wave of warmth, another chfil .  .  .

now he had momentary flashes of vision, as of a burning ball of yarn
being unwound.

pol moved his hand deftly, in and out, unwinding ravelling, and old
words trapped within the fabric structure, came to him and he spoke them
as he and the waves of heat came more frequently, till finally saw
through to the center, the core, the end ...

he thrust the scepter into the heart of the spell spoke the final words.

a great wash of forces swept by him and he swayed, striving to keep his
balance.  the strands now clung to the scepter, obscuring it completely
to pol's vision� his right arm seemed to take fire as he laid his will
upon it.

a moaning rose within the cavern, growing to a mighty chorus of sounds,
which echoed and reechoed about him, followed by rustling, scraping
noises and the falling of stones�

� .  .  arise!  arise!  and follow me to battle!" he sang, and now there
were larger movements within the darkness.

the moaning died down and ceased.  the snorts, snarls, roars and rattles
diminished.  now the sounds of heavy breathing came to him from every
direction.

he plucked a single strand, and soon a huge, gray form moved past him on
two legs, hunched forward, arms dragging on the ground, yellow eyes
burning within the darkness of a triangular face, scales rustling with
each stride.  it paused before mouseglove, who raised the pistol and
waited, but it turned and moved on an instant later.

"give it an hour," pol stated, "and the upstairs should be cleared.  it
knows you now and will not harm you."

mouseglove nodded, realizing as he did that the movement could not be
seen, but unable to control his voice. brief bonfires flared and died at
all distances as dragons tested their flames�

pol turned away, directing all his attention to impressing his identity
and his commands upon the awakening creatures.

arise, i say!  we fly south to destroy the city atop anvil mountain!
those of you who cannot fly must be mounted upon those who can!  1 will
lead the way!

he cast about for only a moment, and then his fingers moved unerringly
to catch at a dark green strand drifting near him.

dragon!  he called.  name yourself! i am called
smoke-in-the-skies-at-evening-against-the-last-pale-clouds-of-autumn-day,
came a proud feminine reply�

in the interest of ready communication, i shall refer to you as 'smoke."

that is agreeable to me.

come to me now.  we must lead the others.

for a time, nothing occurred, as he realized that smoke had slept within
one of the farther caverns.  all of the stirring sounds grew louder as
the other creatures stood, stretched, mounted.  finally, he heard a
noise like a rising wind rushing toward him, and a piece of darkness
detached itself from the distant shadows, to sweep in his direct!on and
settle sfiently before him.

greetings, pol detson.  i am ready, she said�

he released the strand and moved to touch her neck.

greetings, smoke.  if i may mount now, we will be on our way�

come up.  i am ready.

pol climbed toward her shoulders and settled into position. he raised
the scepter and lights dancod throughout th cavern.

foilowl he ordered.  then, to smoke, now!  'it us go!

smoke was smaller than moonbird but seemed faster. in a matter of
moments, they were mrborue and moving ahead quickly.  pol looked back
once.  he could not distinguish mouseglove in his niche, but he saw that
dark forms were rising like ashes in his wake.

young u a battle-song?  smoke asked.

po] was surprised to find it already upon his lips.

the bird-things sent to determine the nature and progress of the
conflict at rondoval were the first observers of the dragon-flight which
began at the northern cliff-face below the castle, spiraling upward,
wheeling through the west and falling into a sky-darkening pattern
heading southward, led by a man mounted upon a sleek gray dragon, a
shining scepter in his right hand.  the sun setfled as they flew, and
the metallic birds climbed and moved far to the right and the left to
monitor their progress.

mark assigned troops to the various stations, and the elevators ground
ceaselessly as tanks and artillery pieces were raised from the warehouse
areas to the streets of the city proper.  weapons and ammunition were
issued to the defenders.  all available sky boats were serviced and
armed. assembly lines were shut down, and the workers went to collect
their weapons.

mark studied the array of screens in the surveillance center, showing
varied views of the oncoming formation.

"i'd like to know what those things can do," he remarked to the captain
who stood at his elbow.  "this could be closer than i'd care to see it.
who'd have thought he could raise something like that this quickly?
damned sorcerer! send a dozen battle-wagons to hit them at dawn. swing
six of them wide to hit their left flank out of the sunrise, and drop
six on them from above.  we'll probably lose them, but i want to see how
it happens."

"yes, sir."

mark toyed with the idea of sending for nora, but dismissed it.  he
visited the lab instead, to check whether a long-range jumble was yet
possible.  he doubted it, but something useful might yet be salvaged
from that project.

� .  .  damn!  he mused.  a year from now and he'd never make it across
the desert.  i know about more things than i've got.  can't get them
into production fast enough ... damn!

his lens was a pale yellow beneath a perfectly clear sky. stars winked
at him and a warm breeze licked like an affectionate tiger at his cheek.
suddenly, a meteor shower began, and he watched it for several minutes,
dismissing the shaking beneath his feet as the labors of the heavy
machinery which had long since been shut down.

pol fled across the night, the power of the scepter his meat, his drink
and his sleep.  when the attack came in the morning, he spread the
formation, detached two groups of ten dragons each to deal with the sky
boats and continued on.  later, sixteen dragons rejoined him, but two of
them had to drop out, their injuries preventing them from maintaining
the pace of the others.  he led the entire formation to a greater
altitude after that and began spreading it into a great line.  through
the morning hazes, the ground seemed to ripple momentarily beneath them.

he saw the advancing formation of flying things just before anvil
mountain came into view.

destroy as many as are necessary to get through, he ordered the
leather-winged masses at his back.  but do not remain to toy with them.
i doubt they will bomb or strafe once you are into their own city
fighting with its defenders. destroy anything on the mountain that
offers resistance. then burn the place.  only this girl and he sent a
mental picture of nora back along the strands--must not be harmed.  if
you see her, protect her.  and this one--a picture of mark followed--is
mine.  call to me if you see him.

they swept on toward the line of defenders and shortly the firing began.
a little while after that, dragon vomit fell like rain upon the sky
boats.  fires dotted the ground, wreckage and falling bodies filled the
air.  there were a great many of the ships, but their crews could not
reload the guns quickly and their accuracy was far less than perfect.
after several minutes of combat, it was clear that pol's forces would
not be halted here.  when they finally passed on toward anvil mountain,
their force was diminished but the air fleet was broken.

as they came within range of the fiat-topped mount, the artillery fire
began.  but pol had spread his formation even more thinly by then;
having seen evidence of heavy artillery on his earlier visit to the
place.

still, the great guns fired with deadly effect for several minutes,
until two of them toppled, one exploded and others began firing wildly�

sweeping even nearer, through the morning light, pol saw that the entire
mountain was shaking.

it is a mighty magic you wield, smoke remarked.

that is not mq doing, he replied.

a dragon can feel magic, and that which leads to the earthquake i feel
upon my back.

i do not understand.

the answer hangs at your belt.

the figurines?

i know not what they are, only what they are bringing to pass.

good!  i'll take all the help i can get!

even if they control you?

either way, i have no choice now but to try to win, do i?

they broke through the openings in the artillery screen, dragons landing
and discharging the non-winged creatures which immediately turned and
sought the defenders.  tanks rumbled along the shaking streets, some of
them spewing flames back at the dragons.

a steady crackling of gunfire rose above the city.  the metallic worms
were out, wrestling with the attackers. here and there, blades flashed
in the hands of men as ammunition was exhausted.  the howling, bounding
lesser beasts of the caverns tore through the city, kfiling and being
killed.  a crack opened, diagonally, in one of the main avenues and
noxious fumes rose out of it.

pol looked about, searching rooftops and opened bunkers, hoping to catch
sight of the red-haired man with the eye of many colors.  but mark was
nowhere in sight.

he sought altitude again, and he directed smoke to take him in a wide
circle above the city.  the screams grew fainter as they rose, and the
designs of the buildings and the overall layout of the city impressed
themselves upon him for the first time.  the place was efficiently
disposed, extremely fuetional, logically patterned and relatively clean.
he realized that he felt a grudging admiration for a country boy capable
of materializing such a dream--and in such a brief while--whether his
world wanted it or not. he wished once again that he could have sent
mark back the place where he himself had been so long the misfit. � they
landed upon the vacant roof of a tall building; and there, without
dismounting, pol raised the scepter with both hands and laid his will
upon his forces below.  they required organization now, not skirmishing.
it was time to create groups and direct their efforts toward specific
objectives. his wrist pulsed, the rod pulsed, the strands pulsed as he
began.  there was usually a feeling of elation as he with the power. but
this time, while the feeling present, there was little joy accompanying
it.  he had wished to be the destroyer of another man's dreams. he saw
tanks torn apart by his creatures, but he also saw dragons beset and
hacked apart by the small folk, who, having moved from the wilds to this
existence in the span of a few years, still possessed the instincts of
pack hunters when reduced to the bloody basics of life. he felt
something of an admiration for them, also, though this in no way
affected his tactics. he grew more and more dispassionate as the sun
climbed and the conflicts progressed. moving each time artillery pieces
were repositioned to bring him down, directing strike forces toward the
most troublesome emplacements, he hurled other assaults against what
appeared to be nerve centers, breaking down walls and spreading fires,
wondering the while whether mark occupied some similar position
elsewhere, and with radio communication directed his forces into the
surprising patterns of resistance which kept developing.  most likely.
things were still too closely balanced to permit him to desert his
command post and seek the other out,.  however.

the casualties were heavy on both sides.  pol felt he now had the edge,
though, in that he was destroying more and more of his adversary's
capabilities as the day progressed, whereas his own foees were not
dependent upon things outside themselves.  he was slowly reducing them
to reliance upon the simplest of weapons, and when this reduction had
reached the proper point, a parity of forces would represent no equality
whatsoever and the battle would be near to its end.

the mountain gave another shudder, and the opening in the ground grew
larger.  steam had emerged from it for a long while, earlier, but with
the enlargement flames and pieces of stone shot forth, the buildings
nearby suffered partial collapse of their facades and a roaring noise
came up, growing until it smothered all the sounds of the fighting.

pol's aching hands tightened even more upon the scepter, as he said
aloud, "only a fool could call it coincidence.

if i've an unseen ally, make yourself known!" immediately, seven large
flames hovered in the air before him, unsupported by any burning medium.
the one to his left flickered, and the reply seemed to come from that
source:

it is no coincidence.

"why, then?"

now the second flame flickered.

it is a recurring thing, this struggle.  ages ago, the world was split
by it, giving birth to the one in which you were raised, where we are
legend, and making that one a legend to this.  it is an undying conflict
and its time has come again.  you are the agent of preservation; mark,
the champion of the insurgency.  one of you must be utterly obliterated.

"has he allies such as you?"

the third replied:

beneath that shrine, far below, is an an6ient teaching machine.  he
bears a small unit within his bod{t which keeps him in constant
communication with it.

pol immediately disengaged a force and directed it against the shrine,
with instructions to destroy everything beneath it as well.

"do you already know the outcome here?" he asked.

w1zr/) wor/d

it is still undecided, said the fourth.

we distract you, said the fifth.

� .  .  and your full attention is still required here, said the sixth.

� .  .  and so we depart, said the seventh, as they faded and dwindled
to nothing.

pol was immediately beset by a fresh artillery barrage, and had to fly
to a new vantage while directing attacks .  against the guns.

strong fumes reached him before very long and he had to move again,
seeing now that the opening below had become a glowing crater, its smoke
rising to smudge the sky.  its rumbles continued to grow, also.

much later, he realized that no one was shooting at him any longer.
suicide fliers had attacked for a time, but he had destroyed them with
blasts from the scepter until, finally, they had ceased.

the fighting below had grown more and more disorganized, as both sides
suffered massive casualties.  the battle for the shrine, far down below'
the slopes, continued. a remarkably powerful defense had seemed to arise
from almost nowhere, and pol had diverted more forces to deal with it.

� .  .  and nora thought herself a pawn, he reflected. what am i?  i
exercise all the functions of command, yet i am no freer than any of
those below.  unless...

up, smoke!  big circles!

i, too, serve, came the reply, and they were rising, turning.

the third time around, he saw them--nora and mark atop a high building
across the avenue from the crater.  it was a flash of sunlight gleaming
upon a red lens turned in his direction that drew his eyes to their
position�

over there, smoke! it still may not be too late to talk to him!  if i
can just make him see what is happening.t smoke turned and beat toward
the rooftop.  pol waved his dirty handkerchief, doubting that the
gesture meant anything in this place, but willing to try anything he
knew to gain conversation with the other, "mark!" he shouted.  "i want
to talk!  may i come down?"

the other lowered a small unit into which he had been speaking and
gestured for him to land.

as soon as smoke touched the roof, pol leaped down and headed toward the
tall figure with the yellowing eye lens.

"i am only now beginning to realize what we are doing," pol said, while
he was still moving.  "it was an encounter such as this, between science
and magic, which destroyed a high culture in this land ages ago, which
split the continuum into parallel parts.  we are doing it againl we are
both victims! we've been manipulated.  this battle is affecting the land
itseliq.  we have to--"

an explosion at his back caused him to stumble forward. whether the
great cry from smoke was mental or verbal, he never knew.

"damn you, marki" he called as he got to his feet, not even looking
back, already knowing what he would see.  "i came here to save your
life, to stop this thing--"

"how considerate," mark stated.  "in that case, i accept your
surrender."

"don't be an assi" pol staggered to the edge of the shuddering building.
"surrender what?  look down therel both of our armies are almost
finished.  we can still stop it. right here.  we can still save
something.  both science and magic do work here--so it is not an
either/or proposition in this place.  they must both be special cases of
some more general law.  let's work out something compatible. let's not
go the way we're being pushed.  if the continuum must be split again,
let's split it our way.  i'll work with you.  but look down there!  look
what's happening! do you want that"

mark moved to the low, partly shattered parapet, followed by nora.  pol
saw that he held her wrist in a powerful grip.  he looked down again
himself, to where a fiery river now flowed along the avenue, away from
the still growing crater almost directly below them.  mark's lens
flashed green through the smoke and and falling ash.  even at this
height, pol could feel heat upon his face.

"if i have slain your dragon, you have destroyed my shrine," mark said
softly, "just now."

with a sudden movement of his arms, he drew nora the edge and held her
there.  his lens flashed red again.

"i reject your mad offer," he stated.  "if i let you go, can acquire
more supernatural assistance and attack again one day."

"it works both ways," pol replied.  "you can again--better, stronger.
i'm willing to take that chance."

"i'm not," mark said, twisting nora's arm.  "that you hold seems to be
the key to your power.  throw down into the crater or i'll throw her.
try using me now and i'll take her along with me."

pol looked at the rod for only a moment, then cast it over the edge.
mark watched it fall.  pol did not.

"let her go," he said.

mark pushed her back and down, so that she and fell to the rooftop.

"now i can face you," he said.

pol raised his fists and moved forward. "i am not such a fool," mark
said, sliding from a pocket upon his right thigh.  "i remember you've
had training with your hands.  try this!"

suddenly, pol was able to see the roar from the volcano below, yellow
and black*streaked, washing him.  the rooftop buckled beneath his feet,
emitting cal tones like spikes, as the sky tipped, becoming a funnel its
terminus his head, down which the and swirls of smoke were pouring.  his
feet were far perhaps in hell--yes, burning, and when he tried to move
he dropped to one knee and the firmament shuddered his eyes were moist
with gems which sliced his apart as they descended.  smooth blue notes
emerged his mouth like escaping birds.  mark was laughing rings and his
orange eye was a rushing headlight.  th thing he held before him tore
shimmering holes in the and -and from one of the holes emerged seven
wings flame.

your guitar, said the first.

get the case off your back, said the second. get it out of the case,
said the third. play it, said the fourth.

your hands know the way, said the fih. get the case, said the sixth.
open it, said the seventh.

a black mountain flew past him, as his hands--un-tmiliar things
themselves--performed operations they alone understood.  blue sparks
flew from three points upon the blackness.  a strange and dangerous
object was rising out of the shadows before him ...

his hands made it move to his knee and began doing things they alone
knew ...

constellations bloomed before his eyes.  a throbbing began down near the
place of movement ...

attack!  said the first.

drive back that which assails you, said the seeon& let him see as you
see now, said the third.

� .  .  hear as you hear, said the fourth.

you lulled the minotaur, said the fifth.

...  this one you shall drive beyond the bounds of reason, said the
sixth.

destroy him!  said the seventh.

suddenly, he heard the music.  the distortions still played about him,
but he pushed them farther off.  he changed the beat.  he rose slowly to
a standing position.  the waves from the jumble-box washed over him and
reality was troubled each time a portion of the broadcast broke through,
reached him.  but his vision cleared for longer and longer periods of
time.  he saw mark, holding the box, pointing it at him, perspiration
like a mask of glass upon his face.  his lens was flashing wildly
through the entire spectrum.  he swayed.  the music drowned even the
rumbling below, though the smoke came and went between them.  nora
knelt, head bowed, hands covering her face.  pol put more force into his
strumming, driving the beat into his adversary's brain.  mark took a
swaying step backward and halted. po) advanced a step, colors swirling
intermittently in the air before him.  mark retreated another pace, his
lens flashing faster and faster from color to color.  when the building
shook again, slanting beneath their feet, mark staggered and dropped the
box.  his lens went black for several pulsebeats.  he put out his hands
for support, took another step .  .  .  a cloud of smoke swept over him.
fell against the parapet, and it gave way ...

pol stopped playing and dropped to his knees. matically, he lowered the
guitar into its ease.  he crawling toward nora then, feeling a strong
pull to right as the building canted even more precipitously.

he reached her, he placed his hand upon her shoulder. "i did try to save
him," he said. "i know."

she lowered her hands from her face and hugged gently, looking away
toward the raft.

"i know."

hurry, poll the building is going! he looked upward, unbelieving.  a
vast, dark form sliding through the smoke.

moonbirdf mount as soon as i light.  only moments remaining the great
dragon settled beside them, enormous wounds upon his sides and
shoulders.  pol boosted onto his back, slung his guitar case and
followed� howw?  pol began.

the one called mouseglove.  i can talk with hm, bird said as they rose.
he les injured at rondoval, tended lj centaurs.  your ogre destroyed all
the men the two in the ships.  fortunately, he had a weapon slagis from
a distance.  he says that he  be your guest until he is whole again.  he
told me to come here.

as they climbed higher, pol summoned strands, all he could, and clutched
them for a moment�

it is over, he said.  we are going home.

from here and there, his surviving minions rose follow.

he looked down, once, into the ging heart of crater.

� .  .  if i were to drop the seven figurines into it, wondered, would i
be free?

you are a fool, came a voice out of a sudden flame, you think that wethe
most bound of all---are even free as giou.

the flame faded, and pol turned and watched the ing mountain grow
smaller as moonbird beat his way into the sky.

i am not finished learning, he said.  but i've had enough lessons for
today.

nora had slumped before him, but her breathing was regular.  he eased
her into a more comfortable position. he felt older as he regarded the
sinking sun, and very tired, though he knew he could not permit himself
to sleep for a long while.  he reached out and touched one of moonbird's
wounds.

i am glad that someone i know won something, he said.

later, the stars came out and he watched them all the way to home and
morning.

this one is for trent

i am not certain.

it sometimes seems as if i have always been here, yet i know that there
must have been a time before my advent.

and sometimes it seems as if i have only just lately arrived.  from
where i might have come, i have no idea. recently, i have found this
vaguely troubling, but only recently.

for a long while, i drifted through these halls, across the battlements,
up and down the towers, expanding or contracting as i chose, to fill a
room-or a dozen--or to snake my way through the homes of mice, to trace
the sparkling cables of the spider's web.  nothing moves in this place
but that i am aware of it.

yet i was not fully aware of myself until recently, and the acts i have
just recited have the dust of dreams strewn over them, myself the
partial self of the dreamer.  yet- yet i do not sleep.  i do not dream.
however, i seem now to know of many things which i have never
experienced.

perhaps it is that i am a slow learner, or perhaps something has
recently stimulated my awareness to the point where all the echoes of
thoughts have brought about something new within me a sense of self
which i did not formerly possess, a knowledge of separateness, of my
apart-ness from those things which are not-me.

if this is the case, i would like to believe that it has to do with my
reason for being.  i have also recently begun feeling that i should have
a reason for being, that it is important that i have a reason for being.
i have no idea, however, as to what this could be.

it has been said--again, recently--that this place is haunted.  but a
ghost, as i understand it, is some non-physical survival of someone or
something which once existed in a more solid form.  i have never
encountered such an entity in my travels through this place, though
lately it has occurred to me that the reference could be to me in my
more tangible moments.  still, i do not believe that i am a ghost, for i
have no recollection of the requisite previous state.  of course, it is
difficult to be certain in a matter such as this, for i lack-knowledge
concerning whatever laws might govern such situations.

and this is another area of existence of which i have but recently
become aware: laws--restrictions, compulsions, areas of freedom .  .  .
they seem to be everywhere, from the dance of the tiniest particles to
the turning of the world, which may be the reason i had paid them such
small heed before.  that which is ubiquitous is almost unnoticed.  it is
so easy to flow in accordance with the usual without reflecting upon it.
it may well be that it was the occurrence of the unusual which served to
rouse this faculty within me, and along with it the realization of my
own existence.

then, too, in accordance with the laws with which i have become aware, i
have observed a phenomenon which i refer to a the persistance of
pattern.  the two men who sit talking within the room where i hover like
a slowly turning, totally transparent cloud an arm's distance out from
the highest bookshelf nearest the window--these two men are both
patterned upon similar lines of symmetry, though i become aware of many
differences within these limits, and the wave disturbances which they
cause within the air when communicating with one another are also
patterned things possessing, or possessed by, rules of their own.  and
if i attend very closely, i can even become aware of their thoughts
behind, and sometimes even before, these disturbancos.  these, too, seem
to be patterned, but at a much higher level of complexity.

it would seem to follow that if i were a ghost something of my previous
pattern might have persisted.  but i am without particular form, capable
of great expansions and contractions, able to permeate anything i have
so far encountered.  and there is no special resting state to feel
constrained to return.

along with my nascent sense of identity and my rance as to what it is
that i am, i do feel something certainty that i am incomplete.  there is
a thing within me, which, if i were to discover it, might provide me
with that reason for being which i so there are times when i feel as if
i had been, in a sleeping for a long while and but recently been by the
commotions in this place--awakened to find'm robbed of some essential
instruction.  (i have only learned the concept "robbed" because one of
the j now regard is a thief.)

if i am to acquire a completeness, it would seem must pursue it myself.
i suppose that, for now.  i make this pursuit my reason for being.  yes.
edge, the quest aer identity .  .  .  these would good starting place. i
wonder whether anyone else ever had such a problem?  i will pay close
attention the men are saying.

i do not like being uncertain.

pol detson had arranged the seven figurines into a on the desk before
him.  a young man, despite the streak through his hair, he leaned
forward and hand in their direction.  for a time he moved it passing his
fingertips about the entire group, then in out, encircling each
gem-studded individual.  finally, sighed and withdrew.  he crossed the
room to where small, black-garbed man sat, left leg crooked over the of
his chair, a wineglass in either hand, the contents both aswirl.  he
accepted one from him and raised it to lips.

"well?" the smaller man, mouseglove by name, thief, asked him when he
lowered it.

pol shook his head, moved a chair so that his field vision took in both
mouseglove and the statuettes, himself.

"peculiar," be said at 'last.  "almost everything tosses a thread,
something to give you a hold over it, even if have to fight for it, even
if it only does it

"perhaps this is not the proper occasion."

pol leaned forward, set his glass upon the desk.  he flexed his fingers
before him and placed their tips together. he began rubbing them against
one another with small, circular movements.  after perhaps half a
minute, he drew them apart and reached toward the desk.

he chose the nearest figurc thin female, crowned with a red stone, hands
clasped beneath the breasts--and began making a wrapping motion about
it, though mouseglove could detect no substance to be engaged in the
process. finally, his fingers moved as if he were tying a series of
knots in a nonexistent string.  then he moved away, seating himself
again, drawing his hands slowly after him as if playing out a line with
some tension on it.

he sat unmoving for a long while.  then the figure on the desk jerked
slightly and he lowered his hands.

"no good," he said, rubbing his eyes and reaching to recover his
wineglass.  "i can't seem to get a handle on it. they are not like
anything else i know about."

"they're special, all right," mouseglove observed, "considering the
dance they put me through.  and from the glimpses they gave you at anvil
mountain, i have the feeling they could talk to you right now--if they
wanted

"yes.  they were helpful enough--in a way--at the time. i wonder why
they won't communicate now?"

"perhaps they have nothing to say."

i found myself puzzled by the manner in which these men spoke of those
seven small statues on the desk, as if they were alive.  i drew nearer
and examined them.  i had noted lines of force going from the man pol's
fingertips to them, shortly after he had spoken of "threads" and
performed his manipulations.  i had also detected a throbbing of power
in the vicinity of his right forearm, where he bore the strangely
troubling mark of the dragon--a thing about which i feel i should know
more than i do--but i had seen no threads.  nor had i noted any sort of
reaction from the figures, save for the small jerking movement of the
one as the shell of force was repelled.

i settled down about them, contracting, feeling the rex tures of the
various materials of which they had formed.  cold, lifeless.  it was
only the words of the which laid any mystery upon them.

continuing this commerce of surfaces, i grew smaller, concentrating my
attention now upon that which pol had momentarily bound.  my action then
was prompt as my decision: i began to pour myself into flowing through
the miniscule openings- the burul it was indescribable, the searing
feeling passed through my being.  expanding, filling the passing beyond
it into the night, i knew that it must that thing referred to as pain. i
had never experienced before and i wanted never to feel it again.

i continued to seek greater tenuosness, for in it lay measure of
alleviation.

pol had been correct concerning the figure.  it somehow, alive.  it did
not wish to be disturbed.

beyond the walls of rondoval, the pain began to ease. felt a stirring
within me...  something which had been there but was just now beginning
to creep awareness ...

"what was that?" pol said.  "it sounded like a but "

"i didn't hear anything," mouseglove answered, ening.  "but i just felt
a jolt--as if i'd been touched someone who'd walked across a heavy rug,
only longer .  .  .  i don't know.  it gave me a ehfil.  maybe stirred
something up, playing with that statue."

"maybe," pol said.  "for a moment, it felt as if were something peculiar
right here in the room with us."

'"rhere must be a lot of unusual things about this place--with both of
your parents having been sorcerers.  not to mention your grandparents,
and theirs. pol nodded and sipped his wine.

"there are times when i feel acutely aware of my lack formal training in
the area."

he raised his right hand slightly above extended his index finger and
moved it rapidly through series of small circles.  a book bound in skin
of an minate origin appeared suddenly in his hand, a gray and white
feather bookmark protruding from it.

"my father's diary," he announced, lowering the volume and opening it to
the feather.  "now here," he said, running his finger down the right
hand page, pausing and staring, "he tells how he defeated and destroyed
an enemy sorcerer, capturing his spirit in the form of one of the
figures. elsewhere, he talks of some of the others.  but all that he
says at the end here is, 'it will prove useful in the task to come.  if
six will not do to force the wards i shall have seven, or even eight."
obviously, he had something very spec,',dlc in mind.  unfortunately, he
did not commit it to paper.

"further along perhaps?"

"i'll be up late again reading.  i've taken my time with it these past
months because it is not a pleasant document. he wasn't a very nice guy.

"i know hat.  it is good that you learn it from his own words, though."

"his words about forcing the wards---do they mean anything at all to
you?"

"not a thing."

"a good sorcerer would find some way to learn it from the materials at
hand, i'm sure."

"i'm not.  those things seem extremely potent.  as for your own
abilities, you seem to have come pretty far without training.  i'd give
a lot to be able to pull that book triekwith, say, someone's jewelry.
where'd you get it from, anyway?"

pol smiled.

"i didn't want to leave it lying around, so i bound it with a golden
strand and ordered it to retreat into one of those placeless places
between the worlds, as i saw them arrayed on my journey here.  it
vanished then, but whenever i wish to continue reading it i merely draw
upon the thread and summon it."

"gods!  you could do that with a suit of armor, a rack of weapons, a
year's supply of food, your entire library, for that matter!  you can
make yourself invincible!"

pol shook his head.

"afraid not," he said.  'qhe book and the jumble-box are all i've been
keeping there, because i wouldn't there to fall into anyone else's
hands.  if i were could add my guitar.  much more, though, and it become
too great a burden.  their mass somehow added to my own.  it's as if i'm
carrying send through."

"so that's where the box has gotten to.  i remember locating it, that
day we went back to anvil mountain

"yes.  i almost wish i hadn't."

"you couldn't really hope to recover his body or scepter from that
crater."

"no, that's not what i meant.  it was just that-- waste that bothered
me.  i--"

he slammed his fist against the arm of his chair.

"damn those statues!  it sometimes seems they behind it alii if i could
just get them to--hell!"

he drained his glass and went to refill it.

the sensation ebbed.  i did not like that experience. room and its
inhabitants were now tiny within myself, and more uncertainties were now
present: know what it was that had caused me pain, nor produced that
effect.  i felt that i should learn these so as to avoid it in the
future.  i did not know proceed.

i also felt that it might be useful for me to learn produce this effect
in others, so that i could cause leave me alone.  how might i do this?
if there means of contact it would seem that it could go either once the
technique were mastered ...

again, the stirring of memory.  but i was someone approached the castle.
it was male gender.  i was aware of the distinction because familiarity
with the girl nora who had dwelled within time before returning to her
own people.  this man brown cloak and dark clothing.  he came driting
out northwest, mounted upon one of the lesser kin dragons who dwell
below.  his hair was yellow, places white.  he wore a short blade.  he
circled. not miss the sign of the one lighted room.  he descend, silent
as a leaf or an ash across the air.  i that he would land at the far end
of the courtyard, out of sight of the library window.

yes.

within the room the men were talking, about the battle at the place
called anvil mountain, where pol destroyed his step-brother, mark
marakson.  pol, i gather, is a sorcerer and mark was something else,
similar but opposite. a sorcerer is one who manipulates forces as i saw
pol do with the statue, and the book.  now, dimly, i recalled another
sorcerer.  his name was der.

"...  you've been brooding over those figures too long," mouseglove was
saying.  "if there were an easy answer, you'd have found it by now."

"i know," pol replied.  'that's why i'm looking for something more
complicated."

"i don't have any special knowledge of magic," mouse-glove said, "but it
looks to me as if the problem does not lie completely in that area."

"what do you mean?"

"facts, man.  you haven't enough plain, old*fashioned information to be
sure what you're up against here, what it is that you should be doing.
you've had a couple of months to ransack this library, to play every
magical game you can think of with the stiff dolls.  if the answer were
to be found that way, you'd have turned it up.  it's just not here.  you
are going to have to look somewhere else."

"where?" pol asked.

"if i knew that, i'd have told you before now.  i've been away from the
world i knew for over twenty years.  it must have changed a bit in that
time.  so i'm hardly one to be giving directions.  but you know i'd only
intended to main here until i'd recovered from my injury.  i've been
feeling fine for some time now.  i've been loathe to leave, though,
because of you.  i don't like seeing you drive yourself against a crazy
mystery day after day.  there are enough half-mad wizards in the world,
and i think that's where you may be heading--not to mention the
possibility of your setting off something which may simply destroy you
on the spot.  i think you ought to get out, get away from the problem
for a time.  you'd said you wanted to see more of this world.  do it
now.  come with me, tomorrow. who knows?  you may even come across some
of the information you seek in your travels."

"i don't know..." pol began.  "i do want to go, but--tomorrow?"

"tomorrow."

"where would we be heading?"

"over to the coast, i was thinking, and then north along it.  you can
pick up a lot of news in port cities---"

pol raised his hand and cocked his head.  mouseglove nodded and rose to
his feet.

"your warning system still working?" mouseglove whispered.

pol nodded and turned toward the door.

"then it can't be any--"

the sound came again, and with it the form of a light-haired man
appeared in the doorway, smiling.

"good evening, pol detson," he stated, raising his left hand and jerking
it through a series of quick movements, "and good-bye."

pol fell to his knees, his face suddenly bright red. mouseglove rounded
the desk.  picking up one of the statuettes and raising it like a club,
he moved toward the brown-cloaked stranger.

the man made a sudden movement with his right hand and the thief was
halted, spun and slammed back against the wall to his left.  the
figurine fell from his grip as he slumped to the floor.

as this occurred, pol raised his hands beside his cheeks and then
gestured outward.  his face began returning to its normal color as he
climbed to his feet.

"i might ask, 'why?"" he said, his own hands moving now, rotating in
opposite directions.

the strangei continued to smile and made a sweeping movement with one
hand, as if brushing away an insect.

"and i might answer you," said the other, "but it would take some
coercion."

"very well," said pol.  "i'm willing."

he felt his dragonmark throb and the air was alive with strands.
reaching out, he seized a fisfful, shook them and snapped them like a
lash toward the other's face.

the man reached out and caught them as they arrived. a numbing shock
traveled up pol's arm and it fell !imply to his side.  the density of
the strands between them increased to a level he had never before
witnessed, partly obscuring his view of his opponent.

pol made a large sweeping motion with his left hand, gathering in a ball
of them.  immediately, he willed it to fire and cast the blazing orb
toward the other.

the man deflected it with the back of his right hand and then flung both
arms upward and outward.

the light in the room began to throb.  the air became so filled with the
lines of power that they seemed to merge, becoming huge, swimming,
varicolored patterns obscuring much of the prospect, including the
stranger.

as the pulse in his dragonmark overcame the numbness in his right arm,
pol sent his will through it, seeking a clearer image of his adversary.
immediately, the form of the other man began to glow, as the
rainbow-work wove itself to closure.  the room disappeared, and pol
became aware that his form, too, had become luminiscent.

the two of them faced one another across a private universe built
entirely of moving colors.

pol saw the man raise his hands, cupping them before him.  immediately,
a green serpent raised its head from within them and slithered forth,
moving in po!'s direction.

pol could feel a raw creation force moving all about him. he reached out
and up, beginning a rapid series of shaping movements.  a huge, gray
bird came into being between his hands.  he laid his will upon it and
released it.  it flashed forward and dove upon the snake, catching at it
with its talons, striking with its beak.  the serpent twisted its body
and struck at the bird, missing.

looking past this contest, pol saw that the man was now juggling a
number of balls of colored light.  even as the bird rose, bearing the
struggling snake in its talons, to flap upward and merge with the
kaleidescopic field which surrounded them, pol saw the man cast the
first blazing ball in his direction.

smiling, pol shaped a tennis raquet and saw a look of puzzlement cross
his adversary's features as he regarded the unfamiliar instrument.

he slammed the first ball back at the man just as the second was
released.  the sorcerer dropped the remaining balls and dove to the side
to avoid the return.  pol batted the second one out-of-court as the man
rolled forward and came to his feet, his right hand snapping outward,
something long and black moving with it.

he swung the raquet and missed as the whip caught him about the neck and
jerked him forward.  he felt himself falling.  dropping the raquet, he
reached for the choking thing that held him, to seize it, unwind it- it
jerked again and the world began to spin and darken. it continued to
tighten, and he heard the sound of laughter, coming nearer...

"not much of a contest," he heard the other say.

then there was an explosion and everything went black.

it was instructive to observe the exchange of forces between pol and the
visitor.  also, mildly unsettling, as it occurred to me that they might
be inducing pain in each other.  yet, they had wanted to do it or they
wouldn't have.  i was more interested in the manipulations than i was in
their progressive wearing down of each other, because i felt that i
might be able to engage in that sort of activity myself and i wished to
be further informed.  its abrupt ending came as a surprise to me.  save
for small, less complex creatures, i had not seen one being end
another's existence.  indeed, it had not occurred to me that these
larger ones could be ended.  i felt as if i should have taken a part in
it, though on which side and in which direction, i could not say.  i was
also uncertain as to why i felt this way.

where there had been three there were now two.  i did not understand why
they had done it, nor how the lance of force had come from the statuette
to terminate the stranger before mouseglove's projectile reached his
head.

pol shook his head.  his neck was sore.  he rubbed it and opened his
eyes.  he was lying on the floor beside the desk.  slowly, he pushed
himself into a seated position.

the stranger lay upon his back near the door, right arm outflung, left
across his breast.  a piece of his forehead was missing and his right
eye was a crimson pool.

to his left, leaning against a bookshelf, mouseglove stood rubbing his
eyes.  his right arm hung at his side and in his hand was the pistol he
had carried away from anvil mountain.  when he saw pol move he dropped
his left hand and smiled xeakly.

"are you all right?" he asked.

"i guess so.  except for a stiff neck.  what about yourself?"

"i don't know what he hit 'me with.  it affected my sight for awhile.
when i came around, the two of you seemed to be pulsing into and out of
existence.  i wasn't able to get a shot at him till the last time he
came through." he replaced the weapon in a holster behind his belt and
moved forward, extending his hand.  "everything seems normal enough now.

pol accepted his hand and rose.  they both crossed the room and looked
down at the dead man.  mouseglove immediately knelt and began searching
him.  after several minutes, he shook his head, unfastened the brown
cloak and covered the man with it.

"nothing," he said, "to tell who he is or why he came.  i take it you
have no idea?"

"none."

they returned to their seats 'and the wine flask, mouse-glove restoring
the fallen figurine on the way.

"either he had some reason for disliking you and came by to do something
about it," mouseglove said, "or somebody else who feels that way sent
him.  in the first ease, some friend of his might come along later to
continue the work.  in the second, another may be sent as soon as it is
known that this one failed, either way, it would appear that more
trouble will be forthcoming."

pol nodded.  he rose and removed a book from a shelf high on the left
hand wall.  he returned to his seat and began paging through it.

''his one got through all of your alarm spells without giving warning,"
mouseglove continued.

"he was better than i am," pol said, without looking up from the book.

"so what is to be done?"

wizabd wobld

"here," pol said, locating the page he sought and reading silently for a
time.  "i had been wondering about this for some time," he went on.
"every four years there is a gathering of sorcerers at belken, a
mountain to the northwest. ever hear of it?"

"of course--as a good thing to stay away from."

"it will begin in about two weeks.  i've decided to attend."

"if they're all like this fellow--" mouseglove nodded toward the form
upon the floor.  "--i don't think it would be a very good idea."

pol shook his head.

"the description makes it sound rather peacefill.  advanced
practicioners discuss theory with one another, apprentices are
initiated, rites involving more than one sorcerer get tried out, exotic
articles are traded and sold, new effects demonstrated..."

"the person behind this attempt on your life may be there."

"exactly.  i'd like to settle this quickly.  it may all be some sort of
misunderstanding.  after all, i haven't been around long enough to have
made any real enemies.  and if the one i seek isn't there, i may learn
something about him--if there is such a person.  either way, it makes it
seem worthwhile."

"and that will be your only reason for going?"

"well, no.  i also feel the need for some formal training in the art.
perhaps i can pick up a few pointers at something like that."

"i don't know, pol...  it sounds kind of risky."

"not going may prove even more dangerous in the long they heard a
scraping noise and a popping sound from the courtyard. both rose and
moved to the window.  looking downward, they saw nothing.  pol seemed to
stroke the air with his fingertips.

"the man's mount," he said finally.  "it's freed itself of whatever
restraints he'd laid upon it and i preparing to depart." he moved his
hand rapidly, raising the other one as well.  "maybe i can get a line on
it, trace it back to where it came from."

the lesser kin of the dragon rose in the northeast and swept through a
wide, rising are, leftward.

"no good," pol said, lowering his hands.  "missed him." mouseglove
shrugged.

"i guess you won't be going with me," he said, "if you'll be heading for
that convocation, in the other direction." pol nodded.

"i'll leave tomorrow, too, though.  i'd rather be moving about than
staying in one place between now and then.  so we can take the trail for
a little way together."

"you won't be riding moonbird?"

"no, i want to see something of the countryside, too."

"traveling alone also has its hazards."

"i'd imagine they are fewer for a sorcerer."

"perhaps," mouseglove replied.

the dark form of the dragon-mount dwindled against the northern sky,
vanished within a mountain's shadow.

givings%

"he was from the book.

"so what is to be that night, as i permeated the dead man's body,
seeking traces within his brain cells, i learned that his name had been
keth and that he had served one greater than himself.  nothing more.  as
i slid into and out of higher spaces, as i terminated a rat in a
drainage channel in the manner i had recently learned, as i threaded my
way among moonbeams in the old tower and slid along rafters in search of
spiders, i thought upon the evening's doings and on all manner of
existential questions which had not troubled me previously.

the energies of the creatures which i had taken had a braeing effect
upon my overall being.  i wandered through new areas of thought.  other
beings existed in multitudes, yet i had never encountered another such
as myself.  did this mean that i was unique?  if not, where were the
others?  if so, why?  from whence did i come?  was there a special
reason for my existence?  if yes, what could it be?

i swirled across the ramparts.  i descended to the caverns far below and
passed among the sleeping dragons and the other creatures.  i felt no
kinship with any of them.

it did not occur to me until much later that i must possess some
particular attachment to rondoval itself, else i might long ago have
wandered off.  i realized that i did prefer it and its environs to those
other portions of the countryside into which i had ventured.  something
had kept calling me back.  what?

i returned to pol's sleeping form and examined him very carefully, as i
had every night since his arrival.  and i found myself, as always,
hovering above the dragonmark upon his right forearm.  it, too,
attracted me.  for what reason, i could not say.  it was at about the
time of this man's arrival that i had begun the movement which had
culminated in my present state of self-awareness.  was it somehow his
doing?  or the place having been deserted for as long as it had
been--would the prolonged presence of anyone have worked the same effect
within me?

my desire for purpose returned to me strongly.  i began to feel that my
apparent deficiency in this area might have been accidental, that
perhaps i should possess a compulsion, that there was something i should
be doing but had somehow lost or never learned.  how significant, i
wondered, was this feeling?  again, i was uncertain.  but i began to
understand what had produced my present attitude of inquiry.

pol would be departing on the morrow.  my memories of a time before his
time had already become dim.  would i return to my more selfless state
when he left?  i did not believe so, yet i was willing to concede that
he had played some part in my awakening into identity.

i realized at that moment that i was trying to make a decision.  should
i remain at rondoval or should i accompany pol?  and in either case,
why?

i tried to terminate a bat in flight but it got away from me.

the two of them took the northern trail on foot that morning, traveling
together through the pass and downward to the spring-touched green of
the forest to the place of the crossroads pol had marked upon the map he
bore.

they rested their packs against the hole of a large oak, still darkly
damp with the morning dew, and considered the mists which dwindled and
faded even as they watched, while the sun became a bright bulge upon the
slope of a mountain to their right.  from somewhere behind them the
first tentative notes of birdsong were commenced and then abandoned.

"you will be out of the hills by evening,'" said pol, looking to' the
right.  "it will be a few days before i get down, and then i'll have to
climb again later.  you'll be basking in the sea breeze while i'm still
shivering my ass off.  well, good luck to you and thanks again--"

"save the speech." said mouseglove.  "i'm coming along."

"to belken?"

"all the way."

"why?"

"i allowed myself to get too curious.  now i want to see how it all
ends."

"it may well end indeed."

"you don't really believe that or you wouldn't be going. come only don't
try to talk me out of it.  you might. succeed."

mouseglove raised his pack and moved off to the left. shortly, pol
joined him.  the sun looked over the mountain's shoulder and the gates
of dawn were opened.  their shadows ran on before them.

that night they camped within a stand of pine trees, and pol had a dream
which felt like no dream he had ever known before.  there was a clarity
and a quality of consciousness involved which spun it past his inner eye
with a disturbing simulation of reality, while in all aspects it was
invested with a foreboding air of menace and yet possessed him with a
certain dark joy.

seven pale flames were moving in slow procession wid-dershins about him,
as if summoning him, spirit fashion, to appear in their midst.  he rose
up slowly out of his body and stood like a bloodless image of himself.
at this, they halted and left the ground.  he followed them to treetop
height and beyond.  then they escorted him northward, moving higher and
faster beneath a sky filled with palely illuminated clouds.  grotesque
shapes seemed to fill the trees below, the mountains about him.  the
wind made a whining sound and black forms flitted out of his way.  the
terrain rippled in dark waves as his speed increased.  the wind became a
howling thing, though he felt neither cold nor pressure from it.

at last, a huge, dark form loomed before him, set halfway up a
mountainside, dotted here and there with small illumination; walled,
turreted, heavy, high, it was a castle at least the size of rondoval and
in better condition.

there followed a break in his dream-awareness from which he recovered
after an con or a moment to a feeling of cold, of dampness.  he stood
before a massive double-door, heavily ironbound and hung with huge
rings.  it was inscribed with the figure of a serpent, spikes driven
through it; the crucified form of a great bird hung above it.  where it
was located, he had no idea, but it seemed suddenly familiar-as though
he had glimpsed it repeatedly in other dreams, forgotten until this
instant.  he swayed slightly forward, realizing as he did that the chill
he experienced hung about the gate itself like an invisible aura,
increasing perceptibly with each tiny movement he made toward it.

the flames burned silently, soureelessly, at either hand. he was
overwhelmed with a desire to pass through the gate, but he had no idea
as to how this might be accomplished. the doors looked far too
formidable to yield to the strength of any solitary mortal ...

he awoke cold and wondering, pulling his covering higher and drawing it
more tightly about him.  the next morning he remembered the dream but
did not speak of it.  and that night it was partly repeated ...

he stood again before the dusky gate, with the recalled sensations but
few specific images of his journey to the place.  this time he stood
with his arms upraised, pleading in ancient words for them to open
before him.  with a mighty creaking they obeyed, moving outward a short
distance, releasing a small breeze and an icy chill along with tendrils
of mist and a sound of distant wailing.  he moved forward to enter ...

on each night of that first week on the road, he returned to that dream
and traveled further into it, losing his flame-like companions when he
passed beyond the gate.  alone, he drifted across a blasted landscape
gray and bronze, black and umber beneath a dark, red-streaked sky where
a barely illuminated, coppery orb hung still in what could be the west.
it was a place of shadow and stone, sand and mist, of cold and wailing
winds, sudden fires and slow, crawling things which refused to register
themselves upon his memory.  it was a place of sinister, sentient
lights, dark caves and mined statues of monstrous form and when.  some
small part of him seemed to regret that he took such pleasure in the
prospect ...

and the night that he saw the creatures--scaled, coarse monstrosities;
long-armed, hulking parodies of the human formssliding, hopping,
lurching in pursuit of the lone man who fled before them across that
landscape.  he looked down with a certain anticipation.

the man ran between a pair of high stone pillars, cried out when he
found himself in a rocky declivity having no other exit.  the creatures
entered and laid hold of him. they forced him to the ground and began
tearing at him. they beat at him and flayed him, the ground growing even
darker about them.

abruptly, one of the creatures shrieked and drew back from the ghastly
gathering.  its long, scaly right arm had been changed into something
short and pale.  the others uttered mocking noises and seized upon it.
holding the straggling creature, they returned their attention to the
thing upon the ground.  bending forward, they wrenched and bit at it. it
was no longer recognizable as anything human.  but it was not
unrecognizable.

it had altered under their moist invasions, becoming something larger,
something resembling themselves in appearance, while the beast they held
to witness had shrunken, growing softer and lighter 'and stranger.

nor was it unrecoguizable.  it had become human in form, and whole.

those who held the man pushed him and he fell.  in the meantime, the
demonic thing upon the ground was left alone as the others drew back
from it: its limbs twitched and it straggled to rise.

the man scrambled to his feet, stumbled, then raced forward, passing
between the pillars, howling.  immediately, the dark creatures emitted
sharp eries and, pushing and dawing against one another, moved to pursue
the fleeing changeling, the one who had somehow been of a substance with
him joining in.

pol heard laughter and awoke to find it his own.  it ended abruptly, and
he lay for a long while staring at moonlit clouds through the dark
branches of the trees.

they rode one day in the wagon of a farmer and his son and accompanied a
pedlar for half a day.  beyond this--and encounters with a merchant and
a physician headed in the opposite directionsthey met no one taking the
same route until the second week.  then, a sunny afternoon, they spied
the dust and dark figures of a small troop before them in the distance.

it was late afternoon.  when they finally overtook the group of
travelers.  it consisted of an old sorcerer, ibal shenson, accompanied
by his two apprentices, nupf and sahay, and ten servantsfour of whom
were engaged in the transportation of the sedan chair in which ibal
rode.

it was to nupf--a short, thin, mustachioed youth with long, dark
hair--that pol first addressed himself, since this one was walking at
the rear of the retinue.

"greetings," he said, and the man moved his right hand along an
inconspicuous are as he turned to face him.

as had been happening with increasing frequency when confronted with
manifestations of the art, po!'s second vision came reflexively into
play.  he saw a shimmering gray strand loop itself and move as if to
settle over his head.  with but the faintest throb of the dragonmark he
raised his hand and brushed it aside.

"herel" he said.  "is that the way to return the greeting of a fellow
traveler?"

a look of apprehension widened the other's eyes, jerked at his mouth.

"my apologies," he said.  "one never knows about travelers. i was merely
acting to safeguard my master.  i did not realize you were a brother in
the art."

"and now that you do...  ?"

"you are headed four the meeting at belken?"

"yes."

"i will speak with my master, who no doubt will invite you to accompany
us."

"go ahead."

"who shall i tell him sends greetings?"

"pol derson--and this is mouseglove."

"very well."

he turned and moved to catch up with the bearers.  pol and mouseglove
followed.

looking over the apprentice's shoulder, pol glimpsed the old sorcerer
himself before the man addressed him. swathed in blue garments, a gray
shawl over his shoul

wzad woad

ders, a brown rug upon his lap, it was difficult to estimate his size,
though he gave the impression of smallness and fragility.  his nose was
sharp, his eyes pale and close-set; his cheeks and forehead were deeply
creased, the skin mottled; his hair was thick, long, very black and
looked like a wig--for his beard was sparse and gray.  his hands were
out of sight beneath the rug.

"come nearer," he hissed, turning his head toward pol and squinting.

after he did so, pol held his breath, becoming aware of the other's.

"detson?  detson?" the man asked.  "from where have you come?"

"castle rondoval," pol replied.

"i thought the place deserted all these years.  who is lord there now?"

"!  am."

there was a stirring beneath the.  brown coverlet.  a big-jointed,
dark-veined hand emerged.  it moved slowly toward pol's right wrist and
plucked at the sleeve. "bare your forearm, if you please." pol reached
across and did so.

two fingers extended, ibal traced the dragonmark.  then he chuckled and
raised his eyes, staring at pol, past him.

"it is as you say," he remarked.  "i did not know of you--though i see
now that you are troubled by more than one lingering thing from out of
rondoval's past."

"that may well be," said pol.  "but how can you tell?"

"they circle you like swarms of bright insects:" ibal said, still
looking past him.

pol consciously shifted into his second mode of seeing, and while there
were many strands in the vicinity, he detected nothing which resembled a
circling swarm of insects.

"i fail to observe the phenomenon myself..."

"most certainly," the other replied, "for it has doubtless been
constantly with you--and it would of course seem different to you than
it does to me, anyway, if you could detect it at all.  you know how
sorcerers' perceptions vary, and their emphasis upon different things."

pol frowned.

"or do you?" ibal asked.

when pol did not reply, the old sorcerer continued to stare, narrowing
his eyes to tight slits.

"now i am not so certain," he said.  "pt first i thought that the
disorganization of your lights was a very clever disguise, but now--"

"my lights?" pol said.

"with whom did you serve your apprenticeship--and when did you undergo
initiation?" the other demanded. poi stuffed.

"i grew up far from here," he replied, "in a place where things are not
done that way."

"ah, you are a madwand!  preserve us from madwandsl still ...  you are
not totally disorganized--and anyone with that mark--" he nodded again
at pol's fight arm "--must possess an instinct for the art.  interesting
��� so why do you travel to belken?"

'ro learn ��� some things."

the old sorcerer chuckled.

"and i go for self-indulgence," he said.  "call me ibal, and accompany
me.  it will be good to have someone strange to talk with.  your man is
not a brother of the art?"

"no, and mouseglove is not really my man--he is my companion ."

"mouseglove, did you say?  i seem to have heard that name before.
something to do with jewels, perhaps?"

"i am not a jeweler," mouseglove replied hastily.

"no matter.  tomorrow i will tell you some things that may be of
interest to you, derson.  but it is still over half a league to the
place where i intend to camp.  let us move on.  upward!  forward!"

the servants raised the litter and moved ahead with it. pol and
mouseglove took up positions behind it and followed.

that night they camped amid the ruins of what might once have been a
small amphitheatre.  pol lay troubled for a long while, in fear of the
dreams that might come to him.  he still had not spoken of these, for in
daytime the things of sleep seemed far away.  but when the stillness
descended and the fire dwindled the deeper 'places of shadow seemed
filled with faces, as if some ghostly andi-enee capable of seeing beyond
the cowl of sleep had come together here to watch his journey into the
place of baleful lights and screaming winds and cruelty.  he shuddered
and listened for a long time, his eyes darting.  he knew of no magic to
affect the content of his dreams.  and he wondered again as to their
significance, partly with the mind of one whose culture would have seen
them in psychopathological terms, partly with the freshly tuned
awareness that in this place another explanation could as readily apply.
then his thoughts began to drift, back to the encounter with the
sorcerer who had tried to kill him at rondoval.  the dreams had begun
almost immediately after that, and he wondered whether there could be a
connection.  had the other laid a spell upon him before he had died, to
trouble his sleep thereafter?  his mind moved away, lulled by the steady
creaking of insects in the distant wood.  he wondered what mark would
have done.  looked for some drug to block it all out, perhaps.  his mind
drifted again ...

the movement.  now a familiar thing.  the fear was gone.  there was only
anticipation within the rapid and disjointed series of images by which
he moved.  there was the gate, and .  .  .

it stopped.  everything stopped.  he was frozen before the image of the
partly opened gate.  it was fading, insubstantial, going away, and there
was a hand upon his shoulder. he wanted to cry out, but only for a
moment.

"it's all right now," came a whisper, and the hand left him.

pol tried to turn his head, to sit up.  he found that he could not stir.
a large man, his face more than half-hidden in the shadow of his cowl,
was rising from a kneeling position beside him, passing through his
field of vision. pol thought that he glimpsed part of a pale mustache
and--impossibly--a shining, capped tooth.

"then why can't i move?" he whispered through clenched teeth.

"it was far easier for me to lay a general spell upon this entire camp
than to be selective about it.  then i needed but arouse you and leave
the others unconscious.  the paralysis is, unfortunately, a part of it."

pol suspected that this was a lie but saw no way to test it.

"i saw that your sleep was troubled.  i decided to grant you some
relief."

"how can you see that a man's sleep is troubled?"

"i am something of a specialist in that matter which confronts you."

"that being...  ?"

"did your dream not involve a large door?"

pol was silent for a moment.  then, "yes," he said.  "it did.  how could
you know this unless you induced it yourself?"

"i did not cause your dream.  i did not even come here for purposes of
releasing you from it."

"what, then?"

"you journey to belken."

"you seem to know everything ..."

"do not be impertinent.  as our interests may be conjoined, i am trying
to help you.  i understand more than you do about some of the forces
which are influencing you. you make a serious mistake, wandering about
the world announcing yourself at this point in your career.  now, i have
just taken great pains to remove the memory of your name and origin from
the minds of ibal and everyone in his party.  in the morning, he will
only recall you as a madwand traveling to belken.  even your appearance
will be a confusion to him.  if he should ask your name again, have
another one ready, and use it in belken, also.  rondoval still has its
enemies."

"i gathered something of this with the attempt on my

"when was this?  where?"

"a little over a week ago.  back home."

"i was not aware of this.  then it has begun.  you should be safe for a
time, if you remain incognito.  i am going to rinse your hair with a
chemical i have here, to conceal that white streak.  it is too
distinctive.  and then we must hide your dragonmark."

"how?"

"a relatively simple matter.  how do you see manifestations of the
powers when you are working a spell?"

pol felt moisture upon his scalp.

"usually as colored strands--threads, strings, cords."

"interesting.  very well, then.  you can imagine me as

wrapping your forearm with flesh-colored strands--so closely

as to entirely mask the mark.  it will in no way interfere

with your workings.  when you wish to uncover it you

need but go through an unwrapping ritual."

pol felt his arm taken, raised.

"who are you?" he asked.  "how do you know all these

things?"

"i am the sorcerer who should never have been, and

mine is a peculiar link with your house."

"we are related?"

"no.  not even friends."

"then 'why are you helping me?"

"i feel that your continued existence may serve me.

there.  your arm is nicely disguised."

"if you really wish to protect me from something, you

might do well to tell me somewhat about it."

"i do not deem that the most fitting course of act/on.

first, nothing may happen to you, in which case i would

have exposed you to information i'd rather not.  second, ignorance on
your part may actually benefit me."

"mister, someone's already gotten my number.  !  don't

like the notion of being suddenly engaged in another

sorcerous duel."

"oh, they're all right if you win.  that was the nature of

the assassination attempt?"

"yes."

"well, you're still intact."

"just barely."

"good enough, my boy.  keeps you alert.  now, perhaps

we'd best coarsen your features a bit and lighten your eyes

a trifle.  shall we have a wart beside your nose?  no?  an

interesting scar on your cheek then yes, that should do it "

"and you won't give me your name?"

"it would mean nothing to you, but your knowledge of it might trouble me
later."

pol willed the dragonmark to life, hoping his disguised arm would mask
this from the other's second sight.  the man voiced no reaction as the
throbbing began.  pol sent the force up and down his right arm, freeing
it from the la'alysis.  then his neck.  he had to be able to turn his
head a bit ...  best to leave the rest as it was for the moment.
catalepsy, he knew, is hard to fake.

the hands continued to move over his face.  the other's face remained
out of his field of vision.  pol summoned a tough, gray strand and felt
its ghostly presence across his fingertips.

"now they'll all think you've been to heidelberg "

"what," pol asked him, "did you say?"

"an obscure reference," the other offered quickly.  "a really good
sorcerer has knowledge of places beyond this place, you know--"

pol let the energy pulse through him, breaking the paralysis entirely.
he rolled onto his side and directed a flash movement of the gray
strand.  it snaked upward and snared the man's wrists.  as he tightened
it, he began to rise.

"now i will ask my questions again," pol stated.

"fool of a madwand!" said the other.

the strand writhed in pol's hand and a feeling like an electrical shock
traveled up his arm.  he ceuld not release the thing and the dragonmark
felt as if it were on fire.  he opened his mouth to scream, but nothing
came out.

"you are very lucky," was the last thing he heard the man say before the
storm reached his brain and he fell.

dawn had just bruised the eastern heaven when he opened his eyes.  it
was the voices of ibal's servants which had awakened him, as they moved
about packing their gear, making ready to decamp.  pol raised his hands
to his temples, trying to recall how much he had drunk ...

"who are you?  where's pol?"

he turned his head, saw mouseglove standing arms akimbo, staring at him.

"is there a scar on my cheek?" he asked, raising his fingertips to
search it.

"yes."

"listen to my voice.  don't you recognize it?  is the streak in my hair
gone, too?"

"oh...  i see.  yes, it is.  why a disguise at this point?" pol got up
and began gathering his things.

"i'll tell you about it while we're walking along."

he searched the ground for signs of his visitor, but it was a rocky
place and there were none.  as they followed ibal's servitors back
toward the trail, mouseglove paused and pointed into a clump of withered
shrubbery.

"what do you make of that?" he asked.

three mummified rabbits hung among the tangle of branches.

shaking his head, pol walked on.

it was more than a little traumatic at the beginning: the sights and
sounds---all of the new things we encountered beyond rondoval.  i
hovered dose to poi for the first several days, drifting along, sensing
everything within range, familiarizing myself with the laws governing
new groups of phenomena.  travel, i discovered, /s broadening, for i
found myself spreading over a larger area as time went on. my little
joke.  i realized that my expansion was at least partly attributable to
the increased number of things whose essences i absorbed as we traveled
along--plants as well as animals, though the latter were more to my
liking--and partly in accord with boyle's and charles' laws, which i'd
picked out of pol's mind one evening when he returned in memory to his
university days.  i cannot, in all honesty, consider myself a gas.
though i am anchored to the physical plane, i am not entirely manifested
here and can withdraw partly with ease, entirely with more difficulty. i
confine myself to a given area and move about by means of my will.  i am
not certain how that works either.  i was aware, however, that my total
volume was increasing and that my ability to do physical things was
improving--like the rabbits.  i had decided to look upon the entire
journey as an educational experience.  any new thing that i learned
might ultimately have some bearing upon my quest for identity and
purpose.

and i was learning new things, some of them most peculiar.  for
instance, when that cloaked and muffled man entered the compound, i had
felt a rippling as of a gentle breeze, only it was not physical; i had
heard something like a low note and seen a mass of swimming colors.

then everyone, including the camp watchman, there followed more
movements and colors and sounds having recently learned the meaning of
"subjective," can safely say that that is what they were, rather
tangible.  then i observed with interest as he altered sleepers',
memories concerning pol, realizing from the sations i had experienced
and from my memory of back at rondoval during pol's duel with the
sorcerer brown that i was extremely sensitive to magical nations.  i
felt as if i could easily have altered these ings.  i saw no reason to
do so, however, so i observed.  from my small knowledge of such affairs,
seemed that this one had an unusual style in the way shited forces among
the planes.  yes.  sudden memories, a violent occasion reinforced this
impression.  he was culiar, but i could see how he did everything that
he did.

then he stood beside pol for a long while and i not tell what he was
about.  he was employing some different from that which he had used
minutes before, i did not understand it.  something within me jerked
modically when he reached out and laid a hand upon shoulder.  why, i
did-not know, but i moved nearer. witnessed the entire conversation and
the of pol's appearance.  when the man covered the mark i found myself
wanting to cry out, "no" but, course, i had no voice.  it irritated me
considerably to it don though i knew that it remained intact beneath
spe!!and i was aware that pol could undo'the spell whenever he chose.
what this reaction told me about myself, i could not say.

but then, when pol rose and there was a brief and rapid exchange of
forces between the men, i rushed to settle upon pol and permeate his
form, inspecting it for damage. i could discover nothing which seemed
permanently debilitating to his kind, and since they generally render
themselves unconscious during the night i made no effort to interfere
with this state.

withdrawing, i then set out to locate the other man.  i was not certain
why, nor what i would do should i succeed in finding him.  but he had
departed quickly and there was no trace of him about, so the questions
remained academic.

that was when i came across the rabbits and terminated them.  as well as
the bush where they crouched.  i felt immediately stronger.  i puzzled
over all my reactions and the more basic questions which lay behind
them---wondering, too, whether i was really made for such a fruifiess
function as introspection.

no one in the company, ibal included, seemed to take

note of pol's altered appearance.  and none addressed him

by name.  it was as if each of them had forgotten it and was

embarrassed to reveal the fact to the others.  eventually, those who
spoke with him settled upon

"madwand" as a

term of address, and pol did not even get to use the other

name he had ready.  conceding the possibility of its protective benefit,
he was nevertheless irritated that his new

identity had caused ibal to forget whatever it was that he

had intended telling him about rondoval.  not knowing

how strong the stranger's memory-clonding spell might

be, he was loath to associate himself with rondoval in his

comnanions' minds by broaching the subject himself.

it'was two nights later, as they sat to dinner, that ibal

raised a matter almost as interesting.

"so, madwand, tell me of your plans," he said, spooning

something soft and mushy between what remained of his

teeth.  "what do you propose doing at the rest?"

"learning," pol replied?d.  "l would like to meet some

fellow practitioners- uld like to become' more identity ant-9, , $

peculiar for if I.. man entered the o,.. gentle breeze, only it w?,.
thing like a low note and g and say that you're look-e asked. ired.

hat naive.  where did

'er rrose."

try, since you are a nd ignorance very rituals involved in initiation
will result in an ordering of your lights.  this allow you to handle
greater quantities of the moves through all things.  it will permit you
to power, a thing which might not happen otherwise."

"will initiations actually be conducted at belken time, during the
course of the gathering?"

"yes.  i plan on having nupf initiated sahay, i feel, is not ready."

he gestured toward the larger of his apprentices, youth with dark eyes
and pale hair.  sahay frowned looked away.

"once an apprentice has been initiated he is on his so to speak?" pol
asked.

"yes, though a man will occasionally remain with master for a period of
time afterwards to learn points of the art which might have been
neglected he was studying the basics"

"well, if i can't locate a sponsor i ,"ess that i'il have to muddle
through life on my own.

"if you are aware of the dangers of initiation..."

"i'm not."

"death and madness are the main now then they claim a few who were not
quite ready."

"could i get some coaching so as not to be

"that could be arranged." 'hen i'd be willing."

"in that case, i will sponsor you in return for goodwill.  it's always
nice to have a few friends in trade."

the dreams of the' gate and the peculiar !and them did not return that
night, nor on any night until their arrival at the festival.  the days
uneventfully, routinely, as they hiked along, until only fact of his
changed appearance assured pol unusual had actually occurred.  the
terrain had they headed upward, though the ascent here was gradual than
the descent from the mountains rondoval.  belken itself was a great,
black, fang-like dotted with numerous depressions, bare of trees.
evening they first caught sight of it, it seemed

a faint white light.  mouseglove drew pol aside and they

halted to regard it.

"are you sure you know what you're getting into?" he asked him.

,"

"ibal has outlined the initiation procedures for me, pol replied, "and
he's given me an idea of what to expect at the various stations."'

'hat is not exactly what i had in mind," mouseglove said. "what, then?"

"a sorcerer tried to kill you back at rondoval.  another came by,
apparently to help you, last week.  i get the impression that you are in
the middle of something nasty and magical-and here you go, walking right
into a den of magicians and about to attem p,'t something dangerous
without the normal preparations.

"on the other hand," pol replied, "it is probably the best place for me
to discover what is going on.  and i'm sure i will find uses for any
additional insight and strength the initiation provides."

"do you really trust ibal?"

pol shrugged.

"it seems that i have to, up to a point."

"unless you decide to quit the whole game right now." ......  � talc]
put me right back where i started.  no

over more, , follow."

fell but time, i

freely."

identity ah,.  .-

uliar for fh .

ented the . gentle b, only it g e a low note the foothills, group
halted. nountain was sparkling col mid buildings mt of massive listening
road

"godsi" pol said.  "i'd no idea it was anything like he heard ibal
chuckle. "what's funny?" pol asked.

"one is only young once.  let it be a surprise," the sorcerer replied.

puzzled, pol continued on.  as the day advanced, dream-city lost some of
its glamour.  first went the kling and the rainbows; then the colors
began to haziness came over the buildings, and within it a grayness
settled upon the entire prospeet.  the seemed to diminish in size, and
some of the spires higher columns vanished altogether.  glassy walls
opaque and took on motion, a gentle, flapping then the fountains and the
archways were gone. if he now looked upon the place through a dimming
distorting glass.

when they sat to lunch, pol addressed ibal:

"all right, i'm surprised and i'm several hours now.  what's become of
the city?"

ibal nearly choked on his mush.

"no, no," he finally said.  "wait until dinnertime. the show."

and so he did.  as the sun moved westward and shadow of the peak fell
over the hazy outlines of structures at its base, the flapping movement
ceased the walls began to acquire something pol and mouseglove continued
to stare as they as the shadows lengthened, the place seemed to slowly
at first, more rapidly as the afternoon faded evening.  the haze itself
seemed to be dimming and outline of higher structures again became
visible drawing nearer to it, they became aware of the's fountains.  the
colors gradually reappeared within the firming outlines of the
buildings.  the towers, arches took on a greater solidity.

by dinnertime they were very near, and the city much closer to its early
morning appearance.  the continued to dissipate as they sat watching it,
taking meal.

"well, have you guessed?" ibal dark broth.

"it appears to be different things at different times," pol said.  "so
obviously it is not what it seems and must represent some sort of
enchantment.  i've no idea what's really there, or why it changes."

"what is really there is a group of caves, shacks and tents," ibal
explained.  "each time, dy lot, various practitioners acquire the
responsibility for putting the place into order for the gathering.  what
they normally do is send their apprentices and some servants on ahead.
these clean and repair the structures, raise the tents and set up the
various facilities.  then the apprentices usually vie in working out
spells to give it a pleasing appearance.  however, ,.

in ability and since the thing is only to

annrentices vary , ' 'dom em'loyed' con ' first class spells are so,'t
be temporary � u h dawn.  as

" it is beautiful from everang thro g

sequenuy, things

the day progresses, how.  ev?r, it becgcshtlvdf; of what

are weakest at noon, and then you

is really behind it all."

� "

"do the spells hold on the inside as well as the outside?

"indeed, madwand, they do.  you shall see for yourself

soon."

as they watched, the sparkling began again, faint at

first, growing.

d the foot of belken by evening and entered

they reac.h.e ,.  a ownun there� the first arch].

the bright ?ty w.  me.n, uau , --,* 'have been marie o

way through which they passed m r ...

of gold-veined mart ;shse:s's eb to  ] ngt 7at; vc an'eaun

branches strappetdrbg i

less lights drifted through the air at several times the

height of a man.  pol kept turning his head, assessing the

wonders.  unlike any city with which he was familiar, this

one seemed clean.  the way beneath their feet was unnatu � . e buildings
appeared almost fragile, with

rally bngh. 't th s,'m fillgreed screens coy;

an eshell transrace.  nee't u .  ' n tin designs of

redncffully shaped winoows in wan [," t, glowing gemstones. there were
balconies and overhead .  ades through which richly gatbed men and
walkways.  arc} ronted shops displayed m.agica, l par women passect.
dp,-

throughout e ciry as if talcing in the sights themselves. thick clouds
smoke rose from a brazier on a eoruer where mage chanted, a demonic face
and form taking within it high above the street.  the sounds of stringed
instruments and drums came from several tions.  on an impulse, pol
jerked his guitar into tuned it, slung it and began playing as they
walked he felt his dragonmark throbbing invisibly, as if in sponse to
the magical arabianee they were entering.  birds in cages of silver and
gold trilled responses to song.  a few of the passing faces turned his
way.  above, the face of the mountain was glowing softly, traversed by
swarms of fireflies.  and even higher, stars had appeared in a dear sky.
cool breezes about him, bringing the odors of exotic incenses, fumes, of
sweet logs burning.

mouseglove sniffed and listened, fingers twitching, darting..

"it would be difficult to know what to steal, in a where nothing is what
it seems," he remarked.

'rhen you might look upon it as a vacation." hardly," mouseglove
replied, eyeing a demon-face seemed to regard him from behind a grating
high in wall to his left. "p, perhaps sory education ...

lbal, croaking orders to his servants at every turn, to know the way to
his quarters.  they were, pol learned, the same apartments he had always
their appearance would be radically altered upon oceasion, one of the
older servants informed him.  tion here was a matter of familiarity with
position than appearanee.

the apartments to which they were conducted as guests seemed extensive
and elegant, though the swindling shimmer of glamourie lay upon
everything pol noted that solid-appearing walls seemed to yield what if
he leaned upon them, smooth floors were times uneven to the feet and
chairs were never comfortable as they looked.

ibal had dismissed them, saying that he intended to and that he would
introduce them to the

on the morrow.  so, after bathing and changing their garments, pol and
mouseglove went out to see more of the

town.

the balls of white light illuminated the major thorough fares. globes of
various colors drifted above the lesser

ways.  they passed knots of youths whose overheard conversations were
like the ruminations of philosophers and

groups of old men who called upon their powers to engage

- � s---such as the tiny cloud hovering just

in prac.  ttcal joke u:^, uddenlv rattled and drenched beneath an
archway win,- of anyone who passed below it, to the accompaniment
uproarious laughter from the gnome-like masters lurking in the shadows.

brushing away the moisture, pol and mouseglove continued on to a narrow
stair leading down to a winding street less well-illuminated than those
above---blue and red lights, smaller and dimmer than the others, moving
slowly above it."

"that looks to be a possibly interesting way, mouse glove indicated,
leaning on a rafting, above it.

"let's go down and have a look."

it seemed a place of refreshment.  establishments sero

veraae, both indoors and out, lined the

vmg  and kea o,1,, by all of them, then turned and

way.  they stro.  - started bac?  a g ',.  r l. "said mouseglove,
gestur"i like the looks oi umt ,"l,..

�' t

"one of the empty tables under the trig to the ,ngh .."o we can watch
the p.eo.ple pass."

canopy, per.  nap s, ,.;, a they made their way ov,, "good idea, stoa
rv, - ...

and sat down.

a small, dark, smiling man wearing a green kaftan from the
establishment's doorway almost im n:dagedl at will the gentlemen have?"
he inquired. "and tyw'h

"i'd like a glass of red wine," said pol.

"make mine white and almost sour," said mouseglove-the man turned away
and immediately turned back.  lie held a tray bearing two glasses of
wine, one light, one dark.

"useful trick, that," mouseglove observed.

"private spell," the other replied.

the man grew almost apologetic then as he asked to drop their payment
through a small hoop into a

"all the others are starting it, too," he said� 'i'oo enchanted pebbles
going around.  you might even some without knowing it."

but their coins remained coins as they passed the charmed circle.

"we just arrived," pol told him. "well, keep an eye out for stones." he
moved off to take another order�

the wine was extremely good, though pol that a part of its taste was
enchantment.  still, he after a time, what difference should it make?
like entire place about themif it serves rs purpose, ante can be far
more important than content.

"hardly an original observation," mouseglove when he voiced it.  "and it
meant a lot to lifted a bogus jewel i thought was real.."

pol chuckled.

"then it served its purpose."

mouseglove laughed.

"all right.  all right.  but when death gets involved it better to know
which is the real dagger and which the hand.  after what happened that
last night in your i would be very careful in a place like this."

"by what means that i am not already employing?"

"well, that magical shower we passed through mouseglove began.  "i just
noticed--"

he was interrupted by the approach of a blond, built young man with
finely chiseled features and a ing smile.  he was extravagantly dressed
and he with an extraordinary grace and poise.

"madwand!  and mouseglove!  strange meeting you waiter!  another of
whatever they're having for my and a glass of your best for me!"

he drew up a chair and seated himself at their table.

"it looks as if they did a better than usual job this year, he said,
gesturing.  "how do you like your accommodation.

"uhfine," pol replied as the waiter arrived and duced their drinks.

the youth gestured and his hand was

� th coins.  they leapt upward from it, arched through the w,,"m,, o d
into the basket with a small pyrotechnic disp!ay.

'"'y, --,'y 7;," o,;n

"listen, i hate to seem ruae sln'

you're buving, but i can't see.m to reyai!  � .  ." .

the yothaughed, his handsome teatures creasm{ merriment.

"of course not, of course not," he said.  "i am ibal, and you are
looking at the finest rejuvenation spell ever wrought." he brushed a
speck of dust from his bright sleeve.  "not to mention a few cosmetic
workings," he added softly. "reallyl"

"amazingl"

"yes.  i am ready to meet once again with my beloved vonnie, for two
weeks of lovemaking, revelry, good food and drink.  it is the only
reason i still come to these things."

"how--interesting."

"yes.  we first met here nearly three hundred years ago, and our
feelings have remained undiminished across the enturies."

"impressive," pol said.  "but do you not see one another in between
times?"

"gods, not if we had to live together on a day-to-cl.ay basis one of us
would doubtless kill the other.  two weeks every four years is just
right." he stared into his drink a moment before raising it to his lips.
besides, he added, "we spend a lot of the intervening time recovering."

he looked up again.

"madwand, what have you done to yourseli?

"what do you mean?" pol asked.

'chat white streak in your hair.  why is it there?" poi ran a hand
through his still-moist thatch. "little joke," he said.

"not in the best of taste," said ibal, shaking his head. "you'll have
people associating you with det's disaster. ahhl"

they followed a sudden movement of his gaze out along the street, past a
halted fat man and a pair of strollers, to where a woman approached
under a swaying blue light. she was of medium height, her hair long and
dark and glossy, her'form superbly molded beneath a light, clinging
costume, her features delicate, lovely, smiling.

following his sharp intake of breath, ibal rose to his feet.  pol and
mouseglove did the same.

"gentlemen, this is vonnie," he announced as she came up to the table.
he embraced her, kept his arm about her. "my dear, you are lovelier than
ever.  these are my friends, madwand and mouseg!,ove.  let us have a
drink with them before we go our way.

she nodded to them as he brought her a chair.

"it is good to meet you," she said.  "have you come very ar?" and pol,
captivated by the charm of her voice as well as the freshness of her
person, felt a sudden and acute loneliness.

he forgot his reply as soon as he uttered it, and he spent the next
several minutes admiring her.

as they rose to leave, ibal leaned forward and whis

"the hair--i'm serious.  you'd best correct it soon, or the initiation
ocials may think you flippant.  at any other time, of course, it would
not matter.  but in one seeking initiationrowel], it is not a time for
joking, if you catch my meaning."

pol nodded, wondering at the simplest way to deal with it.

't]i take care of it this evening."

"very good.  i too early."

"enjoy yourselves." ibal smiled. "i'm sure."

pol watched them go, then returned his attention to his drink.

"don't look suddenly," mouseglove whispered through unmoving lips, "but
there is a fat man who has been loitering across the way for some time
now."

'td sort of noticed," pol replied, sweeping his gaze over the bulky
man's person as he raised his glass.  "what about him?"

"i know him," mouseglove said, "or knew him--professionally. his name is
ryle merson."

pol shook his head.

the name means nothing to me."

"he is the sorcerer i once mentioned.  it was over twenty years ago that
he hired me to steal those seven statuettes from your father."

po] felt a strong urge to turn and stare at the large man in "gold and
gray.  he restrained himself.

'...  and there was no hint from him as to what he wanted them for?" he
asked.

"no."

"i feel they're very safe--in with my guitar," pol said. when he did
look again, ryle merson was talking with a tall man who wore a
long-sleeved black tunic, red trousers and high black boots, a red
bandana about his head.  the man had his back to them, but a little
later he turned and his eyes met po!'s in passing, before the two of
them moved on slowly up the street. "what about that one?" mouseglove
shook his head.

"for a moment i thought there was something fernflier about him, but
no--i don't know his name and i can't say where i might have seen him
before, if indeed i did."

"is this a coincidence, i wonder?"

"ryle is a sorcerer, and this is a sorcerers' convention."

"why do you think he chose to stand there for so long?"

"it could be that he was simply waiting for his friend," mouseglove
said, "though i found myself wondering whether he had reeoguized me."

"it's been a long time," pol said.

"he ould simply have come over and spoken with you if he wanted to be
certain who you were"

mouseglove raised his drink.

"let's finish up and get out of here," he said.

"okay."

later, the edge gone from the evening, they returned to their
apartments.  not entirely because mouseglove had suggested it, pol wove
an elaborate series of warning spells about the place and slept with a
blade beside the bed.

my existence a ohiloso k o everything concerning - - � ' v,, a aeaa poet
and a dying theologian---i got that from po]'s mind one night.  i am not
certain where pol got it, but it bore the proper east of contempt to
match my feelings, i had grown tired of thinking about my situation.  it
was time that i did something.

i found the city at belken's foot to be unnerving, but stimulating as
well.  bondoval was not without its share of magic--from utilitarian
workings and misunderstood enchantments to forgotten spells waiting to
go off and a lot of new stuff po] had left lying about.  but this place
was a veritable warehouse of magic--spell overlying spell, many of them
linked, a few in conflict, new ones being laid at every moment and old
ones dismantled.  the spells at bondoval were old, familiar things which
i knew well how to humor.  here the power hummed or shone all about me
constantly--some of it most strange, some even threat cuing--and i never
knew but that i might be about to collide with a deadly, unsuspected
force.  this served to heighten my alertness if not my awareness.  then,
too, i seemed to draw more power into myself just by virtue of moving
amid such large concentrations of it.

the first indication that i might be able to question someone concerning
my own status came when we entered the city and i beheld the being in
the tower of red fumes.  i watched it until the manifestation
dissipated, and then was pleased to note that the creature assumed a
form similar to my own.  i approached the receding thing immediately and
directed an inquiry toward it.

"what are you?" i asked.

"an errand boy," it replied.  "i was stupid enough to let someone find
out my name."

"i do not understand."

"i'm a demon just like you.  only i'm doing time.  go ahead and mock me.
but maybe someday you'll get yours."

"i really do not understand."

"i haven't the time to explain.  i have to fetch enough ice from the
mountaintop to fill all the chests in the food lockers.  my accursed
master has one of the concessions

"i'll help you," i said, "if you'll show me what to and if you will
answer my questions as we work."

"come on, then.  to the peak." i followed.

as we passed through the middle reaches of the air, i inquired, "i'm a
demon, too, you say?"

"i guess so.  i can't think of too many other things that give the same
impression."

"name one, if you can."

"well, an elemental--but they're too stupid to ask questions the way you
do.  you've got to be a demon."

we got to the top where i learned how to manage the ice.  it proved to
be a simple variation on the termination/ absorption techniques i
employed on living creatures.

as we swirled back down toward the lockersas two great spinning towers
of glittering erystals--i asked, "where do we come from?  my memory
doesn't go back all that

"we are assembled out of the universal energy flux in variety of
fashions.  one of the commonest ways is for a powerful sorcerous agency
to call one of us into being to perform some specific task tailor-making
us, so to speak. in the process we are named, and customarily we are
released once the job is finished.  only, if some lesser or lazier magc
such as my accursed your name he might bind you to his service freedom
ends again.  'that is why you will find q of us doing jobs for which we
are not ideally suited.  there just aren't that many top-notch sorcerers
around--and of them even grow lazy, or are of%en in a hurry.  ah, my
accursed master could be induced to make but smallest mistake in one of
his charging ritualsv' "what would happen then?" '

"why, i'd be freed in that moment to tear the son bitch apart and take
off on my own, hoping that he had no magical document mentioning my name
nor passed along to some snot-nosed apprentice.  to be safe, should
always destroy your accurs!  former master's to take care of any such
paperwork--burning is best---and then go after any apprentices who might
be the vicinity."

"i'll remember that," i said, as we reformed our dens into large chunks
in the lockers and headed more.

"but you've never had this problem not even once"

"no.  not at all." ' '

"unusual.  perhaps you had your origin in some natural disaster.  that
sometimes happens."

"i don't remember anything like that.  i do seem recall a lot of
fighting but that is hardly the same

"hm.  lots of blood?"

"i suppose so.  will that do it?"

"i don't think so, not just by itself.  but it could help something else
had started the process"

"i think there was a bad storm, also."

"storms can help, too.  but even so, that's not enough. "well, what
should i do?"

"do?  be thanlul that no one knows your name."

"i don't even know my name--that is, if i have one all."

we reached the peak, acquired another load, began the return trip.

"you must have a name.  everything does.  one of the old ones told me
that."

"old ones?"

"you really are naive, aren't you?  the old ones are the ancient demons
from the days that men have forgotten, ages ago.  fortunately for them,
their names have also been forgotten, so that they dwell largely
untroubled by sorcerers, in distant grottoes, upon far peaks, in the
hearts of volcanoes, in places at the ocean's bottom.  to hear them tell
it, no aceurs6d master could oppress you like the accursed masters of
long ago. it is difiieult to know whether there really is any
difference, since i know of none so unfortunate as to have served under
both ancient and modern accursed masters.  the old ones are wise,
though, just from having been around for so long.  one of them might be
able to help you."

"you actually know some of them?"

"oh yes! during one of my intervals of freedom i dwelled among them far
below, in the grottoes of the growling earth, where the hot magma surges
and steamsa most wondrous and happy place] would that i were there nowl"

"why don't you return?"

"nothing would please me more.  but i am bound not to wander too far by
my accurs6d master's accursed spell, and he is not in the habit of
granting vacations."

"how unfortunate."

"indeed."

we entered the lockers again and finished filling the ice chests.

"now, thanks to you, i am finished ahead of schedule," the demon said,
"and my accursed master will not summon me to another accursed task
until he realizes that this one is finished.  therefore, i have a few
minutes of freedom. if you would like, we will return to the heights
where we can see for a great distance and i will attempt to give you
directions for reaching the grottoe?  of the..grow !

"show me the way, i sao, ano the soarea upwmu.

i followed.

the instructions were complicated, but i set out immediately to follow
them.  i red far to the northwest until i came to a great water heaving
re gul arly t?w, the sa it imaged.  there, unaccountably, i sloweel.  !
new na i had to cross it as the next stage of my journey, but i was
drained of all will to begin.  i drired northward along the coastline,
puzzled.  what was it that was holding me back?

finally, i sought full control of my nebulous person.  i attempted to
consider the situation in a totally rational manner.  i saw no reason
for hesitation.  i ignored the strange lethargy which had taken hold of
me.  forcing myself forward, i passed over a narrow, pebbly strand of
beach and on out above the splashing swells.

i felt my new resolve waver almost immediately, yet i struggled to
continue, to break through whatever odd barrier it was that had been
raised against me.

it was then that i heard the voice, mixed in with the booming of the
surf.

"bell, or," it said.  "bell, or..."

and i listened and grew afraid.

"bell, or," it repeated, "bell, or, bell, or, bell, or," over and over
again.

i realized that some part of me had immediately understood something of
what lay behind those utterances.  and i knew they meant that i was
defeated in my quest.

i summoned my last bit of will to oppose the force which held me, for
here at last was something i might query.

"why?" i hurled at the waves and the sky.  "why?  what is it that you
want of me?"

there was a moment of silence, and then the voice returned:

"bell, or, be!l, or..."

i felt defeat wash through me, a dark, cold thing like the waters below,
as i saw that those strange words were to be my only answer.

turning, i rushed back to the shore then fled southward, knowing i would
have to look elsewhere for my answers.  the words faded thoughts became
focussed once i reached glowing belken and the city at its foot, i
proceeded unerringly to the building and the room where pol lay
sleeping.  how i achieved this with no real effort, i could not say,
unless some bond had grown between us as a result of our association.

as i inspected the defenses he had reared, i heard him moan softly.  i
entered his sleeping mind and saw that he had passed beyond a door in
his dreams into a place which both delighted and repelled him.  i had
never intervened in his affairs before, but i recalled that he had
seemed to be relieved when awakened by the nameless sorcerer that last
time he had dreamed such a dream.  so i caused him to awaken.

he lay there for a long while, troubled, then drifted into a more
peaceful slumber.  i departed then to seek my demon acquaintance and see
whether there was anything else i might learn.

i drifted over to the accursed master's quarters, but my friend was
neither there nor in the vicinity.  then, faintly, i detected the
glitteing trail such as had occurred behind us during the ice-hauling
expeditions.  i hurried to follow, as it had faded further even as i had
considered it.

i sped along the skiey trail as rapidly as i could conduct myself.  the
distance proved to be great, but a slight brightening of the way
indicated that i was gaining.

many leagues farther to the south and the west, the trail arced downward
toward a riverside town.  it ended at a house which was vibrating and
from which a series of crashing noises could be heard.  i passed into
the place and noted that blood was smeared everywhere--the walls, the
floors, even the ceiling.  my friend had hold of a male human whose
limbs were broken and whose brains had been dashed out against the
fireplace.

"greetings!  you're back so soon!  was there some problem with my
directions?"

"no, but some force i do not understand prevented me from departing this
continent."

"strange."

the human flew across the room to crash against the far wall.

"do you know what i think it is?"

"no.  what?" i said.

"i believe you are under a spell that you do not even know about--bound
in a particular way to some very special duty."

"i have no idea what it could be."

"give me a hand with the entrails, will you?  they should be strung
about."

"sure."

"well, i think that you ought to find out what the thing is and
discharge it.  maybe'the aeeursd master who on you is dead now or
demented.  in either case, very lucky.  once you've done whatever there
is to done, you'll be free."

"how do i find out what it is?"

"i guess that i am going to have to instruct you further in these
matters.  since i am prepared to count you as friend, i am going to tell
you something in strictest eonf dence---my name.  it is gellerart,"

"that's a nice name," i said.

"it is more than just a word.  it summarizes me when is fully
understood."

we finished the stringing and galleran dismembered(

the body, passing me a leg and an arm.

"do something artistic with these."

i hung one over a rafter and placed the other in a large kettle.

"because i know my name i know all that there is t� know about me,"
galleran said.  "you will, too, as yot begin to understand it.  now,
what you must do is discover your own name.  when you learn that, it
will also brin you knowledge of the task with which you have beet
charged."

"really?"

"certainly.  it must follow."

galleran placed the head upon the mantlepiece.

"how am i to find it out?" i asked.

"you must search your earliest memories--many perhaps.  it is there,
somewhere.  when you find times, it you will know it.  when you know it,
you will know yourself.

then you can act."

"i will--try," i said.

calleran proceeded to strew embers from the fireplace about the room.

"help me to fan these to flame now, will you?  it is always best to
leave the place burning after your work is done."

"surely."

as we strove to set the room to fire, i asked, "why is it that your
accursed master wanted this man destroyed?"

"one of them owed the other money, i believe, and did not wish to pay
it.  i forget which."

"oh."

we waited about until we saw that we had a good bhzo going.  then we
rose into the night with the smoke and headed back toward belken, "thank
you for all that you have taught me this day," i said as we parted
later, "galleran."

"i am glad to be of help.  i must admit that you have roused my
curiosity--mightily.  let me know when you have learned your story, will
you?"

"yes," i said.  "i will do that."

galleran returned to the accursed master's quarters to report the
completion of the assigned task.  i rose into the air, heading toward a
place high upon the western face of belken.  earlier, on our
ice-gathering expedition, i had noticed an opening there heading into
the heart of the mountain, strange lights and vibrations all about it. 1
had grown very curious as to where it led and was determined to explore
there.  one never knows where one's name might lie.

� .  .  pol drilled again through the great gate and into the land
beyond.  moving more rapidly than in the past, he viewed another hunt,
transformation and pursuit wi/h growing amusement.  on the second
capture, however, the victim was eannibalized and another had to be
sought.  pol experienced a psychic tugging which drew him away from the
scene and on out across the wasteland.  for what seemed to be days he
traveled, in a dim, indeterminate form, over the unchanging deadlands,
coming at last to a worn but high range of black mountains which
extended from horizon to horizon.  three times he assailed its heights
and three times he fell back; on the fourth occasion, the dry, howling
winds f6reed him toward a gap through which he fled.  he emerged on the
other side above a terraced city which covered this entire face of the
range.  this slope, however, continued to a far lower level than that on
the opposite side, dropping at last to the shore of an ancient,
waveless, tideless sea and continuing on below its surface.  circling,
he saw the outlines of buildings beneath the waters and the dark, moving
forms of the beings who dwelled there.  through the always-evening haze,
he saw the eroatures of the upper terraces, gray, long-limbed,
ogre-like, slightly smaller versions of the things he had seen in the
wastes.  human-appearing beings also were there, moving freely among
them.

he desconded very slowly, coming to rest atop a high spire, where he
perched and regarded the figures below. a great number of these
congregated quieldy at the base of the structure.  after a time, they
built a fire, brought forth a number of bound people, dismembered them
and burned them.  the smoke rose up, he breathed it, and it was pleasing
to him.

finally, he spread his wings and spiralled downward to where they waited
upon the lowest terrace.  they made obeisance to him and played him
music upon instruments which wailed, thrummed and rattled.  he strutted
among them, occasionally choosing one to rend with his great beak and
talons.  whenever he did this, the others watched with awe and obvious
pleasure.  later, one who wore a brass collar studded with pale,
smouldering stones approached, holding a three-pronged iron staff
surmounted by a sooty white flame.

he followed the light and the one who bore it into the shadowy interior
of one of the buildings--a lopsided metal structure of tilted floors and
slanted walls.  it was windowless and damp; it smelled of stale
perfumes.  deep within the place, cold and still upon a high marble
slab, lay the woman, candles burning at her head and her feet, her only
garments garland and girdle of red flower petals already touched with
brown.  her hair was a soft yellow verging upon white.  her lips,
nipples and nails were painted blue. he uttered a soft trilling note and
mounted the stair, the slab and the woman.  raking her once with claw
and slashing her twice with his beak, he began to sing.  he enfolded her
then with his wings and began a slow movement.  the one who bore the
iron staff struck it in slow, regular rhythm upon the cold stone floor,
its flame making dane-ing shadows upon the weeping walls.

after a long while, the woman opened her pale eyes, but they did not
focus and she did not move until many minutes had passed.  then she
began to smile.

when the three of them came forth, others had assembled and more were
rising from the depths and moving downward from the higher levels.  the
thrumming, wailing, dry rattling of the music had grown to massive
proportions, and a steady elieking sound which came from the chests of
the assembled creatures themselves rose in counterpoint to it.  then
began a slow procession, led by the light-bearer, which moved over many
levels of the world-circling, sea-dipped city.  they stayed in red
chambers during their journey, and the sea changed color six times as
they moved both above and beneath it.  massiwyei? russet worms swam to
accompany their passage--eyelesi!ii?i humming, streaked and
rotating--and space was that prospects came and went with great
rapidity. notes of a mightly gong preceded them and signed departures.

the sky grew even darker on the day of his daughter.it: birth.  naseae
tossed, moaned and cried out, lying as still and cold as she had that
day upon her the mountains shouted thunder and a red rain fell, ing like
waterfalls of blood down the terraces to the the child was named
nyalith, to the sounds of tabor bone flute.  when she spread her wings
and soared the world there was a sound like thunder, and horns yellow
light preceded her.  she would rule them for thousand years.

he flew to the highest peak of the black range turned himself to stone,
there to await talkne, serpent the still waters, who would come to
contest the land qod with him.  the people made pilgrimages to that i
and nyalith offered sacrifices at his feet.  ?rodromolu, there of the
age, opener of the way, they called him tireless chant, bathing him in
honey and spices, wine blood.

he felt his spirit rise, singing, to flash beyond mountains.  then the
deadlands twisted and churned neath him.  he dropped through a fading
night brightness.

pol awoke with a feeling of well-being.  he opened eyes and regarded the
window through which the light leaked.  he drew a deep breath and flexed
his eles.  a cup of steaming coffee would be delightful, decided,
knowing full well that such was not attainable:ill!/i upon this world.
not yet, anyway.  it was on his list things to look into when he had the
chance.  now...

at that instant, his dream returned to him, and he saw'

it to be the source of his pleasure.  with it came remembrance of other
dreams of a similar nature, dreams--he realized now--which had come to
him every night since the nameless sorcerer had visited him on the trail
and changed his appearance.  but these, unlike the others, were
uniformly pleasant despite a certain grotesqueness.

he rose, to visit the latrine, to wash, to dress, to rinse the streak in
his hair with a jar of liquid he had purchased from an apothecary on the
way home the previous evening. while he was about these things, he heard
mouseglove stirring.  he dismantled the warning spells while he waited
for the man to ready himself.  then the two of them stopped by ibal's
quarters but were told by a servant that the master could not be
disturbed.

"then let's take a walk and find some breakfast," mouseglove suggested.

pol nodded, and they made their way back to the small street with the
cafes.  the night's sparkle and sheen faded as they dined; and as the
sun climbed higher a certain dinginess appeared here and there in the
brighter quarters about them.

"sleep well?"

"yes.  yourself?" pol nodded. "but i--"

mouseglove's eyes shifted sharply to his left and he nodded in that
direction.  pol leaned back in his chair and stretched, rolling his head
as he did so.

the man who was approaching down the narrow street was clad in black and
red as he had been the previous evening.  he was looking in their
direction.

pol leaned forward and raised his mug of tea. "you still can't recall .
.  .  ?" he asked. mouseglove shook his head.

"but he's coming this way," he muttered without moving his lips.

pol took a sip and listened for footfalls.  the man had a very soft
tread and was almost beside him before he heard a sound.

"good morning," he said, moving into view.  "you are the one called
madwand, of ibal's company?" pol lowered the mug and raised his eyes. "i
am."

"good." the other smiled.  "my name is lariek.  i have been appointed to
conduet the candidates for initiation to entrance on the western height
of noon.  i will also be your guide through the tonight."

"the initiation is to be tonight?  i'd thought it was held until near
the end of things?"

"normally, that is the case," larick replied, "but i not been reading my
ephemeris recently.  i only last night when i was appointed to this post
that there be a particularly favorable conjunction of planets whereas
things will not be nearly so good later on,"

"would you care for a cup of tea?"

larick began to shake his head, then eyed the pot. "yes, i am thirsty.
thanks."

he drew up a chair while pol signaled for a fresh pot. "my friend's name
is mouseglove," pol said. the men studied each other and clasped hands.
"glad."

"the same."

lariek produced a piece of parchment and a stick.

"by the way, i do not really have your name, for the list of candidates.
how are you actually called?"

in instant reaction pol's mind slid over the back to an earlier time.

"dan," he said, "chain--son."

"dan chainson," larick repeated, writing it.  "you fourth on my list.  i
still have six to go."

"i take it that the rescheduling is as much a surprise all those
involved?"

"i'm afraid so.  that's why i have to find everyone in hurry."

the tea arrived and pol poured.

"we will meet at the arch of the blue bird,"

gesturing.  'it is the farthest archway to the west.

south of here, also."

pol nodded.

"i'll find it.  but when do we meet?"

"i was hoping we could all get together by noon," answered.  "but that
seems unrealistic, the way going.  let's say by the time the sun lies
noon and sunset."

"all right.  anything special i should bring?"

lariek studied him for a moment.

"how much preparation have you had for this?" he asked.

pol wondered whether the flush he felt in his cheeks was visible through
his magical disguise, sear and all.

"it depends upon what you mean by preparation," he said.  "i've had some
instruction as to the metaphysical side of things, but i was counting on
more time here for learning something of the practical aspects."

'"lhen you did not--as your nickname implies--serve what might be
referred to as a norma/apprenticeship?"

"i did not.  i know what i know by means of aptitude, practice and some
study-on my own."

larick smiled.

"i see.  in other words, you have had as little preparation as one can
have had and still be said to have had some preparation."

"i'd say you've put it properly."

lariek took a drink of tea.

"there is some risk, even for those with full training," he said.

"i already know that."

"well, it is your decision, and i will have time to go over things
somewhat during the climb and while we wait for sundown outside the
entrance.  to answer your first question, though, bring nothing but the
clothes you wear, one small loaf of bread and a flask of water.  these
may be consumed at any time during the journey, up until the actual
entry into the mountain.  i would suggest you keep most of it until near
the end, as we maintain a total fast during the night's progress through
belken."

larick finished his tea and rose.

want to walk along with me i'm going up to a higher level now.  i might
be able to point it out to you from there."

"yes, i'll come."

mouseglove rose.  pol did also.

a flight of tarnished butterflies swept by as they mounted the stair.
when pol rested his hand against an ornamental column, it felt more like
the trunk of a tree than cold stone.  the huge gems set into walls had
lost much of their brilliance in day's hard glare.  but pol smiled, for
the impression of beauty still held despite all of this.

they dimbed a hill and lariek pointed at the mountain.

"y.  over there," lie aid.  "near the base---that tri angular, darkened
area.  you can see it if you look closely."

"i see it," mouseglove said. "yes," said pol.

"very well.  then i must be on my way.  i will see you later."

they watched him head off toward a group of buildings to the south.

"i'll be waiting there when you come out," mouseglove said.  "don't
trust anybody while you're inside.

"why not?"

"i've gotten the impression here and there that mad wands are l.ooked
down upon and resented by those who

nave served regular apprenticeships.  i don't know how

strong the feelings might be, but there'll be nine of them

in there with you.  i wouldn't turn my back on them in any

dark corridors."

"you might have a point there.  i wor/'t give them any

opportunities."

"shall we stroll back and see whether ibal is receiving

company yet?"

"good idea."

"i'll have to be locating the others now," he said.  "thanks i but ibal
was not yet receiving.  pol left a message that for the tea. i'll see
you at the blue bird archway."

i the schedule had been advanced and that he would be

"a moment," said mouseglove.

: leaving that afternoon.  then he returned to his own quar "yes?"

ters and stretched out upon his bed, to rest and mealirate.

"at what point on the mountain will you be emerging in he thought over
the entire story of his life as he now knew the morning?"

it--the story of the son of a powerful and evil sorcerer, his

"we'll come out of a cave low on the eastern face this life preserved in
exchange for his heritage as he was exiled

side, that is.  you can't see the place from here.  if you to another
world, one which knew no magic.  he recalled the day of his return, his
bitter reception in this world when he was recognized by means of the
dragon birthmark upon his right wrist.  he remembered his escape, his
flight, his discovery of the ruined family seat at rendoval and all that
went with it--his identity, his powers, his control over the savage
beasts that slept there.  he relived his conflict with his brilliant but
warped step-brother, mark marakson, in the anomolous center of high
technology which that one had resurrected atop anvfi mountain in the
south.  he thought of his brief but doomed affair with the village girl
nora, who had never stopped loving mark. and now ...

the seven.  the peculiar manipulation of his life by the seven
statuettes, which seemed to have ended that day atop anvfi mountain,
returned to plague his thoughts.  he still had no notion as to their
true functions, purposes, aims.  he felt that he would never enjoy full
freedom from apprehension until he came to terms with them.  and then
the recent unexplained attempt upon his life, and the midnight encounter
with the sorcerer who seemed to have answers but did not care to share
them...

about the only personal thing that did not pass through his mind was a
consideration of his recurrent dreams. soon he fell asleep and had
another.

he took his loaf and his water flask with him to the arch of the blue
bird.  mouseglove accompanied him to that point.  larick and six of the
others were already present. the westering sun had encountered a
cloudbank and the city took on its evening sheen prematurely.  the other
candidates were uniformly young and nervous; and pol forgot their
names--except for nupf, with whom he was already acquainted.

the sky continued to darken whfie they waited for the others, and pol
idly let his vision slip into the second seeing.  as he east his gaze
about he noted a blue-white pyramid or cone near the center of town, a
thing which had not registered itself upon his normal perceptions.
continuing to watch it for a time, he gained the impression that it was
growing.  he moved his seeing hack to its normal mode and the phenomenon
faded.

making his way past the other candidates, he approached

larick who stood, obviously impatient now, watching

massing clouds.

"larick?"

"what do you want?"

"just curious.  would you know what that big cone

blue light growing up over there is?"

larick turned and stared for several moments, "oh," he said. "that is
for our benefit--and it reminds

again just how late things are getting.  where the devil

the rest of them?" he turned, looking in several

tiens, and then a certain tension seemed to go out

"here they come," he said, noting three figures on

walkway.

he turned back to pol.

"that cone you see is the force being raised by

circle of sorcerers," he explained.  "by the time we

belken, it will have reached the mountain and filled

attuning all ten stations within to greater cosmic forces.

you move from one to the other, each a symbolic

senration of one of your own lights, the energies will

through you and you will thereby be shaped, and attuned yourself."r

"i see."

"i am not certain that you do, dan.  the other candidates, serving
proper apprenticeships, shoul developed their lights nroerl l .  .  d

, y,  me natural order.

them, tonight's experience should only be an tion with some minor
balancing.  with you, madwand may take any path.  it could.  prove tr.
essing, even maddening or fatal.  i do not sa '

d i, scourage.  or frighten, merely to re'are ---- ;ay ths.

alow anything that oce v v y, uu.  ry not here lari bit t:- y' " �all se
you unaue aistress."

.1 lip antl iooke(l away.

"vqhere--where are you from?" he asked.

"a very distant land.  i'm sure you would never heard of it."

"what did you do there?"

"many things.  i suppose i was best at being a musician."

"what about magi&"

"it was not known in that place."

larick shook his head.

"how could that be?"

"it is just the way that things were."

'lhen yourself?  how did you come to this land?  and how did you become
a madwand?"

for a moment, pol found himself wanting to tell lariek his story.  but
prudence put a limit to his desire.

"it is a very long tale," he said, looking back over his shoulder, "and
the other three are almost here."

lariek glanced in that direction.

"i suppose that you had some interesting experiences once you discovered
your abilities?  he said hurriedly. "yes, many," pol replied. 'they
might fill a book."

"do any stand out in your memory as particularly significant?"

"no."

"i get the impression that you do not like to talk about these things.
all right.  there is no requirement that you do so.  but if you would
tell me, i would like to know one thing."

"what is that?"

"a white magician may on occasion use what is known as black magic, and
vice-versa.  we know that it is all much the same and that it is intent
that makes the differencc and that it is from intent alone that the
magician's path might be described.  have you yet chosen one path or the
other?"

"i have used what i had to use as i had to use it," pol said.  "i like
to think that my intentions were relatively pure, but then most people
so justify themselves in their own eyes.  i mean well, most of the
time."

larick stuffed and shook his head.

"i wish that i had more time to talk with you, for i feel something very
peculiar behind your words.  have you ever used magic with great force
against another human being?"

"yes."

"what became of that person?"

"he is dead."

"was he also a sorcerer?"

"not exactly."

"'not exactly'?  how can that be?  a person either is not."

"this was a very special ease." larick sighed and then smfied again.
"then you are a black magician."

"you said it.  i didn't."

the three final candidates now approached the and were introduced.
lariek looked them all over then addressed them:

"we are late getting started.  we will head along way immediately and
then proceed until we the city.  the trail will commence shortly
thereafter we wfil begin our climb.  i do not know yet how any--rest
stops we may make along the way.  it on our progress and the time." he
of folded white garments.  "each of you pick up a robe the way by. we'll
don them right before we enter."

he turned and passed under the arch,.  moving away. mouseglove
approached pol.

"i'll be at the exit point in the morning," he said. luck."

"thanks."

pol hurried after'the others, moving toward the the group.  when he
glanced back, mouseglove was he continued his pace until he caught up
with into step beside him.

"i am curious," he said, "why you are trying so make me out a black
magician."

"it is nothing to me," the other replied.  "those of persuasions meet
and mix freely in this place."

"but i am not.  at least, i don't think i am."

"it is of no importance." pol shrugged.

"have it your way, then."

he slowed his pace and fell back among the group apprentices.  nupf came
up next to him, "bit of a surprise here, eh?" the apprentice said. "what
do you mean?"

"the suddenness of it all.  ibal doesn't even know i'm

"at least he got my name onto the list before he turned his attention to
other matters."

"it was not entirely altruistic of him," hupf replied.  "i envy you
considerably, should you come through this intact."

"how so?"

"you don't know?"

poi shook his head.

"madwands--particularly those who make it through initiation," nupf
explained, "are, almost without excel tion, the most powerful sorcerers
of all.  of course, there aren't that many around.  still, that is why
ibal would like to have you remember him with a certain fondness and
gratitude."

"i'll be damned," pol said.

"you really didn't know?"

"hot in the least.  could that have anything to do, i wonder, with
larick's efforts to find out whether i'm black or white?"

nupf laughed.

"i suppose he hates to see the opposite side get a good recruit."

"what do you mean?"

"oh, i don't really know that much about him, but the rumor going around
among the other candidates has it that lariek is so lily white he spends
all of his free time hating the other side� he is also supposed to be
very good--in a purely technical sense�"

"i'm getting tired of being misjudged," pol said.  "it's bn going on all
my life."

"it would be best to put up with a little more of it, for ilow�

"i wasn't thinking of disturbing the initiation."

"i'm sure he'll run it perfectly.  whites are very conseio entious."

pol laughed.  he adjusted his vision and looked back at the cone of
power.  it had grown noticeably.  he turned away and moved on toward the
mounting clouds.  belken had already acquired something of radiance
beneath them.

seated upon the wide ledge outside the cavemouth, three-quarters of the
way up the mountain's western face, pol finished his bread and drank the
rest of his water while watching the sun sink beneath the weight of
starless night. there had been only one brief break on the way up and
his feet throbbed slightly.  he imagined the others were also somewhat
footsore.

there came a flash of lightning in the southwest.  a cold wind which had
followed them more than halfway up made a little whistling noise among
rocky prominences overhead.  the mountain had a faint glow to it, which
it seemed to acquire every night, only tonight it continued to brighten
even as he watched.  and when he shifted over to second seeing it seemed
as if all of belken were afire with a slowly undulating blue flame.  he
was about to comment upon it to nupf when larick rose to his feet and
cleared his throat.

"all right.  put the robes on over your clothes and line up before the
entrance," he said.  "it will be a bit of a walk to the first station. i
will lead the way.  there is to be no talking unless you are called upon
for responses."

they unfolded the coarse white garments and began do nning them.

� .  .  and any visions or transformations you may witness--along with
any alterations of awareness--are occasions neither for distress nor
comment.  accept everything that comes to you, whether it seems good or
bad, transformations themselves may night is over."

they lined up behind him.

"this is your last chance for questions." there were none. "very well."

larick proceeded at a deliberate pace into the cave-mouth. pol found
himself near the middle of the line which followed him.  his vision
slipped back into its natural range.  the bluish glow diminished
somewhat but did not depart.  the narrow, high-walled cave into which
they entered pulsated in the same fashion as the outer slopes of the
mountain, giving sufficient, if somewhat unsettling, illumination to
light their progress.  as they passed further along, the brightness and
movement intensified to the point where the walls were submerged within
it, vanishing from sight, and it was as if they walked a fire-girl
avenue out of dream between-celestial and infernal abodes, its direction
being a matter of conjecture as well as mood.

a distant rumble of thunder reached them as the way curved to the left,
then to the right, slanting upward.  it steepened rapidly after that,
and in a few step-like places the worn floor seemed to show evidence of
human handiworlc another turn and it steepened even more sharply, and
heavy guide-ropes appeared at either hand.  at first, the candidates
were loath to take hold of them, for the action was tantamount to
placing one's hands among leaping flames; but after a time they had no
choice.  there was no sensation of warmth; pol felt only a vague
tingling on his palms, though his dragonmark began to throb beneath its
disguise after several moments.  the air grew warmer as they, mounted,
and he could hear the sounds of his companions labored breathing as they
hurried to keep up with lariek.

abruptly, they entered a grotto.  the guide-ropes ended. the floor of
the landing on which they halted was more nearly level.  immediately
before them lay a large, circular pool blazing with white light as if
illuminated from below. low-dipping stalactites shone.  like icicles
arboye, uit.  ott2 walls came down almost to its cages, save mr'm l, y
tongue on which they stood.  almost, for a narrow ledge seemed to circle
that entire bright lens of still liquid.

larick motioned them out upon the ledge immediately. they edged their
way out and around, hacks brushing against the rough rock.  after
several minutes, gan signing them to halt or move on, until all of were
distributed in accordance with some plan known to himself.  then he
moved out to the edge of the spit which he had conducted the arrangement
and stared into the radiant waters.  the candidates did the same.

the light dazzled pol's eyes at first, but he soon bec aware of his own
bleached reflection, the irregular.  st ture of the roof like some
fantastic landscape behind it looked into his own eyes; a stranger, for
this was the of the disguise he still wore--heavier brow, scar upon left
cheek.

suddenly, his reflection melted, to be replaced byil image of his true
face leaner, thinner of lip, a higher hairline--with the white streak
running through his dark locks.  he tried to raise his hand to!. face
and discovered that a strange lethargy with a species of sluggishness
had come over him.  his hand twitched slightly and he made no further
effort to then he became aware of a voice speaking the had but recently
learned.  it was lariek's, and had finished speaking they were repeated
by the candidate upon the far edge of the pool.  they through the
chamber and tolled inside his head.  a sweet scent rose to his nostrils.
the next candidate be speaking the same words, and in a part of his mind
knew that when his tnrn'came he would be repeae them.  yet, in a way, it
seemed as if something within were already saying them.  he felt himself
in some detached from time.  there was no time here, only light and the
reflected face.  the words rolled toward awakening things deep within
his being.  then he saw the reflection was smiling.  he was not aware of
any ment of his own face.  as he watched now, the wavered and divided
itself.  it was suddenly as if he two heads-one which continued smiling
to the point sneer, the other bearing a massively sad expression. they
turned to face one another.  he was riven by emotions.  how long these
persisted, he could not tell, he observed the two who were one in their
debate.  it was only slowly that a vague feeling of wrongness began to
come over him.

then he realized that he was indeed speaking.  his turn had come and he
had begun his part in the circle without being aware of it.  the words
vibrated within him, and the world seemed oddly alteredistanced--about
him.  the light from below his feet grew even brighter.  the images
within the pool were warped, folded back upon themselves. the two heads
of his reflection merged, to become his solitary, unsmiling countenance.
a feeling of exhilira-tion grew within him now and the sense of
wrongness was swept away.  his head seemed full of light as he uttered
the final syllable.

it passed then to the woman to his left, who began the intonation.  pol
lost all sense of self now, as well as time and place, and merely
existed within the sound and the light, feeling changes pass through
him, until it was over.

without any word or visible sign, he knew when they were finished.  the
light in the depths coalesced, seemed to tie o the form o[ a great egg,
�hie the ta speaker went through his part.  then, for a long while they
stood in silence regarding the depths.  without cue, pol suddenly raised
his head and looked toward larick.  as his gaze moved across the
chamber, he saw that all of the others were looking up and turning
simultaneously.  slowly then, the candidates moved on along the ledge.

when they reached its end and came onto the pier, larick raised an arm,
gesturing toward his left, then turned and led them through a very
narrow cut behind a screen of rock which none had noticed before.  after
several paces, moving sideways, it widened.  almost immediately, larick
dropped to his hands and knees and crawled into a small, black hole. one
by one, the others did the same.  the pale, flame-like light and the
undulance were present there, also, but inches away in any direction.

progress was slow, for they worked their way downward, fighting against
slippage, crawling flat-bellied through particularly low places,
twisting and scraping themselves as they negotiated turns.

the candidate before and below him halted suddenly, and pol did the
same.  he heard a grunt from the rear as the one behind him was drawn up
short.  the walls paled somewhat to a grayish tone with a pink east to
the candidate before him began inching forward and pol did the same,
slowly.  this continued for mately one body-length, then was followed by
anoth halt.  pol, still giddy from the opening experience, unable
completely to control his thoughts.  he between mild distress and
resignation over this.

after a brief pause, they advanced again, a similar rance.  several more
such, and pol saw its cause. was a circular opening in the floor.  the
candidates themselves down through it, hung at arm's length then
dropped.

he waited for a time after the one before him through, then lowered
himself, hung a moment and let it was not a long drop.  he landed with
his knees and immediately moved to the side.  shortly, he joined others,
who stood near the center of the chamber the roof was high, arranged in
a circle in accordance lar/ek's gesturing, around the most prominent
object sight--a pink stalactite several times his own height, from a
large, bumpy, roughly rectangular piece of rock.

when they were all in position' about it, larick tiened them back,
spreading the formation to positions far away from the towering object
as the geometry cavern permitted.  for a moment, the man's eyes met own,
and pol, unaccountably, felt that there was within them.  then larick
moved away, to mount a rock; the far corner of the chamber.  shortly,
everyone's left him and returned to the object before them.

pol relaxed, assuming a contemplative state of once again.  he looked up
and then down the he felt the power in the place.  he slipped his vision
the second seeing for a moment, but there was no chan other than an
increased brightness to the stalactite. were not even any drifting
strands in the vicinity, a nomenon which struck him as somewhat odd when
thought about it much later.

at the first slow words from larick he returned his to normal, feeling
only the physical sensations which 'sounds and their echoes stirred
ences of timelessness and distancing came over him more quickly than
they had on the previous occasion.  now, as he watched, the light on the
surface of the towering formation began shifting.  it seemed almost as
if the thing were moving slightly.

larick grew silent and some member of the circle began the intonation.
the cavern slowly faded about him as this occurred.  pol felt that the
huge form was the only tangible object in existence.  the words followed
him, however, filling this version of the universe which he now
occupied. then, suddenly, the monolith seemed larger, its shape
indefinably altered.

another voice took up the words.  pol watched, fascinated, as the object
moved and shifted its appearance.  the lumpy base seemed more and more
to be the knuckles of three folded fingers, the single upright a
forefinger extended, a small, low prominence on its other side the joint
of a bent thumb.  of course .  .  .  it had been a hand all along.  why
hadn't he noticed sooner?

the voice moved nearer.  the hand was indeed stirring, turning in his
direction.  the finger began to dip, slowly.

his breathing ceased and a sense of awe came over him as it continued to
descend toward him.  the narrowing distance between them was filled with
power.  unaccountably, his right shoulder and arm began to tingle.

the finger, large enough to crush him, reached---gently, delicatelynd
brushed very lightly against his right shoulder.

he almost collapsed, not from any weight but from the feelings which
invaded him at that moment.  he steadied himself as the source of the
words came even nearer.  the finger was retreating now, moving back
toward its upright position.

the tingling continued in his arm and shoulder, to be succeeded first by
a dull ache and then by a numbness when it came his turn to speak the
words.  the cavern returned, however, and the hand became once again a
stalactite upon a rough rock.

the words went full circle, they meditated in silence for a spell and
larick then motioned them to follow him through an opening in the wall
behind the rock upon which he stood.

poi moved slowly, awkwardly, puzzled by the dead weight which hung at
his right side.  he reached across and seized his right biceps with his
left hand.

his upper arm felt swollen, immense; it was tight against the cloth of
his sleeve. ' he ran his hand down his arm.  the entire limb seemed
suddenly grown oversize.  also, it was uniformly diminished in
sensitivity.  with great effort, however, he found that he could move
it.  when he lowered his eyes, he discovered that his hand--still normal
in appearance and feeling--hung far lower than usual, in the vicinity of
his knee.  he felt for the power of his dragonmark, but it, too, seemed
to have been numbed.  then he recalled larick's words on the matter of
transformations this night that they should be accepted without distress
and not be permitted to interfere with the business at hand.
nevertheless, he glanced surreptitiously at the others, to see whether
he could detect any malformations.  the few he was able to view before
entering the tunnel did not exhibit any gross impairments.  and no one
seemed to notice his own.

they walked.  the way was level, straight and suffi-eienfiy wide.  the
illumination persisted.  they passed through an empty chamber without
halting--where it seemed that a high-pitched musical tone was being
constantly sounded, just beyond the bounds of audibility--and they
continued until another grotto opened before them.

here they entered.  it was a rounded chamber with a curved roof, almost
bubble-like in appearance.  lariek spaced them about a rock formation
resembling a cauldron, near its center.  again, a chanting commenced and
again pol knew the oceanic feeling, the detachment he had experienced at
the other stations, though here it was mixed with something of
depression, sadness.  his left arm acquired the tingling sensation at
this point, and when his turn had come and passed and all was done it
resembled the right exactly in its transformation.

this time he accepted the change with less distress, as part of the
total experience.  the others must be undergoing similar experiences, he
decided.  he followed them to a well-like depression across the way,
discovering as he did that sensation, mobility and control were
returning to his arms.

he watched the others.  a knotted rope fastened about a nearby rock hung
down into the hole.  one by one, the candidates took hold and climbed
down it, vanishing into the darkness.  when his turn came he did
likewise, with great ease, pleased with the enormous strength which now
resided in his arms and shoulders.

in the yellow-blue cavern to which they descended the now-familiar
ritual formation was established and the rite carried out about a large,
spherical crystal set upon a pedestal.  before it was concluded, pol's
left hand felt as if he had dipped it in boiling water.  he gave no
outward evidence of this, not even looking down upon it, until after
this phase, too, was completed and larick led them out through an
opening in the wall to the left.

the hand still throbbed, but the sensation of heat had vanished.  when
he viewed it, he saw that it had grown massive, purplish, scaly; the
nails were thick, dark, triangular, hooked, at the ends of long,
powerful-looking digits which reached almost to his ankle.  the robe he
wore concealed much of the change within its folds, its long, wide
sleeves.  still...  he looked about again.  none of the other candidates
seemed to have noticed his discomfort. again, he forced the thought of
it away.  he trekked after the others along a broad, level tunnel, his
gait somewhat disturbed, as if by overbalancing and compensation.

a sword hung from a chain midway between floor and roof at the near end
of the next chamber.  this, in its turn, became the object of their
meditation, swinging and glinting redly as the words circled it.  the
visions which swam through his mind at this, as at the previous station,
barely registered themselves on his consciousness, as the feeling of the
power of his new limbs came to occupy his awareness with the burning
pang in his right hand--this time a thing of masochistic pleasure to
him.  he spoke the words in a ringing voice and did not even look down,
already knowing what he would see.

when it was over, he turned and joined the line filing out through
another opening and into a tunnel, moving now as if within a dream, his
determined by some a-logical pattern he could feel him, no longer
wondering whether the others' notions personal transformation coincided
with his own.

the way was steep; sweet odors rose up it.  the were a living net of
pale fire.  the floor sparkled, moistly.  they continued downward for a
long while, ing at last to a small chamber into which they about a
simple, unadorned cube of stone.  the place strewn with flowers,
accounting for the odor he had teeted on the way down.  here he found
the smell sickly sweet in its intensity.  when the words were in these
close quarters they hurt his ears.  he felt sively warm and became very
conscious of the beating his heart.  a wave of dizziness passed over
him, but knew that even if he fainted there was no place to fall,
closely were they packed together.  later, he believed he had actually
succumbed to unconsciousness briefly, there was a gap in his memory up
until he found speaking.  it seemed that there had been another one
which had partly numbed his senses.  he could recall the details.  his
heart was beating rapidly now, an unusually heavy throbbing.  he became
aware that the candidates who stood at either hand removed a greater
distance from him than they had the last time he had been aware of their
presence. aroma of the flowers had diminished sharply, or else had
become accustomed to it.

he lowered his head as he finished speaking and that his robe was torn.
then he became aware of the enormous breadth of his shoulders, the
barrel-like girth. his chest.  no wonder his garment was rent.  how this
be an filusion?  he glanced at the nearest wrapped in their own
meditations, none of them to be paying him any heed.

slowly, he raised his right hand.  he reached through the torn place,
groped about until he located opening in his own garments which lay
beneath.  his fingers explored below them, encountering a tough, bumpy
surface.  he explored further.  from navel to it felt as if he were
covered with scales.  he withdrew his hand and let it fall.  when he
looked up again, he saw that larick was staring at him.  the man looked
away immediately.

when they departed the room, it was as if they followed a continuation
of the tunnel which had brought them to that place, still slanting
downward, headed in the same direction.  he controlled his breathing
carefully as they walked, for its sounds came heavy and stertorous when
he drew deep breaths.

there came a cooling for which he was grateful, as they continued down
the long shaft.  the next chamber was much larger than the one they had
quitted, its floor of a greenish stone.  a heavy oil lamp was suspended
by chains from its roof, and its flames waved as the words were spoken.

this time it was his left leg.  the moment that the tingling began he
knew what was to follow.  when it finally came, he almost collapsed. the
leg seemed to have grown much longer and heavier than the right one.  he
was almost completely unbalanced and had to keep that knee bent and the
other straight.  but, if anything, the dream quality he was experiencing
was enhanced by this phase of the ritual progress.  as they turned and
he lurched his way along a mercifully level tunnel, visions, like
objectified free associations, were everywhere.  he could not place his
hand against the swimming wall for support without seeming to touch some
beast-face or a woman's breast, a flower or the feathers of a bird.

in this frame of mind, he was not even certain what he saw in the next
chamber.  that it was large and scented, he was aware.  the images
seemed everywhere dense.  zodiacal beasts moved in procession before
him.  if he fixed his eyes upon one, it dissolved into an entirely new
series of forms.  after a time, he gave up.  he almost welcomed the
tightening and the warmth in his right leg when it came, for his balance
was finally restored when that one matched the other.

his mind a chaotic jumble now, he departed with the others, moving
surely and swiftly down another long steep way.

they came at last into a very dark chamber where stalactite and
stalagmite were joined to form a towering silver pillar about which
larick led and placed them.  pol's mind cleared momentarily, and he
wondered what had actually been happening and for how long the ceremony
had been going on.  the images were dispersed.  there was only the
shining pillar here, lovely and bright.  with his elongated reach, he
felt that he could almost extend his arms and embrace it.  the thing
seemed to reflect power. he felt some sort of stability returning.  he
raised his massive hands and stared at them.  where had he seen their
like before?  he adjusted his vision for the second sight, but they
remained unchanged when this occurred.

he let his hands fall as the memory came to him.  they were like the
hands of those demonic creatures he had seen in his dreams of the !and
beyond the gate.  what could this mean?  why were they being objectified
in this fashion during this ritual of a supposedly beneficial nature?
was this truly the sort of transformation of which larick had spoken, or
was he undergoing something else?

he raised a hand to his face, ran his fingertips across his features.
they seemed unchanged, yet- he was seized by an abdominal cramp which
bent him partway forward.  involuntarily, he clutched at his midsection.
in that instant, larick began speaking again, yet another sequence of
the words.  he felt the pressure of his belt and unfastened it.  he
heard the sound of cloth tearing beneath his robe.  when the pains had
passed, he was aware of a widening in the pelvic area, a spreading of
his hips.  it was difficult when he attempted to stand fully upright.
his spine now seemed to possess a curvature which bore him fovard so
that his hands rested upon the ground.  his feet began to ache.

then it did not matter.  the moment of full rationality passed, and he
was caught up in another sequence of visions and feelings of power.  it
seemed that a very long time had passed.  his mind drifted through the
repetitions and his own part in them.  when they moved again, he
followed, slouched far forward, oblivious and ignored.

larick led them to an opening in the floor through which the top of a
ladder protruded.  he motioned for them to follow after and proceeded to
descend it.

pol waited until all of the others had gone down before beginning his
own clumsy descent.

the ladder creaked beneath him and one rung came loose.  but he ehitched
its sides tightly and kept going.  it was a long descent, finally taking
him directly into the midst of the others, who stood within a circle
drawn upon the floor of this chamber.  he noted that two of the other
candidates had collapsed and that larick was kneeling, massaging the
chest of one of them.

he jumped down the final few feet and waited.  the man on whom larick
had been working moaned after a time and sat up.  larick immediately
moved to the other--a small, red-haired man, whose teeth seemed tightly
locked together---and listened for a heartbeat.  apparently there was
none, for he abandoned that one immediately and returned to the other.
after several minutes, he helped that other to his feet and checked the
red-haired man again.  the second form remained still.  lariek shook his
head and rose, leaving the man where he had fallen.  he motioned the
others into a formation around himself, then raised both hands.

pol's feet began to ache as the power was raised within the circle.  the
pain grew so severe that he had to tear off his boots seconds later.  he
held them beneath his arm inside the robe as the ritual progressed.  he
dimly recalled that this-was the final stage of the initiation.
everything would be over soon and he ceuld go somewhere and sleep ...

he found himself saying the words, his voice normal, steady.  when he
had finished, he closed his eyes.  an extraordinarily vivid image
immediately arose.  he saw rondoval beseiged, a storm raging about it.
the image flowed.  a man stood upon the main balceny, a black scarf
about his neck, the scepter of power in hands.  his hair was frostwhite
save for a black streak running back through it.  he was singing orders
to his unearthly hordes and eausing flames to rise before his enemies.
but a sorcerer all in white---old mor!---came to duel with him.  the
older man prevailed, the defense slackened, the man on the balcony
slumped and withdrew.

inside, he raced to a nearby chamber and began manipulating magical
paraphernalia.  the action was telescoped.

moments later, it seemed, scepter held high, he stood at the circle's
center, voicing words of power that rang through the room, causing a
twisting, smoky shape in a corner near the ceiling to vibrate in
resonance.

"belphanior ned septufi" he cried.  "bel--"

the door burst open and a messenger entered and collapsed as the forces
swept over him.

"the gate has been breeched .  .  ." he said, before he expired.

the sorcerer spoke a word of protection, thrust the scepter into his
sash and broke the circle.

he departed the chamber, raced up the hall and entered another room,
where he seized and braced a powerful bow which hung there.  he chose a
single arrow from a soft leather quiver and took it with him.

below, pol saw him use the weapon to slay the leader of the attacking
forces.  then he fought a duel with old mot, was bested and died, buried
beneath a heap of rubble.

things blurred.  the storm had passed.  the fighting had ceased.  he saw
mor mounted upon the back of a centaur, riding into the west, the dead
sorcerer's body tied across the back of another of the horse-people.

another blur.

within a cavern, illuminated by his glowing staff, planted like some
unnatural tree, mor was alone with the dead sorcerer.  the body was laid
on its back upon a slab of stone, arms folded.  leaning above the
corpse, mor was doing something to the face---rubbing, pressing.  at
some later point he raised his hands and seemed to pull the face away.

no.  it was a deathmask that he held upraised, and in that moment pol
noticed how closely the features resembled those of mor himself.

he began speaking softly, but pol could not distinguish the words.  the
second seeing came over him and he beheld a fine, silver strand attached
to the mask.

everything came apart and trailed away then, as visions do.

pol opened his eyes.  everyone was standing in meditation and there was
an echoing sound in the air, larick's hands were raised and he was
clapping them together slowly, speaking certain final words.

when he had finished, larick passed among them, stopped and raised the
dead man, positioned him across his back, moved to its perimeter and
broke the cirefe.  he turned then and gestured for the others to follow
him.

they exited the chamber and moved along a widening tunnel, passing at
length into a large, irregularly shaped, unadorned cavern cluttered with
rock and stalagmite, hung with huge stalactites.  the air there was
cooler still.  pol's head began to clear.

larick picked his way across the cavern and found a place to deposit the
body.  then he returned, mounted a small prominence and addressed his
followers'

"krendel was the only candidate who succumbed to the forces," he said.
"the rest of you may be said to have passed, in one fashion or another.
it could be several weeks before the new alignment of your magical
states has stabilized.  because of this, i caution you against any
operations of the art for a time.  things could go very much awry, with
unpredictable results.  wait, rest, confine your activities to the
physical plane.  when you feel ready, begin your workings in a very
small way-and wait after each step, to be certain that things are
proceeding properly."

he turned and looked back over his shoulder.  he gestured in that
direction.

"that tunnel leads back into the world," he said.  "it is long.  i will
conduct each of you up it personally, to meet the dawn.

"you will be first," he told the nearest.  "go and wait for me over
there.  i will join you in a moment."

he stepped down from the mound and headed toward pol.

"come over here," he whispered, and he led him into a side passage
behind a fat stalagmite.

"something is wrong," pol said.  "i've become a monster and no one seems
to notice."

'�that is true," lariek answered, raising his voice to a normal pitch.

"should this not pass, now the initiation is over?"

"madwand," he replied, "your transformation had nothing to do with the
initiation.  can you say you knowing of the house of avinconet?"

"yes.  i've never heard of it."

"nor of the great gate to a dark and sinister world?

gate you would fling wide?"

pol frowned.

"i see," larick said, sighing.  "what i did to you indeed necessary.  i
took the opportunity afforded by state of mind at each stage of the
initiation to lay spells upon you exchanging your body, piece by for
that of one of the dwellers in that accursed place. of course, for your
head."

"why?" pol asked.  "what have i done to you?"

"personally, nothing," larick answered.  "but the you would work is so
great that everything i have done warranted.  you will learn more of
what lies before you and-by.  now i must get back to the other
initiates."

pol extended one massive, tloned hand to seize larick gestured briefly
and the entire limb was paralyzed.

"what--?"

"i have complete cntrol of your new body," the stated.  "i have enfolded
you in a series of virtually breakable spells.  see how i lay my will
upon you, immobilizing you now?  there is also a masking spell. even
compensates for your ungainliness.  only you yourself as you truly are a
necessary reminder, i'd you are now, in all ways, my creature."

"and you were so concerned about black magic,"

said.  "perhaps you feared competition?"

larick winced and looked away.

"it was necessary, this time," he said, "to combat greater ill."

"don't preach me that line.  i've done nothing you have."

larick turned away.  pol screamed at him.

his cry was cut short as the man turned back gestured again.  now pol
could no longer speak at all.

"i'll come for you last and we will journey to avinconet," larick said,
and then he smiled.  "don't away.

he passed the rocky corner and was gone.

pol heard a drop of water fall from a stalactite into a nearby pool.  he
heard the sounds of his own shallow breathing.  he-heard the distant
voices of the other initiates, doubtless discussing the night's
experiences.

if magic had bound him, then magic could free him, he decided.  but he
could not locate the sources of his own power.  it seemed as if that
part of him were somehow asleep.  he brooded over lariek''s words, over
the fact that his dreams were apparently a nasty reality to someone
else.  he sought through his memories for some clue as to why this
should be so.  he wondered whether his present situation were in any way
connected with the attack of the sorcerer mouseglove had dispatched back
at rondoval.  he strained to move, but no movement followed.

then there came the sound of a footstep beyond the passage.  it seemed
too soon for larick to be returning, butw a large man, as tall but wider
than larick, turned the corner and advanced.  his face was a constantly
shifting thing, as if seen through a multi-phase refracting medium. the
eyes drifted, the nose swelled and shrank, the mouth twisted through
ghastly parodies of human expressions. but when he opened it to speak,
pol still saw that there was a shining, capped tooth.  he tried the
second seeing but was unable to penetrate the distortion spell the
person wore like a mask.

"i see that my disguise still holds for your features," came the
familiar voice.  "but what have you done with the rest?"

pol found that he could not even snarl.

"actually," the man went on, "that is a terrific body. you could wreak
all sorts of havoc with it, if you'd a mind to.  i suppose you're rather
attached to your own, though, eh?"

he raised his head, one huge eye and one small one focusing upon po!'s
own, shifting relative sizes even as he stared.

"fori,',ve me," he said then.  "i'd forgotten you can't he raised one
hand and slapped pol lightly across the mouth.  it stung for only a
moment, and something to be released with the stinging.  pol found that
his were unlocked, that he could move his head.

"what the hell is going onf' he asked.

"i haven't the time to tell you, even if i wished to," other replied.
"it's a long story and there are erations of much greater moment just
now. seems to be coming along nicely, though.  i wouldn't too much."

"you call this 'nice]y'f' pol jaid, casting his gze over his monstrous
form.

"well, not necessarily from an esthetic standpoint, you happen to be
human," the man said.  "i was roferr/ to th,,e progression of events.
larick thinks he's got now.

"oilhand, i'd say he's right."

'That might be remedied, if you're willing to play game ont."

"i don't even know the stakes, or the rules."

"that will be a part of your reward if all goes answers to your
questions--and answers to some you even thought of yet.".

"such as who you are, and what you're after?"

"that will almost assuredly come out."

"will i like what i discover?"

"in matters of taste, each person is of course the judge."

"what choice have it'

"you may act, or be acted upon."

"what do you want me to do?"

"go along with things, find out what it is that captor desires and
decide whether that is what you want.  then you act accordingly.  larick
feels that he you under complete control, but in a moment i will his
infantile spells.  i will also reverse the clever body exchange he has
worked upon you, to you your own vigorous, then will follow the work of
a true master.  freed restored, i will disguise your body as i disguised
features, giving to it in every respect the semblance monster you now
are.  for an encore, i will then cloak in a masking spell in all ways
identical to the one which now hides your hideous appearance from most
mortal eyes--"

"a disguise within a disguise?"

"precisely."

"to what end?"

"at some point, those who desire you in the reduced state will be sure
to strip away the outer layer to behold the captive monster within."

the large sorcerer strode forward and clasped him by the shoulders.
instantly, pol felt something like an electric shock pass through him.
his arm dropped.  he sagged forward.  his boots fell to the floor from
where he had clutched them beneath his left arm all this long while. the
sorcerer seized that arm and an agonizing pain ran through it.  before
pol could examine it, he had hold of the other. he was humming as he
worked.  whether or not this was a part of his procedure, pol could not
tell.

as he raised his hands and realized that they were indeed h/s hands
again, the man struck him a mighty blow across the back with his left
hand and upon the chest just above the heart with his right.  even
within the well-muscled and heavily armored form that he wore, pol could
tell that the man was no weakling.

he felt the air rush out of his lungs as his chest cavity was returned
to normal.  he began to straighten and the sorcerer struck him a
terrific blow in the abdomen, well below the belt.  the change continued
in that region, and he straightened fully, massaging, slapping himself,
as much for the joy of feeling his own form again as to ease the
omnipresent aches.

the big sorcerer kicked him in the shins and he felt the aches,
straightening and shrinkage begin in his legs.

"i must say you have a violent approach to these matters," he remarked.

"perhaps you'd prefer a six-hour incantation with incense?"

"i never argue with success."

"prudent.  i now begin the first masking spell, causing you to look as
you just were."

the illusion began, growing like a gray mist about him, shaped by the
flowing gestures of the face-changer's hands.

pol felt his hidden dragonmark throb in the presence this magic.  soon
it cloaked him completely, sinking through his garments.

the sorcerer sighed and straightened.

"...  and that will be all they see, if they pierce outer guise, soon to
be supplied by me.  i must you concerning the obvious, however."

'That being?"

"you must act as if you are still under control. standing paralyzed in
the same position in which he you when larick returns.  follow all of
his orders as if had no choice.  the moment you deviate, you lose chance
to learn anything further.  you will have a fight on your hands."

pol nodded.  he looked down ht himself as he seeing the monstrous
appearance once again but not ing it.

"i'll mask this illusion for everyone else now, as had it," the sorcerer
said, "but leave the appearance you, as he also had it, as a reminder to
act in it--with clumsiness and obedience."

pol watched the-man's hands as they commenced intricate series of
gestures.

"do you see strands when you work?" he asked suddenly.

"sometimes," the sorcerer replied.  "but right now i beams of colored
light, which i intercept.  hush. concentrating."

pol fixed his eyes on the man's changing face, guess at his true
features.  but there was no pattern to changes.

when the movements ceased and the man pol said, "you told me on that
night you came to our camp that our interests might not ' '

"oh, there is a possibility that we might wind odds," the other replied.
"i hope not, but there you could happen.  if so, it won't be because i
didn't though.  and at least for the moment we want the thing: to get
you out of here intact, to deceive your rules, to position you
strategically."

"have you any idea what will happen when i leave here?"

"oh, yes.  you will be spirited away almost immedi-lately-to castle
avinconet."

"larick did say that much.  but who else is involved. and what will i
meet at that end?"

"it is far better for you to learn these things yourself, to keep your
responses normal."

"damn it!  there's more to it than that!  you're hiding something!"

"in what way does that make me different from other men?  play your
part, boy.  play your part."

"don't patronize me.  i need more information to carry this thing off."

"bullshit," the sorcerer replied and turned away.  "and strike your pose
again.  i believe i hear someone coming."

"but "

"the rest is silence," the changing man said, as he vanished around the
corner.

mouseglove hunkered in a rocky recess to the left of the cavemouth, his
hood raised and cloak drawn about him against the morning's chill.  to
his right, the fresh-risen sun constructed morning above the foothills,
skimming a layer of glory from the magical city he had quitted hours
before.  eight of the initiates had so far passed him, each in the
company of iarick, to salute the dawn, then make their ways back to hard
the town, alone, or in the company of a servant or former master.  when
he heard footsteps once again, mouseglove stirred slighfiy, turning his
head toward the opening.  when he saw pol approaching with the leader,
he rose, joints creaking, but did not immediately depart his station.  '

unlike those who had preceded him, pol had already removed his white
robe.  his gait was slower and more awkward than usual.  larick, too,
was dressed only in his day garments and head cloth.  his face bore a
far less solemn aspect than it had when he was bringing the others forth
from belken.  he was snapping orders at pol'as they emerged.  the two
immediately turned to their left and began walking quickly in that
direction.

puzzled, mouseglove stepped out from his niche and hurried after them.

"good morning," he said.  "how did you fare during the night?"

larick almost stumbled in halting, and he placed his hand upon pol's
arm.  by the time he turned, his face was composed.  pol, moving more
slowly, was without expression.

"good morning," larick replied.  "your fiend is well enough physically,
but some who go through initiation experience mental disorganization in
varying degrees.  this has occurred with him."

"how serious is this thing?"

"that depends upon a great many factors---but it is generally treatable.
i was hurrying him off right now with that end in mind."

"that is why you skipped the dawn salutation?"

larick's eyes narrowed for the briefest moment, as if assessing the
other's knowledge of the matters involved.

"we were not going to dispense with it entirely," he said.  "but perhaps
you are right, since this is the traditional spot."

he turned toward the place where the others had stood to perform the
final ritual function.

"poll do you at least understand me?" mouseglove said. larick turned
back.

"i am certain that he does," he told him.  "but, technically, he should
not address anyone until he has finished with this part of things.  you
can see in a few minutes what his response will be."

he led pol over to the place, speaking softly and rapidly to him.
mouseglove shifted about, glancing in every direct'ion. a little later,
he saw pol raise his arms and lift his face toward the light in the
east.  as pol began to mutter, larick moved a short distance away from
him.  mouseglove watched carefully, hands beneath his cloak.

when pol had completed a hurried version of the sun-rite, he turned
toward the smaller man.

"it may not be all that serious," he said then.  "but i must go away
with larick for a time.  i can afford to take no chances in something
like this."

"how long?" \

"i do not know.  for as long as is necessary."

"it could take a week or two," larick put in.  "possibly even longer."

"where is it that you are taking him?  i'm going with you.

"i couldn't tell you that until i have conferred with some experts.
perhaps he can be treated here.  then again, he may have to go away."

"where?"

"that remains to be determined."

"pol," mouseglove said, "are you certain that this is what you want to
do?"

"yes," pol replied.

"very well.  we will go and find out.  if it is to be here, i will wait.
if it is to be elsewhere, i will accompany you."

"that will not be necessary," pol said, and he turned away.  "i don't
need you."

"nevertheless .  .  ."

"you are an encumbrance!" larick said, and he raised his hand.

mouseglove moved, but not fast enough.  all strength and sensation fled
his limbs.  he fell, his hand still gripping the butt of the pistol he
had been unable to draw.

for some time before he opened his eyes, mouseglove was marginally aware
of a slow, intermittent, shuffling sound.  when finally he did open
them, his field of vision was occupied by a small, gray, mossy rock' and
a scattering of gravel.  he noted that the day had grown perceptibly
brighter.

he moved his left hand slowly, placing its palm fiat upon the ground
near to his shoulder.  it remained there for long seconds before he
became aware of the coldness of the stone.  the shuffling sound came
again and he raised his head a few inches, suddenly aware of a stiffness
in his neck.  he pushed hard with the hand, heaving himself upward,
rolling into a seated position, fighting a tendency to slump forward. as
his gaze moved across the area, passing the place where pol and larick
had stood, his memory of the morning's events poured into his mind.  he
turned his head to the east.  the station of the sun told him that an
hour or more had passed since that encounter.  he rehearsed the entire
exchange, seeking clues as to what within the mountain and what might
now be he resolved that the next time he argued with a have the weapon
drawn and pointed at target.

a series of small sounds reached him from within the cave, turning
itself into several rapid footfalls and then halting.  he drew one knee
beneath him and pushed him self up into a crouch.  he rose slowly as the
footfalls came again, nearing the mouth of the cave.  he drew the weapon
and pointed it at the opening, the hammer making a clicking sound as he
set it.

the steps grew stronger, steadier.  a moment later, a small, red-haired
man appeared within the opening.  he was wearing a dirt-streaked white
robe.  he leaned against the rock, eyes rolling and blinking, head
turning.  when his gaze swept over mouseglove, it did not pause.  his
complexion was dead white.  he twitched and jerked, as though he were
having a minor seizure.

mouseglove watched him closely for a long while before he spoke.

"what is the matter?" he asked, weapon still steady. the head rolled
again, the eyes passing over him, then back again, back again, their
orbit narrowing, a rapid scanning motion.  at last, they seemed to focus
upon him, but the look they held caused him to suppress a shudder. "what
is the matter?" he repeated.

the man took a step forward, raised a pale hand, opened his mouth and
inserted the fingers.  he made a gargling noise, then withdrew his
fingers s|ightly, pinching the tip of his tongue.  he took another step,
released the tongue, held both hands at shoulder level.  he took another
step, and another, his right hand moving from side to side, gradually
reaching forward.  he continued to make gasping, rattling noises, and
his tread grew more steady.

"hold it!" mouseglove said.  "what do you want?" the man roared at him
and rushed forward.

"stop?  mouseglove cried, and when the man did not he pulled the
trigger.

the round struck the man in the left arm, turning him sideways.  he
swayed for a moment, then dropped to his knees, making no effort to
reach for the area of impact.  he rose again almost immediately, turning
back toward mouseglove, voicing a new series of gutturals.

"don't make me shoot again," mouseglove said, setting the hammer.  "i
recognize you.  i know you're one of the candidates.  just tell me what
you want."

the man kept coming, and mouseglove fired again. the man jerked and was
turned sideways again, but this time he did not fall.  he straightened
and resumed his tjrogress, his steady stream of sounds acquiring more
and more inflection.

"aaalll riight..." he said.

mouseglove licked his lips as he readied the weapon ouce more, "for
gods' sakes, stopi" he cried.  "i don't want to do this to you!"

"not im--por--tant.  listenlistenlistenlisten," the other said, face
totally devoid of expression, eyes still rolling, hands still extended
and twitching.

mouseglove backed off three paces, but the other hastened once more,
mouseglove halted then and shot him squarely in the chest.

the man was jolted by the blow.  he fell backward, caught himself in a
seated position and began to rise again. "no!" mouseglove cried.
"please!  stop!"

"stop," the man repeated without emotion.  "listen, listen, listen. pol.
im--por--tant.  you."

"pol?" mouseglove said, cocking the weapon again.  "what about him?"

"yes.  pol.  yes.  you un-der-standmenow.  yes?"

"then stay put and tell me!  don't come any nearer!" slowly, the other
rose again, and something which had registered without mouseglove's
realizing it, came into his consciousness at that moment.

the man was not bleeding from any of his wounds.  the garment was torn,
darkened, slightly damp-looking where each round had penetrated--but
there were no bright red splotches.

"stay--put?" he said.  "stand here?"

"yes.  you make me very nervous.  i can heal- you clearly. tell me from
there.  what about pol?"

"pol .  .  ." said the other, swaying.  "in trouble, mouse-glove.
listen."

"i am listening.  what sort of trouble is it?"

"larick--placed him--under a spell."

"what sort of spell?  i'll find someone who can lift it."

"not necessary.  it has been removed.  but larick--does not--know this."

"then pol's mind is all right?"

"as always."

"but larick thinks he is under a spell?"

"yes.  as pol wishes."

"where is he taking him?"

"castle avinconet."

"that's ryle merson's place!  i might have known.  i will go there and
help him in whatever he is about."

"not yet.  you would be of little help and likely be destroyed.  there
is a better course of action."

"name it."

"go to po!'s patron."

"ibal?"

"that one.  tell him what has occurred.  ask him for speedy
transportation back to rondoval."

"say he grants it.  what then?"

"you can speak with dragons."

"i'm afraid so."

"tell the old one--moon!sird--to take you to the dead crater on anvil
mountain and there help 'you to recover the magical tool."

"the scepter?"

"yes."

"say this can be done."

"then take it to pol at avinconet."

"he will be all right in the meantime?"

"they may see fit to destroy him at any time.  i do not know.  if they
do not, however, he may wel] need it soon."

"who are you?"

"i do not know."

"how do you know all these things?"

"i was there."

"why do you wish to help pol?"

"i am uncertain."

"how is it that i could not kill you?"

"a corpse cannot die."

"now it is i who do not understand."

"you know enough.  good-bye."

the red-haired man collapsed and lay still, mouseglove approached him
cautiously.  there was no sign of breathing, and he considered the man's
waxy pallor at closer range.  he reached out and touched a cheek.  it
was cold.

he raised the right hand.  it was cold, also; and a certain stiffness
had already come into the limb.  he pressed upon the fingernails one
after the other.  they all grew white and remained so.  finally, he
leaned forward and lay his ear upon the chest near to the bullet hole.
he discovered it to be a quiet place.

he arranged the body, crossing the arms upon the breast.  he drew the
white cowl up over the head and down across the face.  he rose and moved
away.

crossing to the place where pol and larick had stood, he located their
tracks and began following them.  they disappeared quickly, however, in
the rocky terrain.  he halted there and spent several minutes pondering.
then he turned to the city of filusion and began his descent toward its
flickering towers.

wind whistling past him, cloak flapping behind him, pol leaned forward
upon the shoulders of the lesser dragon--a lithe, brown creature of
similar when and considerably less mass than the giant beasts of
rondoval--his legs gripping the sides of its back-ridge, hands upon a
leather harness it wore.  twenty meters to his left and a few higher,
larick was similarly mounted upon one of the leathern-winged creatures.
he glanced occasionally at pol, who maintained an impassive attitude.  a
number of bright strands, visible at the second seeing, ran between
them. pol wondered how difficult it might be to kill the other when the
time finally came.  he decided that magic was too slow and uncertain a
thing when employed against another sorcerer.  he decided to strike
quickly, with full violence and without warning once he had learned what
he needed to know and could afford to dispense with the man.  it would
be foolhardy to leave enemies of his sort alive.

the sun was about to cut the throat of another day in the west and the
moon had long since risen--a pale rag tossed above cloud-crests,
brightening now over rough and shadowed land--as north and west they
headed, long necks of their dark mounts extended, vanes outstretched and
occasionally booming against gusts.

they had changed mounts four times during the day, finding the fresh
ones magically tethered at a series of high locales.  pol's shoulder and
leg muscles had long before ached themselves to the point of numbness.
he stole a glance at larick, who seemed tireless, bent forward and
urging his mount to greater efforts.  he stared ahead as if trying to
burn holes through the darkening air.

avinconet, avinconet...  he had repeated the name himself for hours, in
time with the rhythms of the he had answered truthfully in telling
larick he had nothing of it, yet- it seemed now as if there might be
some small ity attached.  it seemed possible that there had been refer
ences in some of his father's earlier journals, though could not recall
anything specific.

avinconet.  avinconet and rondoval...  had there some sort of tie?

the sun dipped lower and the moon grew and then, splashed with
daysblood, he saw it, across the face of one of the more prominent peaks
of distant range.  and he knew that he knew it.

avinconet was the castle of his dreams, through he had passed on his way
to the gate.  somehow, he known all along that it was a real place.  but
seeing it. seeing it gave rise to a train of disturbing sensations.
found himself anxious to enter the place, to locate gate.  there was
something that he had to do there, to do, despite a reflex squeamishness
at the very of the gate.  yet, precisely what that action was, he not
say.

he watched the grim architecture grow before paling to yellow, silver,
gray-white--a huge, central stepped like a terrace, bristling with
towers at els, flanked by long ranks of attached rounded by high, wide
ramparts, battlemented, of numerous angles, a squat tower atop each
turnin windows were lighted at several levels toward the side of the
main structure.  he shifted to the second and immediately noted a
tremendous massing high in the air above the rear of the keep.  he also
noted small, pale light drifting along the forward wall from left !
right, pausing occasionally, wavering.

when they reached a position above the place, swung his mount into a
huge circle and pol's buffeted by strong winds.  they commenced a slow,
ward spiral.

as they descended toward the larger of a number courtyards toward the
rear, pol continued to study small light, vis'ible only with the second
seeing.  it peared human in form from this nearer distance, and there
was a long, pale strand attached to it.  something about its aspect at
this level touched him with a vague feeling of mournfulness.

as they dropped lower, pol saw that the rear wall of the enclosed area
was rough roek--a part of the mountainside itself--pierced by a number
of irregular dark openings, several of them barred.  it was at about
this point that the light upon the ramparts disappeared from sight.

they touched down roughly and larick alit at once. moments later, pol
felt his strings jerked and he followed him.  larick unharnessed the
beasts, shouted an order and watched them shuffle off into one of the
cave-like openings. he followed them and drew upon something in the
shadows.  a metal grillwork dropped into place with a clang which echoed
through the court.

larick returned to pol.

"we made excellent time because of the tailwinds," he commented.  "i
didn't think we'd be getting in till after midnight.  he might be able
to see you now.  i don't know. i'll have to check."

"who is the'?" pol asked.

"ryle merson, the master of avincenet."

"what does he want with me, wizard?"

"that is really for him to tell you.  come this way."

pol felt a tugging upon the strands larick had ated to his person.  he
made no resistance but followed their lead toward an open archway to
what he judged the northeast. they passed through into a flagstoned
corridor where lar-ick led him about a series of turns.

left, right, left, left, pol memorized.

and then they halted before a low doorway.  its heavy wooden door stood
ajar and larick pushed it the rest of the way open.  pol noted that it
could be secured from the outside by means of a heavy wooden bar.

"inside," larick said, and power pulsed in the strands. pol moved
forward, stooped and entered.  a bench ran along the right hand wall of
the small, 1ow-ceilinged room. there were no windows, only a few
air-slits at the upper corners.  a ragged blanket and a heap of sacking
lay upon the bench.  there was a chamber an empty candle-bracket was
affixed to the wall above bench.

pol turned back after he had passed over the thr and the compulsion
ceased.

"what's for dinner?" he asked.

"if he can't see you now, i'll have something sent larick replied.

"i'll study the wine list while i wait."

larick stared at him, shook his head.

"you could use a few more restraints.  i don't want tearing this place
apart," he said.  "go sit down on bench."

"all right, wizard.  not much to tear, though."

pol crossed the room and seated himself.  he could the working of the
strands about him almost

"you do that very well," he said. "thanks."

"...  but i don't believe it will save you in the larick chuckled.

"...  so long as the end is a great way off."

"don't buy any long-playing records," pol said. "what does that mean?"

"even if you find out, it will be too late."

"have it your way, chainson."

"i may."

the door closed.  the room became very dark.  pol the bar slide into
place.  he shook off the he had toyed with the idea of trying to get a
strand larick while larick was restraining him, a thing would permit him
to follow the other's progress about place, seeing some of the things
which he regarded. had dismissed the notion as too risky, but now he
dered .  .  .

when he switched to the second seeing, the room bathed in a pearly glow.
a pale golden strand near the door.  he raised his right hand and
exerted will.  beneath multiple layers of illusion his throbbed.  the
filament drifted toward him.

when it made contact with his fingertips he felt a near-electrical
tingling.  when he blanked his mind and drew upon it for impressions,
the sensation spread and he realized quickly that he was indeed reaching
the other. larick might be accused of carelessness, he mused, save that
he had no way of knowing that pol could still function in any magical
capacity.

he followed larick's progress through several turnings and up a long
flight of stairs.  there was a wide window at one turning, and he saw
stars beyond it.  lariek made his way through progressively more
sumptuous areas of the keep, coming at last to a long gallery leading to
a pair of ornate double doors.  a liveried servant sat upon a bench to
the right of the entrance.  he rose as larick approached, his face
bearing a smile of recognition. "is he awake?" larick inquired. the man
shook his head.

"i doubt it," he replied.  "it's been awhile and he said he did not want
to be disturbed."

"oh.  well, if he should wake up, mak, tell him that i've brought him
the man he wanted."

"if he does, i will.  but i don't think he'll be about again tonight."

"then i'm going to see about getting the fellow fed now. do you want
anything sent up?"

"a bit of beef and bread would be nice,.  and maybe some beer."

"ryle's turned in a little early ..."

"the trip back tired him.  he came rather fast."

"don't tell me about it.  all right.  i'm for the kitchen.

good night."

"'night."

pol followed him away from the place, step slower now, and down a back
stair.  he overheard him order the meals from a tired-looking fat woman
of more than middle age, whom he had interrupted at a meal of her own,
and then watched him prepare a light, cold dinner for himself and eat it
quickly.  pol maintained the contact, his own hunger growing.  on the
fringes of things, he could see the woman preparing the trays.

larick lingered over a second glass of wine, then sighed and rose slowly
to his feet.  he bade the woman good night, visited the latrine and made
his way on, and ward, for a long distance into what must have been
northeastern wing of the place.

pol continued his efforts to commit the route to ory, thinking that it
must lead to larick's own but it dropped lower and lower and seemed to
lead't and farther back toward the mountainside.  all traces splendor
were gone here, and the area through which passed bore the dustiness of
disuse and seemed in to have become a repository of damaged furniture.

beyond this was a zone of dark emptiness where created a light upon the
tip of his blade and bore overhead like a torch, coming at length to a
bare sweating rock wall over which he ran his hand.  he 1owed this for a
time, then turned into an opening in rock, descending a steep slope into
which rough steps been hacked.

the way narrowed, grew level, turned.  larick began slow.  twice again,
it turned, and by then his steps faltering.  he was approaching a high,
massy with something possibly large and somewhat atop it.

his hand wavered and the blade was lowered as began to climb.  pol
became aware that his breathing deepened.  just as he reached the top he
dropped to knees and remained still.  pol could not make out what was
that lay before him, for something had suddenly wrong with the man's
eyes.

he waited for a time, but nothing more happened, then his food arrived
and he released the contact.

when he finished eating, pol pushed the tray away sought the golden
strand again.  but it had either off or dissipated.  he realized then
that he should alfixed it to something, pending his later attention.
yet, was tired, and he knew that he would not be again till morning.  he
assembled a bed of the sacking the bench and stretched out, covering
himself with blanket.  he dozed almost immediately, myriads from the
past several days flashing behind his eyes.

these faded quickly, and that other consciousness over him again.  there
was a moment of intense cold, and then he stood before the great gate.
he felt other presences at his back, but he was unable to turn and look
at them--nor did he desire to do so.  the right half of the gate swung
outward a sufficient distance for him to angle through, tiny wisps of
smoke or fog emerging from it.  this vision had occurred with a
sharpness and a rapidity which surpassed all earlier versions, and this
time there was no ambivalence, no hesitation on his part.  he moved
forward immediately and entered the land which lay beyond.

the first thing that he saw, facing him, a short distance across the
blasted landscape, was the head.  impaled upon a sharpened pole, eyes
still open, the head of one of the demon creatures leered in his
direction.  he felt that there was almost something personal in this
display, a very specific caution which he could only at this time find
amusing.

as he felt the transformation come over him, he winked at the grisly
visage and rose, wraith-like into the wan air. wind-stirred sands
shifted snake-like among the rocks below him.  he drifted southward,
gaining momentum rapidly. as he !id, a sense of jubilation grew within
him untfi he wanted to proclaim it in a voice like a thousand trumpets
across the land.  he spread his dark wings, vast as the sails of some
mighty vessel, and beat his way over the deadland, rising to such an
altitude that his mountains finally became visible.

he, prodromolu, was filled with the dream-memory of his other life, and
he forgot the head and the gate and the -small human thing named pol
detson, of whom he might once have dreamed.  he needed none of these.

when he reached that range, he hurled himself upon it, fighting the
hurricane-force winds that would dash him against it.  six times he
assailed those heights and was beaten back.

on the seventh he prevailed, and his statuesdripping of honey and
spices, of wine and of blood--was shattered at the note that he uttered.
wherever his shadow passed, buildings toppled and his worshippers faded
and died. nyalith rose like a tower of dark fires before him.  they met
over the waters of the stilled ocean and commenced the dance that would
take them around the world. fell like burning souls about them, as the
roaring bore them along the jewelled girdle of the planet. movements
grew more savage with the deaths of kings the fall of temples.  he spoke
again at the mountains ice, and the spell of the gateway was wrought as
serpent of the still waters, completed her journey of thousand years and
rose from the depths to seek him- pol, for a moment, knew of the keys
and the dark god' promise as he was jerked suddenly alert there in his
the dream still vivid within him, he sat bolt upright regarded the
ghostly image of the woman who stood side him, gesturing, lips moving,
colorless eyes upon his own.  he half-rose, putting forth his hand.

she retreated, a look of sudden alarm upon her countenance.  he
withdrew, composing his face and ing reassuring gestures.  she halted.
she appeared to him.  slowly, she raised her arm and pointed at him. she
turned and pointed toward the rear of the cell, back toward him and
shook her head in the negative. furrowed his brow and she repeated the
motions. denly then, she raised all five digits of her left hand two
upon her right.  she shook her head, the first series again.  he
shrugged and turned his upward.

she began to wring her hands.  he rose, and she away.  he took a step
toward her, and she continued retreat.  he watched as she reached the
far wall and through it, leaving behind, perhaps the faintest trace of
exotic perfume.

he returned to his bench and seated himself, the sequence merging with
his interrupted dream into a of hallucinatory half-world.  perhaps he
had imagined it, considered.  only her high cheekbones, large eyes, chin
and narrow span of brow beneath wide-swept of hair made such a strong,
such a definite image. sought, but she had left no strands behind by
which might test her reality.

he crossed to the door of the cell.  for how long he slept, he was not
certain.  he was still tired, but felt a more rested than he had
earlier.  it seemed likely most others in the place would be asleep.
therefore, the time seemed good to depart, to commence investigating. he
shifted to the second seeing to study the area about the door.

the response was slow, murky.  it was as if he were wearing smoked
glasses on a foggy day.  he concentrated on the bar outside, on locating
a connecting strand by which he might draw it.

slowly, very slowly, a greenish strand came into focus--and passed out
of it again.  he called upon his dragonmark for power and willed that it
return.

but the dragonmark did not throb.  there was only a tingling, an itching
sensation upon his forearm.  the strand swam back into view and he
reached for it.  there was no contact.  it passed through his fingers as
if they were not present.  then it faded again.  his eyes began to ache.

he lowered his hands.  what was happening?  he wondered. this was the
first time in all of his experience in this land that the power had
failed him.  could larick have done something to block its flow?

then he remembered what larick had said about the initiation rite-that
it might have this effect, that one should refrain from even the
simplest workings for several weeks.  yet it had worked earlier, when he
had followed larick about avinconet.  it must be erratic during this
period, he decided with a sigh.  somehow, he could hardly think of the
injunction as applying to himself.  his initiation had been a sham, a
trap.  or had it?  he had gone through all the motions, had undergone
consciousness-heightening experiences at the proper times.  could it be
that he had actually passed his initiation while being transformed into
a monster?

he shook his head and tried again.  his eyes ached more and his temples
began to throb.  there was a burning sensation along his right forearm.
once more, he saw the strand dimly, but he was unable to influence it.

he returned to the bench and covered himself.  he thought of the woman
for a long while before he slept again.  and this time the only
dream-image that he could later recall was the demon head on the stick,
grinning.

in some ways i suppose that it was illuminating, though i am not
actually certain how.  it did something for me or to me, but i do not
know what.  it also served to make my nature more obscure to me in
certain areas.  yet- i had entered belken, that great, dark, glittering,
stone hulk, moving along the high tunnel i had found within.  in the
topmost chamber i brooded for a time, in the place of the waters.  i
felt a kind of power there, reverberating all about me.  it was, in some
ways, very disturbing; yet i found it soothing at other levels.  i
decided then to investigate the entire psychic structure within the
mountain.

.  the route that the would-be sorcerers would take from station to
station was learly marked in non-physical terms. i proceeded to the
second area and meditated for a long while in that place, also.  if it
did good things for them, charged as it was with a kind of ordering
power, i reasoned that it might benefit me, too.

how long i took at that and the next station, i do not know.  a long
while, i believe, for i was lost in long reveries and quickly forgot all
about time as i regarded their progressions.  it only occurred to me
that it might be growing late when i felt an increase in the levels of
intensity of those forces in which i was basking.  i quickly traced it
back to its origin in a circle of sorcerers in the glittering city
below.  at that time i also learned that it had grown dark outside.  i
knew this meant that the initiation was about to begin and that the
power would continue to rise all night long.  i moved on to the next
station to maintain my lead.  i wanted to complete the thing now, for i
felt it possible that it might shake something loose in my memory,
giving me what i sought.

something strange happened at that fourth station, for i heard a
voice--tantalizingly familiar--speaking as if dressing me personally,
intimately even.

"fancy," it said.  "fancy."

it was a masculine voice, and it seemed to me as should understand
exactly what it meant by that nouncement.  it was spoken fairly sternly,
as if some were being laid upon me.  fancy.  was this my name, summoned
from my faded past by the charged ambiance? no, that did not seem quite
right.  fancy...

"faneyl"--even stronger tones this time, and with them a roused sense of
duty, a desire to follow the incomprehensible order and a sense of
frustration at not being able to.

i expanded and contracted.  i darted fitfully about within the chamber,
seeking some means of discharging the injunction.

"fancy!"

nothing.  there was nothing that i could discover to do which would
satisfy what was rapidly becoming a compulsion without an object.

so i moved on.  and the power kept growing within the mountain.  but the
pressure was eased a bit in the next place, and i remained there for a
long while.  again, i lost track of time and was only roused from a
trance-like into which i had lapsed by the sounds of the candidates.
almost sluggishly, i drifted down to the next station so as not to be
disturbed by them.

the sixth seemed more peaceful than any so far.  i spread myself out and
absorbed the good vibrations.

it did not seem that long before i heard them approaching again.  this
time i did not stir.  i had no desire to depart and it occurred to me
that it could be instructive to witness what went on in the course of
the rites.

i watched them enter and take their positions.  when he began speaking,
i found myself peculiarly attracted to the one called larick.  i
.studied him, and then i realized why. it was an extraordinary discovery
and i was still consider

wizaao woalo

ing its effects when my attention was drawn to pol.  i was startled by
the change in his appearance.

he was slouched well forward and his hands were enor and scaly.  a quick
investigation beyond his garments me that his arms, though very
attractive in their dark fashion, were no longer h/s arms.  still he be
unaware of this, and if it did not bother him i not see why it should
bother me. but it did.

further examination showed me that he was the only of all those present
whose anatomy had been altered.

i puzzled over this, another transformation began in the area of his
shoulders and breast.  this time i was able trace it to its source, and
i saw that lariek was causing i was unable to discover its motive in his
mind, for a sorcerer's thoughts become impenetrable when he is working
with the stuff of his trade.  and none of the others' minds contained
anything worth knowing; they were uniformly rapt in a kind of trance
state.

i waited until they were finished there and moved on them to the next
station.  whether or not the motive become clear to-me, i was determined
to investigate the method of the magical operation being practiced upon
pol.

i observed the next transformation very carefully and saw that it might
more truly be considered a transference.

pol's leg was replaced by a larger, more powerful i was able to trace
the shifting of materials beyond mountain.  i followed, speeding and
spinning down where space was wrinkled and time a stream with many bends
and some few oxbow lakes.  i followed to the of the gate---that dream of
pol's which i had glimpsed. i followed beyond, into the deadlands where
i found a wailing creature whose body was now half-human, dragonmark
upon the arm.

"brother," i addressed it, "wear them well this short while, for it is
but some human rite."

but it either could not or would not understand me.  it continued its
outcry and began beating at the transformed of its own person.  so i
laid a deep sleep upon it, in the lee of a triangle of standing gray
stones, serving both pol and itself with little real effort on my own
part.  i told myself at the time that this was a necessary personal
involvement--my first--in the affairs of others, for purposes of
assuring that things be played out smoothly in their entirety, so as to
satisfy a number of purely intellectual needs of my own.

but even then i was beginning to wonder.

i regarded that fascinating land for several extra instants before i
swirled and began the long journey back, bright thunder and loud
lightning oxymoronic over oxbows as i passed, passed i negative to
reverse point and back, finding thoughts this time in larick's head, of
avinconet and those he served.  the first glimmer of understanding came
to me.

i rotated with a certain satisfaction, then followed them to the next
station.  there, i saw the transference repeated with pol's other leg.
this annoyed me more than a little. his mind was as far asea as any of
the others', convincing me that he was being victimized.  it did not
seem a very fair thing, judging from the little i knew about humans,
especially coming from larick the way that it was.

when we moved on to the next one, several things occurred in addition to
the alteration of pol's abdomen. the one candidate dropped dead.  he, of
course, was nothing to me; but at approximately the same moment there
came a repetition of the word

"faney".  i studied the others for reactions to this, but there were
none.  of course, they had just acquired a dead man which might have
proved distracting; still, it had sounded very loud, and after a few
moments i heard it again.

and then again.

it became steady, relentless in repetition.  at first i cowered, but
then i listened.  how silly of me to have thought that the others could
hear it when it was so obviously addressing me and me alone.  i felt
that at some level i was beginning to understand it.  and then something
else occurred.

the body was moved, the ritual proceeded, pol was altered.  but none of
these seemed particularly important at just that moment.  i was
undergoing a change, far less physical in nature than pol's, a thing
which raised fascinating and involved speculations on the subjects of
free and determinism. unfortunately, i did not have pursue them just
then, for my full attention was by the change itself: i had changed my
mind.  i' had an unstated, barely realized position of not the affairs
of others for as long as i could suddenly brought it into focus,
examined it and that the time had arrived to make an exception.

i did not like what was being done to pol, but i did possess the
expertise necessary to reverse the non.  i would do something,
thbugh--what, i was certain--something to help him return to what was
for him, so that he could deal with his own enemies saw fit.

i thought about it as we descended to the final the voice repeating
"faney" had faded.  pol lost his feet at the next stop.  i studied
larick in moments when he was not conducting operations.  i that he
intended to spirit pol off to avinconet, would be a prisoner, as soon as
the night's work concluded.

when we departed the last station and moved on the big cavern, i watched
as he laid the paralysis and began conducting the others outside.  it
seemed might be able to lift the spell which held him there in alcove,
but i was uncertain as to what could be done i followed the first
initiate outside, to witness the phase of things. then i saw that a
number of the had come up to accompany their people back into lurking in
a secluded spot, mouseglove watched cavemouth.

of course.

i was already working on my plan as i returned to cavern.  when i
discovered the sorcerer of the visitation with pol, however, i halted
and observed. was a great feeling of power about the man.

he began using that power.  i saw that he was ing it to reverse the
transference.  i moved interfere in a fashion which could not be
detected.  it pure impulse on my part, not to see such good wasted.  the
ereature's head could be mounted stick by its fellows for all i cared. i
made use of the drawstring space pocket as i had seen pol do for storage
purposes.

i saw po] returned to himself and disguised.  it in no way affected my
plan when i realized what he intended to do.  he would still be
operating in an area of considerable danger.

so i sought the body of krendel, the red-haired man who had died
earlier.  in that no one else was using it at the moment, i permeated it
and set about studying how it worked.  i wanted to have it ready soon to
run the errand i had conceived of, to mouseglove, who waited without.

the small man slipped through the golden hole in the center of the room
and it began to close behind him.  a contracting halo, an optical
aberration, the view through the opening was not that of the far side of
the sumptuous apartment.  instead, the eye followed the dwindling form
of the dark-clad man who had passed that way across a high tapestry-hung
hall as it approached an arched gallery past pillars dark and light.

then the wavering lens closed upon itself, flickered and was gone.  ibal
slumped back upon the heap of cushions on which he had been sitting bolt
upright.  his breathing was suddenly deep and rapid; perspiration dotted
his brow.

vonnie, kneeling beside him, delicately blotted his face with a blue
silk kerchief.

"there are not many," she said, "can do the door spell well."

he smiled.

"it is a strain," he acknowledged, "and, to tell the truth, not
something i'd ever intended to work again.  this time, th o, ugh..."

� .  .  it was different," she finished.

he nodded.

"what are you going to do now?"

"recover," he answered.

"you know that is not what i mean."

"all right.  recover and forget.  yve given him a hand.

my honor is satisfied."

"is it?  really?" he sighed.

"at my age, that is all the honor i can afford.  the days are long gone
when i would care to get involved in some thing like this."

her hands passed through his hair, dropped to his well-muscled
shoulders, rubbed there for a time, then led him back to a seated
position.  she raised a cool drink to his lips.

"how certain are you of your assessment of the case?": she finally
inquired.

'ie gods know what else it could be!" he said.  "something not at all
natural sends mouseglove to me, with the story that the young man i'd
sponsored is old det's son and that he's just been kidnaped by ryle
merson.  honor says that i should do something because ryle has made off
with the man i sponsored.  so i have.  fortunately, all mouseglove
wanted was a fast trip back to rondoval---and i've just provided it."

"is that really enough?"

"it is not as if he were my apprentice.  i was only doing the man a
favor.  i barely know him."

"butre" she began. "that is all," he replied.

"but it was not what i meant."

"what, then?"

"the things you said at first---could they be true?"

"i forget what i said."

"you said that it is a continuation of something that began before pol
was born "

"i suppose that it is."

"...  the thing that had led to the wars."

he took the goblet into his hands and drained it.

"yes, i believe so," he said then.

"something that could reopen that whole business?" he shrugged.

"or close it.  yes.  i think that might be the case or that ryle
believes it might be the case.  same thing."

he set the goblet aside, raised his hands and looked at them.

"pol has apparently aroused the concern of something poweful and
supernatural," he said, "and he also has the good offices of the friend
we just sent on his way."

"i was not talking about pol.  i am thinking of the entire situation of
which that is but a part.  this place is full important practitioners of
the art.  it is the only in four years when they will all be together
like this. would almost say that it seems more than don't you feel that
we ought to bring this ibal began to laugh.

"stop and think about it for a minute," he said later. think it would be
the worst possible thing to do. were attractive things about both sides
in that some stood to benefit, some did not.  do you really we'd get a
concensus?  we can start the next war here, if you'd like."

she had stiffened as he spoke and her eyes slightly.

"godsl" she said.  "you may be right!"

"so why don't we forget about the entire thing?" finished.  he reached
out and took her hand.  "and i exactly how to go about it."

"i believe i'm getting a headache," she said.

mouseglove did not look back.  he accepted the which had brought him to
rondoval as a part of life. magic were used against him, things could be
very bad. it worked to his benefit, he was grateful.  until he had pol,
he had generally attempted to avoid the notice sorcerers, counting
them--usuall, worthy lot.  he mouthed a few words of thanks to patron of
thieves, that this one had been helpful, as hurried into the great hall
and made his way down stairway.

he located the bundle of faggots pol had charmed him, raised one and
spoke the necessary words over it. turned then and headed without
hesitation along the fusion of tunnels, moving back toward the caverus
he had obtained more than one's normally allotted span rest.

for a long while he passed through the cool places dancing shadows
before he reached the entrance way whe the great slab pol had toppled
lay in shattered ruin about.

picking his way among the rubble, he continued place where the echoes
died in the distance and the walls and roof were no longer visible, a
place where the odor of the beasts hung heavy and the torch flickered in
vagrant drafts.  here, too, he knew his way, and he proceeded along it
with much less trepidation than he would have experienced some months
earlier.

the vast, still mounds of scaled and furred bodies were sprawled
casually about, many of them sleeping in the depths of magical charges
as they had, he had, before. some few others slept out their natural
daily, weekly or monthly spans.

he wondered, as he made his way to the familiar niche, whether the one
he sought would indeed be resting there. he might be anywhere in the
world, his absence necessitating mouseglove's rousing another--a thought
he did not relish.  having been trapped for twenty years in the same
version of the sleep spell as moonbird, he had developed a peculiar
!ink--a thing even verging on friendlinesswith the giant dragon.  with
any of the others, he would have to attempt a complicated explanation,
possibly beginning with his own identity.  no, he did not like that
thought at all.

as he came near to the place where moonbird normally rested he grazed
his shoulder against an unremembered rocky prominence.

mouseglove!  it has been long!

he stumbled back.  it was a shoulder of dragon rather than a shoulder of
stone against which he had brushed.  he recovered almost immediately and
moved to lay his hands upon the beast.

"yes, i am back," he replied.  "there is trouble.  we need your help."

the great bulk shifted beneath his hands, causing them to slide along
the hard, smooth scales.  moonbird began to rise.

what is it?  he asked.

"we must go to anvil mountain, find pol's scepter, take it to him."

he cast it into the fiery hole.  he told me this.

"he told me, also--"

but i have been back, and the fires have died.  all is gray rock now.  i
do not know how far i could dig in it. get tools.

mouseglove thought for a moment.

"there is a room off the main courtyard," he said, sending along the
image.  "i will return and look over the tools there.  meet me in the
yard."

it will be faster for me to take you there. "well .  .  ." mount!

mouseglove scrambled onto his back.  minutes later, they were gliding
through the darkness.

pol was awakened by the light shining upon his face.  he tossed his head
several times to avoid it, then sat suddenly upright, eyes opened.

the door of his cell stood wide.

had someone come for him, then met with some momentary distraction?  he
listened.  there were no sounds from the corridor, cautiously, he rose
to his feet.  he crossed the cell to the place where he had stood
earlier, conjuring ineffectively, eyes throbbing.

some illusion?  to torment him?

he extended his hand beyond the door frame, touched the door.  it moved
slightly.  at that moment, he felt the essence of mocking laughter,
soundless.  it was as if something vaguely sinister were amused at his
puzzlement, his trepidation--something inhabiting a level of reality
which did not coincide with his own.  he stood frozen, waiting, but it
did not occur again.

finally, he moved forward, passing out into the corridor. it was
deserted.

what now?  he thought.  should he set out upon the. route along which he
had followed larick?  should he strike out and explore elsewhere within
the castle?  or should he head back to the courtyard, take one of the
flying beasts and flee?

the latter course struck him as the most sensible: flee, hide and wait
for the return of his powers.  then he could go back to rondoval, rouse
his bestial minions and come back here as he had come to anvil
mountain--to tear the place apart.  it made better sense than remaining,
less and outnumbered, in the citadel of an enemy.

he turned in the direction of the courtyard with cages.  then he stood
still.

his way was barred by a sheet of pale flame.

"and so my choice is not really a choice," he said is it ever?  came the
familiar, ironic notes in his head. "i guess that remains to be seen."

like most things, came the reply, accompanied conciliatory sensations.

"i've never been able to figure out whether you're enemy or an ally."

we are agents.  we aided you once.

"and the next time...  ?"

why should you have any reason to doubt those have helped you in the
past?

"bemuse i came away with the feeling that i'd pushed into something."

i would say, rather, that we pulled you out.

"that is a debatable point.  but you say that you agents.  agents of
what?"

change.

"much is encompassed by that word.  could you more specific?"

two of the forces at work upon this world are and magic.  at times they
are opposed to one another. are on the side of the magic.

"this place hardly seems a stronghold of it is not.  there is no direct
confrontation involved

"god damn you! getting a straight answer out of you like milking a
wildcat!  why can't you just tell me what involved?"

the truth is such a sacred thing that we guard it

"i believe that you want my cooperation." 'that is why we are assisting
you again.

poi tried shifting to the second seeing.  this time seemed to work
smoothly.  with it, he detected the line of a human form within the
flame--small, head bowed, hands hidden within the long sleeves
overlapped near its dark center.  an orange strand near pol's right
hand, the far end of it vanishing within flame.  he caught it with his
fingertips and twirled it.  the dragonmark throbbed upon his forearm.

"now you will tell me what i wish to know--" he began.

his hand felt as if it were on fire.  he stifled a scream and dropped to
one knee in his agony.  his second vision departed.  his entire arm
ached.

we will not be coerced in such a fashion, came the reply.

"i'll find the right way," he said through clenched teeth. it would be
so much easier and would save so much time if you would let us show you
rather than spend the night telling you what is involved.

pol rose to his feet, holding his aching right hand in the other.

"i suppose that's the best deal i'll get from you tonight." it is.  turn
and follow the other.

pol turned and beheld another tongue of flame.  this one was only the
size of his hand, and it hung in the air in the middle of the corridor
about eight paces before him.  a moment after his gaze fell upon it, it
began to drift away from him.  he followed.

it led him through a hall filled with grotesque statues, � both human
and-non-human, a low, red brilliance, a soft, almost vibrant glow lying
upon the whole setting, east perhaps by the flame itself, giving the
impression that all of the stone forms were beginning to stir.  the air
there was stale in his lungs, and he found himself holding his breath
until he had departed the place.  the luster was present in some of the
other chambers and hallways, yet somehow it lacked the sinister
character it had given to that room and those representations.  the
dragonmark had begun throbbing when they had entered the place and did
not grow still until they were well away.

he moved down a series of stone stairways, each rougher than the
preceding one, passing through damp chambers and long passageways,
which, judging from the descent he had made, must be well beneath the
castle itself and hacked from the living stone of the mountainside.  at
some point, pol ventured a look behind him and saw that the other flame
was nowhere in sight.  he also saw, however, that the shadows seemed to
slide in a liquid, almost tient fashion at his back, in a manner he
found more little unsettling.  he hurried to keep pace with his the
rooms and corridors through which he the dust of disuse in heavy layers,
a thing he heartening when he moved through a series which only be
torture chambers--equipped as they were chains, racks, tongs, pincers,
weights, flails, whips, lets and a great variety of oddly shaped blades.
all bore stains, rust marks or both, along with the coatings of dust.
ther.e well?  bones in odd, co..  m, ers, them gnawed long ago by
rodents, now ary, onme, and discolored. pol brushed a wall with his
fingertips heard the echoes of screams from long ago.  when switched to
the second vision, he caught glimpses of atrocities enacted in times
gone by, the mas of which had etched themselves into the hastily, he
reverted to the normal mode of seeing.

"who .  .  "he whispered, more to himself, "was sponsible for these
things?"

the present lord, ryle merson, came the reply ahead.

"he must b a monster!"

once, such things were routine here.  but he ceased such activities
nearly a quarter.  oaa century ago, that he had repented.  it is said t
t he has led a blameless, possibly even virtuous life since.

"is it true?"

who can say what lies in a person's cannot even say himself, for
certain.

"you are making this all totally enigmatic to confess to being
prejudiced, but in no way can i see treatment of me as virtuous or
blameless--and that for his lackey, larick, as well."

people have reasons for things that they do.

and objectives are seldom of matching morfl color. "and what of
yourself, whatever you are?"

we are neither moral nor immoral now, for our contain no element of
choice.

"yet something set you upon the course you there was a decision there."

so it would seem--a touch of irony to these words? "still not giving
anything away, are you?" nothing.

they moved past a fetid-smelling cistern in which something was
splashing.  the floor of a recess near an adjacent air shaft was hea/y
with the droppings and fragile, hieroglyphic skeletons of what might
have been bats.  indentations in the floor contained small pools of
water.  the walls were slimy in this area, and pol felt' as if a great
weight of earth and rock hovered just above his head, groaning the long,
slow notes of timeless stresses.

he wondered at the brief conversation, recalling the allegations of the
seven after the batfie at anvil mountain, giving the impression then
that their actions were determined. at least they were consistent in
what little they did say.  there was something more about them which he
felt that he should remember, something almost dream-like in texture ...

his efforts at recollection ended as he turned a corner and halted.
whether it was a corridor or a room which he now faced, he could not
tell.  the way ahead was misty--almost smoky--though he detected no
odors about it.  the flame had halted when he did, and it seemed much
nearer now; its brightness had increased, and it had acquired something
of a greenish east.

"what the hell," pol asked, "is that?" lust a local etheric disturbance.
"i don't believe in ether."

then call it something else.  perhaps you will be footnoted by some
future lexicographer.  we know that things were different where you grew
up.

"i'll be damned.  that's the closest i've come to getting a rise out of
you.  so you know my history?"

we were present when ffou departed this world.  we were present when
ffou returned.

"interesting.  your remarks almost lead me to believe that you do not
know what things were like in the place where i was raised."

trne, though we are able to conclude a number of things about it from
examining {tour actions and reactions since your return.  for example,
the familiarit7 with nology which you demonstrated- the light before him
was extinguished.  pol stood still the semi-darkness, staring into the
faintly luminous he listened to his heartbeat and considered calling the
dragonlight.

an instant later a blue leaf of flame appeared in the before him, near
to the place where the other had been. come now!

the tone was feminine, imperious.

"what became of my other guide?" he asked.

he talked too much.  come!

pol wondered at this.  had he finally glimpsed a chink arnlor?

"getting near something you don't want me to eh?"

there was no reply.  the away from him.  pol did not move to follow it.

"do you know what i think?" he said.  "i think you've got to use me
because i am my father's son created you.  you have some special
connection with doval, and only i can serve your purpose." the flame
halted and hovered. you are wrong.

"i do not believe that you like this," he went on, ing the response,
"because, for all your talk ism, i was raised on another world about
which you liffie or nothing, and you cannot account for me as might
someone who'd spent his life in this land.  i am of a random factor than
you would like me to be, but have to deal with me anyway.  tonight you
will attempt impress me in some fashion so that i will be more amenable
to your purposes.  i tell you now that i have seen things beside which
the display at anvil mountain was very small beer. i am prepared to be
unimpressed by any efforts on your part."

you have finished?

"for now."

then let us continue thi, journey.

the flame drifted on, slowly.  pol followed.  it seemed to be bearing to
the left, but there were no other objects in his field of vision against
which he might track its motion. he plodded along, and the palely
illuminated mist rolled and boiled about him. unaccountable shadows
began to move within it.

he kept changing direction.  echoes were muffled.  poi could not tell
for certain whether he was moving through a long, twisting corridor or
whether he was backtracking, turning, wandering within one large room.
as he was unable to locate any walls, he suspected the latter.  but
there seemed no way to tell for certain.

the shadows which tracked him grew darker, their outlines becoming more
distinct.  some were definitely human in form; others were not.  the
silhouette of a dragon flickered overhead as if passing at a great
height.  it seemed as if a great number of people were now moving,
silently, at various distances, about him.  he tried turning to the
second seeing, but there was no change in the prospect.

suddenly, a figure loomed directly before him--big, ruddy, balding, with
large, capable hands.  the flame darted past, and perhaps it took up a
station somewhere nearby. "dadi" pol said, halting.

his step-father's mouth twisted into a half-grin.

"what the hell do you think you're doing in this backward place?" he
said.  "i really need you at home, in the business, right now."

"you're not real .  .  ." pol said.

but michael chain looked solid.  his facial expressions--his speech
inflections--were exactly those of michael chain with a few drinks under
his belt and a load of impatience about to break loose.

"you're a disappointment to me.  always were."

"dad...  ?"

"go on with your silly games then.  break your mother's heart."

a gesture of dismissal.  the large man turned away. "dad!  wait!"

he vanished into the mist.

"it's a trick!" pol said, glaring at the flame.  "i don't know how you
did that or what it's all about, but it's a tricki"

life is full of tricks.  life itself may be a trick.

he turned away.

"why are we standing here in the gloom?  i thought were taking me
someplace important?" you are the one who halted. "okay! let's get
going!" he turned back.

betty lewis, wearing a tight, low-cut dress, ing at him off to the left.
the texture of her familiar looked so real ...

"you could have called," she said.  "maybe big a thing between us, but
you might at least have good-bye."

"i couldn't," he answered.  "there was no way."

"just like all the others," she said, and the mists between them and she
was gone.

"i see what you are doing," pol said to the flame.  "but won't work."

it is the condition of this place.  you are doing it yourself.

pol took a step forward.

"you brought me herel"

"pol?" came a familiar voice from his right, sending shiver along his
arms.

"the hell with you!" he said, not turning.  "let's ramel"

obediently, the bluish light moved away, and he

1owed it, the shadow remained to his right, drew

"poll"

he did not look.  but an arm was extended into his ofvisiormuscular,
covered with heavy, a thick, wide bracelet at the wrist, studded with
buttons, indicators, lights---and even when he saw it, did not believe
that it was real.

until the hand fell upon his arm, gripping it, him, turning him.

"i feel your hand," he said slowly.

"i felt your wrath," said the other.

pol raised his eyes to regard the once handsome, features of mark
marakson, marred by the eyepiece left, its lens a deep, glittering blue.

"you gave me no choice," pol replied.

"you had my name, my parents.  you took my girl .  ."

"this can't be!" pol said.

"...  my life," mark finished, and then the lens went black and his
flesh reddened and charred and began to peel away.

pol screamed.

the hand, through which the bones were now visible, fell away from his
arm.  the figure backed off into the mist--the black-lensed prosthetic
now affixed to a skull--and then it was gone.

pol began to shake.  he raised his hands to his face and lowered them
again.

nora now stood where mark had been.  her face was expressionless.

"it is true," she said.  "you killed the man i loved." she turned and
walked away. "wait!"

he ran, reaching for her, but her shadow was lost among others.  still
he groped, turned, moving in one direction and then another.

"come back!"

pol!  stand still.t do not lose yourself in this place!

he turned again, and old mor stood before him, leaning upon his staff.

"for that which i see before you, i would that i had never brought you
back," the sorcerer said.  "better mark had prevailed than that you do
the thing you would do."

"i don't know what you're talking about." pol said.  'tell me, if there
is something i should know!"

mor vanished in a burst of fire.

stay with me.t came the words out of the flame.  this could get out of
control.t

"whose control?" pol asked, turning away.

stel, the centaur, stood looking into his eyes.

"you would break faith with us," she said, "though you swore by your
scepter not to."

"i have not broken faith with you," he replied.

� .  .  and the doom which walks always at your back will move forward."

"i have not broken faith," he repeated.

"evil son of an evil father!"

pol turned and strode away.

come backl--almost, a pleading note now.

the giant dog-headed figure he had faced beneath pyramid rose suddenly
before him.

thiefl breaker of the triangle of int!  came its message.

"i stole nothing.  i took what was mine," pol said.

i've curses for thieves, to hound them to the ends of earth!

"piss on your curses!" pol replied.  "i beat you once. not afraid of you
now!"

he took a step toward the menacing figure.

stop!  they're gaining power/ it really can hurt came the words out of
the flame which had just between them, sounding frantic now.

the dog-headed one raised his right arm.  pol and ran.

stop!

a small shape rushed into view.  it was white, had ears, was wearing a
waistcoat.  it's nose twitched.

"late again!" it said.  "it'll be my head, sure as hell!" it looked up
at pol.

"yours, too," it said, before it scurried off.

pol kept moving.

stand still.t in this place--he almost bumped into the man.  it was the
sorcerer he had fought back at rondoval.  pol backed from him.

the sorcerer raised his right hand and a fiery appeared within it.  he
east it directly at pol's breast, pol threw himself to the side and hit
the ground he continued the movement until he was well away the place.

he lay panting for several moments, then moved regain his feet.  another
man approached as he did moving quickly, halting before him.  it was a
tall, figure, with a single black streak running back mane of white
hair.  pol realized immediately that features were very similar to his
own.

"you are...  ?" pol said.

"det morson, your father," came the reply.

"well curse me and be on your way," pol said, standing. 'hat's the game
here, isn't it?"

"i am not a part of the game here.  i am merely taking advantage of it."
his fight hand rose and brushed pol's cheek lightly.  "whichever way you
turn, no matter what your decision, no matter how things break," he
said, "your real enemy will be the madwand."

"what madwand?  i thought that was a general term for--"

"henry spier is the greatest of the madwands, and he is known only as
that."

"what kind of name is henry spier?  in this place" the tongue of flame
flared into being between them.

back, der!  back to tour special hells!  came the voice out of fire.
your power over us has passed]

der raised his hands.  crossing his arms upon his breast. as if by
contagion, flames violated his outline.  suddenly, however, he raised
his head and stared at pol.

"belphanior." he said.  "remember that in time of need."

pol opened his mouth to question him, but der was gone in a rush of fire
and wind.

the flame which hung before him began to contract, resuming its former,
smaller size and shape. what did he mean by that? it asked him. "i have
no idea," pol answered. what else did he tell you? "nothing.  there
wasn't time." you are lying.

"the truth is such a sacred thing that i guard it we!!." the flame did
not move.  he felt sensations of puzzlement and of anger, but no words
came with them.  long moments passed.

finally, with a movement almost like a shrug, the flame drifted
leftward.  pol followed.  there were still shadows in the mist, but they
did not draw near.  the flame moved quickly now, and pol increased his
pace.

the mist began to thin.  pol saw a wall to his left, nothing to his
right.  shortly, an archway appeared before him.  he followed the light
through it and felt as if he had returned to normal space.  there was no
mist on this side, only dimness and a faint odor of mildewed tapestry.

"we were really just moving around inside one room, weren't we?" pol
asked.

there was no reply.

"it was a kind of downbeat rorschach-thing, he said.  "everything in
there came from me, one way another.  didn't it?"

silence again.

"okay,i' he said, as they approached a stairway upward.  "if whatever
you want from me requires cooperation, just remember that you the
customer happy."

he reached the stair and began to mount it.

)k ripple of amusement passed back down over him. dragonmark throbbed
intermittently.  they reached top of the stair and passed through a
though apparently long-unused room.  after exiting, came upon another
stair, again leading upward.  as climbed it, pol reflected that they had
probably come that eastern or northeastern wing of the place into he had
followed larick's progress earlier.

"we've taken a kind of roundabout course, he said.

it was necessary.

"why?"

to avoid the inhabited sections. "is that the only reason?" wht else?

"not to condition me or impress me in any fashion?" you flatter
yourself,; "have it your way. we w/ll.

he took a left hand turning and headed along a corridor.  then a right
into a room with a single, window which faced out across the ramparts
onto a starlit landscape.  the room itself contained old and aged
furniture not arranged as if for use.  he exited at farther end and
entered another room also used for storage.  pol brushed away the
strands of a web as he passed.  a rat dashed across his path and
staring, beneath an armchair.

two rooms later, in a place with several doors, of familiarity came over
him.  he felt certain that larick had passed this way earlier.

his feelings of fatigue were rising again as they headed leftward and
back from corridor to tunnel to a place where rough-cut steps led
downward.  the flame moved faster, grew brighter now.  he increased his
pace to match it, reaching out as he passed to touch the rock wall,
discovering it to be as moist as it appeared.  yes, this was the way
that larick had come.

he hurried about the turnings and there, finally, before him, was the
dark, stony rise with the shining thing atop it.  the flame rose toward
it.  pol climbed after. "what is it?" he said under his breath.
something we'll need. "you're so damned helpful."

far more than you seem to realize.

a little later, he saw that it was a casket with a bulging, transparent
cover.  and when he came up beside it, he drew in his breath sharply,
for he saw that it held the body of a woman, perfectly preserved.  her
high cheekbones, small chin and wings of hair he now saw to be of a
light brown color in the glow shed by his guide, were not unfamiliar to
him.

the ghost..." he breathed.

her spirit is said to wander these halls.  it is of no importance.
remove the lid.

"how'K'

There are fasteners along the sides and at either end. Pol continued to
regard the pale features. "Whft the Snow White bit?" he finally asked.
Pardon?  I do not understand the reference. "Why is she on display?"

Her father, Ryle Merson, wishes to view her upon occasion.

"Morbid son of a bitch, isn't he?  I suppose he's laid a preserving
spell on her'if she's been dead very long." It has been a long while.
Remove the lid. "why?"

In order to move her.

"Why move her?"

Her presence is required elsewhere.  Do as we say.t

"All right.  It was a pretty steep climb, though."

You will bring her this way.

The flame brightened and Pol could see a level 'beyond the casket,
leading back toward a tunnel.

leaned forward and sought the fastenings.  One by one, undid them and
slipped them.  He seized hold of the frame then and strained to raise
it.  For a time, it his efforts.  Then, with a creaking sound, it slid
upward.

He eased the transparent cover back and lowered it the ground.  Only
then, did he pause to woman with more than clinical concern.

"What's her name?" he asked.

Taisa.  Pick her up.  Bring her this waft. The flame advanced along the
level casket.  Pol stooped, raised the woman in his arms. faint,
familiar aroma of a nostrils.

"How did she come to asked, as

moved around the catafalque and followed.

A victim of circumstance, in a long

He crossed the ledge and entered the tunnel

moving light.

It turned abruptly to the left after a few paces, and

found himself traveling upslope.  The feeling of

tion which had been his companion since he had

ened, was heightened now.  He felt that he was

the heart of a mystery, a mystery made very personal, mystery in which
he would be playing a

Anoter turn, and he was in a wide, nished room carved out of stone.  A
large

ing in the left hand wall showed stars in a now pale

and the upper slopes of the mountain.  There were

chairs and a long table toward the front of the place.

the rear ...

He halted and stared.

Bring her over here.

Slowly, almost mechanically, his limbs moved to

He was barely aware of the motion, his eyes locked

the revelation set into the far Wall.

Pol placed Taisa's body atop a slanting stone slab, her feet at the
higher end.  Her head fell into place within a wide channel which had
been cut into the hard, gray surface.  Automatically, he adjusted her
long simple, blue garment about her.  As he did, he noticed a wide,
shallow basin below the end of the groove.  A dagger of black stone lay
upon its rim.  These things registered but made no real impression upon
him, for his attention was focussed elsewhere.

He stared at the wall before him, at the great double doors set within
it.  Perspiration dampened his brow, and his hands possessed a slight
tremor as he moved away from the woman and the stone, staring.

They were the Gate of all the forgotten dreams which fell like bright
cloaks upon him now.

He drew nearer.  The doors were solid, massive, ironbound, and of a
dark, metallic-looking wood.  There seemed to be no locking mechanism,
no handles, only the inter-mittenfly spaced rings.

Carved and burned into the Gate 'in an elaborate coiled pattern, rising
from the base to the midpoint, was the form of an enormous serpent,
drawing itself high above a stylized line of waves.  Three heavy spikes
had been driven into it---one at the neck, one at the taft and one at
the body's middle.

Then, raising his gaze to the top of the frame and above it, he beheld
the familiar form of a great, black bird-like thing, wings outspread,
carved into the rock.  And into this figure, also, spikes had been
driven--one into either wing.

Pol took another step and halted, breathing heavily.  He was again
Prodromolu, Opener of the Way, coursing the heavens of Qed, while below
him, mounting steadily upward from the depths, the serpent Talkne moved
upon the final circuit of her eons-long journey in search of him.
Nyalith shrieked a warning which shattered mountains and revealed the
secrets at 'their hearts.  Wheeling, he dove toward calm sea-surface ...

He came to himself once more, remembering the Keys and the dark god's
promise to lead the people from the

devastated land, to merge that place with another

opening the way between the worlds.  And the Keys .

The Keysl

The statuettes were the Keys.  Strangely Keys

And- He lowered his eyes.

Yes .  .  �

Incised into the floor and painted in fading yellow, and blue was a
large, irregularly shaped diagram.  A tion of it swept back to encompass
the slab upon Taisa lay; another portion projected far forward, the
Gates' heavy frame at the left.  A number of near-triangular segments
were extended, thorn-like, the main body of the design.  Suddenly aware
that Exactly.

He barely glanced at the flame, which hovered above Taisa.

Bring our phlsical representations into being upon plane now, and place
each of us at one of the points.

know the order.

"Yes."

Pol shifted his vision, raised his right hand, caught of the seven ebon
strands leading back over his shoulder.  He rotated his hand, winding
the filament it until he felt a tension upon it.  The power flashed his
dragonmark back along the line and he jerked He held one of the
statuettes in his hand--tall feminine, sharp-featured and imperious. Its
cloak patina of beaten gold and it was girdled with orange, and yellow
stones.  A single green gem was set forehead.

It felt warm and grew warmer yet as Pol held it, his head.

Yes .  .  .

He moved to his right, setting it at the tip of the peak from the end,
facing toward the Gate.

As he straightened, he saw that the stars were the sky growing brighter.

He raised his hand, seeking the strands again.  They were not apparent.
He realized then that his vision had slipped out of the second seeing.
He strove to shift it back, but to no avail.

His dragonmark, he noted then, had lost its recent throbs of power.  He
massaged his forearm.  He tried again to recall his vision.

What is the matter?

"I don't know.  I can't do it."

What do you mean tou can't do it?  You just did.

"I know.  But something's slipped again.  The power has been coming and
going since I went through Beiken. Right now it's gone."

The flame moved toward him, hovered directly before his eyes.  He closed
them against the brightness.

Keep your eyes open.

He obeyed, squinting.  He saw that the flame was growing, was becoming a
vast sheet of fire, now his own size, now larger.

It advanced and he drew back.

Stand still.  We must investigate.

It wrapped him like a cloak, it settled upon him.  He felt that it was
penetrating his body, his very being.  There was no sensation of heat,
only an odd, vibrating feeling, as when one steps ashore after several
days at sea.

Abruptly, it was gone and a shrinking flame swayed before him.

It is true.  You are not at the moment capable of functioning at a
magical level.  There is no way of telling how long this will last, and
the night is almost ended.  Ryle Merson may send for you in the morning.
We must abandon the project for now and secure you once more within your
cell.  Return the statuette and- Pol shook his head slowly.

Of course.  In your condition, you cannot return it; and we are barred
from exercising ant direct control over our analogues.  Pick it up.  We
passed a number of rocks and niches on the way in here.  You will have
to hide it. "What about Taisa?" Leave her.

"What if someone finds her here?"

Not important.  Come.

The flame moved past him.  He picked up the and followed it.  Back in
the tunnel, he found a cache it in a cleft in the rocky wall.

They made their way out of the cave and back palace proper.  After a few
turnings, Pol realized were moving along a different route than they
earlier.  Their progress was much more rapid avoiding the misty chamber
and the dark tunnels

In a short while, he found :at his entered there, drawing the door

"The journey over was just for show, wasn't it?"

Go back to sleep now.

The flame winked out.  He heard the bar place.  Suddenly overwhelmed
with fatigue, his ning, he staggered to his bench and collapsed There
was no time to think before the dark him ...

Henry Spier disguised himself anew as he departed the caves of Belken
and returned to the enchanted city at its foot.  There he spent the day
in celebration among his fellow sorcerers, none of whom knew his true
identity.  He delighted in walking among them bearing a great, dark
secret none of them shared.  He drank wine spiced with delicate
narcotics and he worked wonders and avoided only the greatest among his
colleagues.  There were none that he feared in a conflict of wills, but
he did not wish to come under the scrutiny of any master great enough to
pierce his disguise.  No, that would be a premature revelation.

He walked, scattering curses and dooms upon those of whom he
disapproved, tossing in an occasional boon for one who had won his
respect.  It pleased him no end to play this secret, god-like role.  He
had refrained for so long.  But now--now he saw the future loosening
upon its branch above his outstretched hand.  He felt a strange,
overwhelming kinship for those who were about to benefit from his
labors, all unknowing.

The city expanded in magnificence as the day waned. He had not felt this
fine in years.  His powers reached an incredible pitch, but he
restrained himself from demonstrating more than a fraction of their
potency to new comrades gathered round for games and trials.

He hummed and danced as the night descended.  He labored over an
enormous and elaborate dinner until well past midnight.  He brushed
sleep away and renewed his vigor with a spell of high order, realized
simply and quickly. He drifted upon a silver barge on the town's
circular canal, taking with him a courtesan, a catamite, a bowl of
smouldering dream-leaf and a jug of his wine, which renewed itself as
rapidly as its master.

all.these years of obscurity and disguise, there was celebration, for
the Balance was about to tip.

The night wore on, and the city became a light and color, sound and
senses-dazzling magic.  He tinued his revels until the sky paled in the
east momentary hush fled like a phantom's shapes-shifting jewel of the
city to break at the Belken.  The nighcs activities commenced again imm.

lately thereafter, but a certain spirit had gone out Shaking the dust of
dream and passion from his he rose from his scented cushions and put
aside pastimes of the night.  Shedding all frivolity and growin size as
well as regality of when as he walked, he the livelier precincts of the
city, heading northward.

he reached the fringe of the city's charmed circle passed on, climbing a
low hill.  At its summit, he head lowered, turning.

Finally, he stooped and picked up a dry stick number of small txvigs
still attached.  He caressed it began speaking softly, introducing it to
the four the world.  Then he stared at it in silence for a long still
stroking it slowly.  The morning grew brighter did this, and when he
knelt to place the stick upon ground, it appeared that it had altered
its shape, now to resemble the form of a small animal.  He mented a low
chant.

"Eohippus, Mesohippus, Protohippus, Hipparion

� it began.

Dust and sand rose from the ground to swirl small figure in a
counterclockwise direction, completely.  As he continued, the spinning
tower widened into a dark vortex far larger than himself.  It duced a
low moaning sound which rapidly became a ing.  Materials from greater
and greater distances sucked into it--shrubs, gravel, bones, lichen.

back from its force, A

wavering cry came from its center, and he moved his hands downward.

The roaring ceased with a blurt.  The swirling curtain began to fall
away, revealing a large, dark, quadrapedal outline, head high and
tossing.

He moved forward and placed his hand upon the neck of the creature,
unfamiliar to the inhabitants of this world. It whinnied.

A moment later, it grew calm, and his hand slid back to the pommel of
the saddle with which it had come equipped. He mounted and took up the
reins.

They were at the center of a crater which had not been present when he
had begun his spell.  He spoke to the sand-colored beast, rubbing its
neck and its ears.  Then he shook the reins gently.

It climbed slowly out of the depression and he turned its head
northward.  He smiled as they began moving in that direction.  Scarlet
fingers reached above them from out of the east as they made their way
down to a more level area and located a trail.  He squeezed with his
knees and rustled the reins again.

"Hi-yo, Dust!" he shouted.  "Away!"

His tireless mount shot forward across the dawn, quickly achieving a
blinding, unnatural pace.

They had arrived in the afternoon, Mouseglove and Moonbird, circling
above the wreckage atop Anvil Mountain.  Looking downward, Mouseglove,
who had spent so much time there, found it difficult to recognize those
features he had known.  But he saw the one huge crater, still now,
beside the wreckage of a tall building.

"That has to be 'it,"

he cast the rod."

It is, Moonbird

"It is said that eye of a man."

It is said correctly.

"Any of the machines or the down

there?"

I see no movements of either sort.

"Then let us go down."

To the crater?

"Yes.  Land beside the cone.  I'll climb it and have a look."

It is quiet within it.  And I do not see excessive heat. "You can see
heat?"

I ride on towers of heat when I soar.  Yes.  I am able to see it.

"Then take us down inside, if you know it is safe." Moonbird began a
downward spiral toward the flared opening.  He tightened his turnings as
they drew nearer, then drew in his wings and dropped, spreading them at
the last moment to ease the landing slightly.  Gritting his teeth,
Mouseglove had watched the rough gray walls rush by.

struck the irregular surface.  Clutching at Moonbird, he turned a fall
into a dismounting movement, then stood upon the slag heap, leaning
against the dragon's swelling rib cage.  There was a great silence, and
shadows already cloaked the declivity.

Moonbird turned his head from side to side, then looked up, then down.

I might have made a small miscalculation, the dragon confessed.

"What do you mean?"

The size of this place.  I may not have sufficient room to climb into
the air.

"Oh.  Then what are we to do?" Climb out when the time comes. Mouseglove
cursed softly.

There is a,,brighter side to the matter.

"Tell me.

The scepter is definitely here.  The massive head turned. Over that way.

"How do you know?"

Dragons can also sense the presence of magic, of magical items, I know
that it is below the ground.  Over there. Mouseglove turned and stared.
"Show me."

Moonbird moved with a slithering sound across the gray roughness, the
rubble.  Finally, he halted, extended his left forelimb and with an
enormous black claw scored an X

upon the dark surface.

You must dig here.

Mouseglove unloaded the digging implements, selected the pickax and
attacked the spot indicated.  Chips flew in all directions, and he
coughed occasionally from the dust he raised.  He removed his cloak and
finally his shirt, as the perspiration flowed freely.  After a time, he
assumed a statue-like aspoct as a layer of gray dust clung to his body.
His shoulders began to ache and his hands grew sore, as he drove the pit
to a shin-deep level.

"Does your dragon-sense," he asked then, "tell you how deeply it is
buried?"

It lies somewhere between two and three times your height in depth.

The crater returned ringing echoes as down the pickax.

"Why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

I did not realize it was important.  A pause.  Then, "Yes! There is no
way I can dig down that far in reasonable period of time."

He seated himself on a mass of rubble and brow with the heel of his
hand.  His mouth Everything smelled of ashes. Moonbird stared into the
shallow pit.

Might there not still be strong Ohs?  From the time when Red Mark
Mouseglove raised his eyes slowly until he directly overhead.

"I suppose I could climb out and go looking," he

"But supposing I found some explosives---or one of throwers of light
beams which cut through destroy what I am seeking."

Moonbird snorted and his spittle flew about.

struck it began to boil and smoulder.  After several onds, each moist
spot burst into flame.

The thing was once hidden because no one destroy it.

"That is true .  .  .  And I'm certainly not making progress this way."

He picked up his cloak and began wiping the dust himself on its inner
surface.  When he had finished, donned his shirt again.

"All right.  1 think I remember where some of the were stored.  If they
are still there.  If I can still find way--in all this mess."

He moved to what appeared to be the most face of the crater wall.
Moonbird followed him, with sliding sounds.

I had better begin climbing out myself.

"It looks pretty steep, for one of your bulk."

You go now.  I will come up in to

away from the disturbance.

"Good idea.  I'm on my way.

Mouseglove found a hand hold, a his climb.  Later, when he paused to rest
upon the rim looked back down, he saw that Moonbird had made scant
progress in his attempt to scale the wall.  He groped slowly and
carefully for the perfect hold, then dug in with his powerful talons,
improving each niche or shelf with deep gouges before trusting his
weight to it.

Mouseglove turned away, surveying the area once again. Yes, he decided.
Over there to the southeast .  .  .  One of the places where I hid was
beneath that leaning monolith. And .  .  .

He glanced at the sinking sun to take the measure of remaining daylight.
Then he moved with speed and grace, descending, circling, every step of
his route already in mind.

He moved among twisted girders and blocks of stone, craters and smashed
war machines, heaps of rubble, shards of glass, the skeletons of dragons
and men.  The ruined city was very dry.  Nothing grew.  Nothing moved
but shadows. He remembered his days as a fugitive in this place, still
reflexively casting an eye skyward for signs of the birdlike mechanical
flyers, still sliding about corners and automatically checking for spy
devices.  For him, the giant figure of Mark Marakson still stalked the
broken landscape, his one eye clicking and flashing through all the
colors of the' rainbow as he moved from darkness to light to shadow and
back again into darkness.

Crossing the fire-scored pavement beside one of the fallen bridges, he
ducked through a twisted door frame into a roofless building.  Within,
he passed the shriveled bodies of half-a-dozen of Mark's diminutive
subjects.  (He resented the term "dwarf' by which the others referred to
them, since he was approximately the same height himself.) He wondered
as he went by what it might be like for any survivors of that
engagement--to be raised from barbarism to a highly organized level of
existence and then to be cast back down again to subsisting as in days
gone by, all the machines stopped.  Perhaps it had been too brief an
interlude, he told himself.  They would not yet have lost their
primitive skills.  This entire experience might merely turn to the stuff
of legend among them one day.

But from somewhere--he was never to be certain where he seemed to hear
the sound of hammering; and twice, he heard the chuffing noises which
made him of attempts to start one of the great machines.

He located the stairwell he had been seeking and ten minutes clearing it
for his descent.  Below, a series of twisting tunnels down into the
mountain the turnings as fresh in his memory as if he had them but
yesterday, despite the fact that he moved through regions of absolute
blackness--the generators had provided their minimal lighting having
long failed.  He moved with a certain deliberation, his pistol his hand.
But nothing threatened him here.

The door to the arsenal was locked, but he was able pick it in the dark,
his sensitive fingers faultlessly lating the small pieces of metal he
had always with They had a memory of their own, his fingers, and he
opened this lock before.

Inside, then.  And he crossed the room and sought racks.  He filled a
grenade belt and slung it, pausing to acquire an extra supply of
cartridges for his pistol this was done.

Departing the place, he halted, and for reasons not pictely clear to
himself, locked the door.  Then he back along the tunnels, gripping the
pistol once again.

As he mounted the stair, a touch of suppressed--followed by a full
measure of alertness, came to him.  What subliminal cues might triggered
this response, he did not know, but he trusted fully because it had
served him well in the past. halted, pressed against the wall, then
commenced slowly up the stairway, his footsteps grown soundle through
deliberate placement.

When his head cleared floor level, he halted again studied the interior
of the wrecked room.  Nothing The place seemed unchanged since his
earlier passage.

He drew a deep breath, mounted the quickly and headed toward the
doorway.

There was a rapid movement to his right.

He halted when he saw that it was one of the heavily muscled aboriginals
who had manned this emerged from behind a slanting piece of cracked
material, moving so as to bar his way.  The man had on tattered remains
of the uniform those in Mark's service had worn.

Mouseglove raised the pistol and hesitated.

The dwarf was armed with a long, curved blade.  But it was not the
inequality of arms which stayed Mouseglove's trigger finger.  The man
appeared to be unaccompanied, but if there were others about the sounds
of gunfire might summon them.

"No problem," Mouseglove ventured, lowering his weapon and thrusting it
away.  "I'm just leaving."

Even before the other's wide mouth shaped a grin, he'd a feeling that he
would not be able to talk his way out of this one.

"You were one of them," the man said, moving,, toward him, blade
twitching.  "Friend of the sorcerer...

Mouseglove dropped 'into a crouch, his right hand falling upon the hilt
of the dagger which protruded from his boot-sheath, his thumb
unfastening the small strap which held it in place.

Still bent far forward, he took the weapon into his hand and began a
sidewise, shufi]ing movement toward his right. The other advanced and
slashed at his head with the curving blade.  Mouseglove avoided it and
raised his own weapon quickly, to nick the man's forearm.  He sidled
faster and feinted twice toward the man's chest, dodged a thrust he knew
he would be unable to parry and produced a small laceration in the
other's brow above the right eye with the crosspiece of his own blade.
It should have been a neat slash, but he had underestimated the man's
speed. The sudden contact with the horny brow-ridge threw him slightly
off-balance and he retreated, stumbling.

He recovered his balance, but continued the stumbling movement to scoop
up a handful of broken masonry.

Straightening, he cast the pieces at the other's head, danced to the
right and thrust.  He attempted to twist the blade as it entered the
man's left side but found that he was unable to withdraw it.

The man pushed him away and swung his own blade. Mouseglove darted out
of range, snatched up another piece of masonry, hurled it and missed.
The man moved toward him, the dagger protruding from his side, his blade
still raised, his face expressionless.  Mouseglove could tell how much
strength remained with him.  Another perhaps...  ?  It would be too
risky to turn his back on now, or attempt to dart by--and he still
effectively his way to the door.  He considered simply avoid him until
the injury took its toll.  The man raised an outcry, and Mouseglove was
s mined to use the pistol unless all else failed or an alarm was The
other seemed to smile, tight-lipped, as he toward him, and Mouseglove
realized that he was backed toward an outhouse-sized slab of roofing

"I will live," the dwarf said.  "I will recover from But you---"

He rushed, blade raised high, careless of any opening now.

Mouseglove gripped the heavy grenade belt which h from his shoulders,
dropped low and swung it with his strength toward the other's legs.

The man toppled and Mouseglove moved.  He did spring, because the other
had managed to raise his But he seized the extended wrist and threw his
upon it, covering the fallen man with his own body, ing downward.  With
his other hand he caught hold of other half of the blade and twisted, so
that the edge was turned.

As he leaned, pushing it toward the other's throat, man's left hand
clawed upward toward his face.  He his head and drew back; as he did
this, he felt the legs locking about him.  They tightened almost
achieving a painful pressure.  As this occurred, the hand assailed his
face again, fingers raking toward eyes.

He removed his right hand from the blade and to fend off the attacking
hand.  As he did so, the right began to move upward against his slowly
turning.  The other's legs he felt that his pelvis would surely crack.
Now, teeth clenched, the man began to raise his wide from the ground.

Mouseglove dropped his defending the elbow down and back against the
haft of his blade which protruded from the other's side.

The man shuddered and fell back, the grip of his legs loosening.
Mouseglove repeated the blow and a moan escaped the man's lips.

Then Mouseglove's right hand was upon the other's blade again, as he
dragged himself free and threw his weight forward.  The blade sank
rapidly, its cutting edge touching the other's windpipe and continuing
downward.

As the blood spurted, he dragged the weapon across the throat and still
held tightly to it, afraid to let go until long after a series of spasms
had shaken the man, to be followed by a stillness, despite the fact that
his hands, arms and shirffront were spattered and in places soaked by
the other's blood.

He wrenched the blade away then and east it aside.  He rose, and placing
his foot upon the body, drew his dagger fom it and wiped it upon the
man's garments.  He sheathed R, picked up the grenade belt and slung it
over his shoulder, drew his pistol again and departed the wrecked
bufiding.

Nothing barred his way as he headed for the crater, and he began feeling
that his assailant had been a solitary survivor, half-crazed perhaps,
scratching out a living and leading a reclusive life among the remains
of the previous year's debacle.  But then he began hearing noises--a
falling stone, a metallic creaking, a scratching, a shuffling sound--any
one of which might, by itself, be taken as the action of settling, or
wind, or rodents.  Together, however, and coming upon the heels of his
struggle, they acquired a more sinister aspect.

Mouseglove hurried, and the sounds seemed to follow him.  He scrutinized
every bit of cover as he went, but detected no one--nothing---of a
threatening nature.  The sounds, however, increased in frequency behind
him.

He was running, however, by the time he reached the base of the cone,
and he commenced climbing immediately, not even looking back.  And
though he scanned the rim of the crater, there was no sign of Moonbird
at the top.

As he climbed, he heard the footfalls below, behind him. A backward
glance took in six or eight of the small people, emerging from the
ruins, running after him now. they bore clubs, spears and blades, he was
slightly lieved to see that none of Mark's advanced weapons peared to
have survived for their use.  Several of noted, wore bits of machined
metal, like amulets, their necks.  At that moment, he wondered how much
had really understood of the technology into and out which they had been
so quickly propelled.  The tion was only a fleeting thing, however,
accompanied as was by the acknowledgement that primitive weapons one
just as dead as the more sophisticated variety.

Climbing, he wondered then concerning the bond which permitted him to
communicate with bird.  Their proximity and spell-involvement in the
caves of Rondoval during the two decades of the spell's effee had worked
that linkage.  He had never communicated with the dragon except at close
range, though it occurred to him that now only a thin layer of rock
might be all that separated them.

Moonbird!  Do you hear me?  he cried out .  f::d. Yes, came a
distant-seeming reply. Where are you? Climbing.  Still climbing. I'm in
trouble.

What kind of trouble?

I'm being pursued, Mouseglove told him, people who worked for Mark.

How many?

Six.  Eight.  Maybe more.

How unfortunate.

There is nothing that you can do?

Not from here.

What shall I do?

Climb fast.

Mouseglove cursed and looked back.  All of his pursuers were nearing the
cone's base--and one heavily muscled man was drawing back his spear for
a east.  Mouseglove drew his pistol and fired it at him.  He missed, but
apparently spoiled the other's aim.  The spear flew ing against the cone
far off to his right.

lie fired again, and this time the nearest of his pursuers dropped his
club and clutched at his right shoulder.

*J/hat was that?

I had to shoot at a couple, Mouseglove replied, remaining low,
continuing up the slope.

Did you find what you sought?

Yes.  I have explosives.  But mq pursuers are too scattered to make them
an effective weapon.

But you can use them from a distance?

Yes.

When you reach the top throw them down to the place you dug.

How far up are you? That is not important They make quite a blast.

It should be amusing Not worry.

Mouseglove looked back again.  Three of his pursuers had reached the
base of the cone and were beginning to climb.  Halting, he took careful
aim and fired at the foremost. The man fell.

He did not pause to assess the effect of this upon the others, but
turned and put his full strength into his ascent. He was nearing the top
now.  His pursuers were strong and agile, but so was he.  He also
weighed less and was faster, so he had managed to acquire a good lead.

Finally, he reached the rim and mounted it, passing over its lip
immediately, for cover.  Only then did he look down.  He made a soft
noise at the back of his throat.

Moonbird, dragging his ponderous bulk slowly up the steep wall, had only
succeeded in climbing about a quarter of the distance to the top.

I can't throw these things, h6 told the dragon.  You're too near.

I have flown through thunderstorms, came the reply, when the heavens
came apart all around.  Yet I lived.

Throw them.

I can't.

We die if you do not.  And Pol .  .  .

Mouseglove thought of his pursuers, primed one of the grenades and
hurled it down toward the now darkened area where he had been digging
earlier.  He covered his ears.  He heard the blast and felt the
vibration.

he heard the sounds of falling and rocks.

Moonbird!  Are you all right?

Yes.  Throw another.  Hurry!

Mouseglove complied and braced the second explosion, he inquired:
Moonbird?

Yes.  Another.

The reply seemed slighfiy weaker, or could it but been the roaring in
his head, submerging it?  He threw third explosive, pressing himself
back against the until the detonation occurred shock had abated.

Moonbird?

There was no answer.  He peered downward, the clouds of dust and the
shadows.  The area Moonbird had Answer m, Nothing.

As the ringing heard scraping noises of ascent from the outer the cone,
though they could possibly have been of falling rocks.  He dared not
east a grenade back over lip of the crater because of its self, there on
the inside.

Quickly, he began his descent. The dust irritated his eyes and to
refrain from sneezing.  He tasted it and he felt of grit when he
clenched his teeth.  He spat several but could not rid himself of it
dompletely.  His way ened perceptibly with every movement of descent.

His eyes turned regularly in the direction of the Moonbird had occupied,
but he could detect no sign of [ great dragon in the darkness below.

Mouseglove continued his descent, wishing, as after a new foothold, that
there were some manner which he could manage to move more rapidly.  For
the foremost of the small men was lowering the edge above and two others
were moving to follow.  Jr as he was about to look away, he saw a fourth
figure up and join them.

Cursing, he reached for the next lower hold.  Before hand located it,
however, the rest of his body detected a faint, general vibration in the
rock to which he clung.  A rumbling sound followed.

Below him, waxing and waning but brightening in the overall process, an
orange glow had begun in the heart of the erater.  The growling noise
came again, accompanied by a wave of heat.

There was a shout above him.  His pursuersfive now--had halted.  They
began climbing upward as he watched, their movements touched with panic.

My bombs tore something loose, he decided.  It's starting again.  Can't
go up.  Can't go down.  Wait and die. Come down.  You will not be
harmed. It's going to erupt!

No.  Come down.  You will be safe. What---what is happening? Can't talk.
You come.

Mouseglove's hand continued its long-interrupted motion, coming to rest
upon a stony knob to which he transferred his weight.

As he descended, the light grew brighter.  The vibrations continued, but
they were extremely mild, almost an effect of the echoes which bounced
about him.  Suddenly, with a roar, a bright fragment of something shot
upward past him, followed almost immediately by another, tracing glowing
trails through the twilight high above.

Are you sure it is safe?  he asked, pressed tightly against the rock
wall.

But there was no reply.

Continuing downward, he realized that the temperature had not risen
excessively, as might be expected this near the point of an eruption.
Could Moonbird be playing games with his own flames, to frighten off the
enemy?

No, he decided, 1oohng down into the glow.  It covers too large an area
and burns too regularly to be dragonfire.

He reached the floor of the crater unharmed.  Clots of fire continued to
flee upward, but none rose from points near him.  Walls and pillars of
flame came up in great number here, though what it was they fed upon, he
could not discern.  There was a clear aisle through their midst,
however, heading in the direction he in followed it.

The floor of the crater was even more ravaged remembered it, as a result
of his bombing.  He way through heavy rubble toward the heart of a
depression as he headed for the site of his After several more steps, he
realized that a vast loomed at its center, below him.

He took another step.

Moonbird.  .  .  ?

It swayed in his direction, and he saw the great the dragon nodding
toward him, an ornate rod held tween the enormous teeth.

The scepter!  You've found it!

Mouseglove extended his hand.

Get onto mtj back.

I do not understand.

Talk later.  Mount!

Mouseglove advanced and climbed upon scrambling toward his shoulders.
Immediately, the began to move, climbing out of the pit, heading the
northern wall, almost exactly opposite the place had climbed earlier.

When they reached the crater wall gl

5i ove denly caught hold more tightly as Moonbird reared commenced
climbing.

Then why are we climbing? It is easier here.  Till then. But- Wait till
we reach the ledge. Mouseglove recalled the rocky ferred.  It had looked
wide enough to support barely--but it was, in effect, a dead end.

Moonbird was climbing much more rapidly here he had up the other wall.
The way was less steep, rugged.  As they mounted back down.  The glow
from the spreading.  intensifying.  He felt a wave upon face.  It was
followed almost immediately by another, much wmer.

At last, Moonbird reached the rocky shelf, hauled himself onto it,
turned and looked downward.  As he did so, the brightness and the heat
increased again.

The last explosion shook me Jrom , oonbird

replied.  After I fell I sensed the rod nearby.

"And the fires started about that time?"

I started the fires.  To drive off your pursuers.

"How did you do that?"

I used the bottom segment of the rod.  It is for fire magic.

"You can use the rod?  I had no idea--"

Only the bottom segment.  Dragons understand the secrets of fire.

"Well, we seem to be safe now, but the fires keep getting stronger. You
might turn them off now--if you No.

"Why not?"

I will need a tower of heat.  To rise out of here.

"I do not understand."

I will dive from here toward the fires.  It is easier to ride the warm
air upward.

Shadows were dancing all about them now.  Mouseglove felt a fresh wave
of heat.

"It's not all that far to the bottom �� ." he said.  "Are sure you can
get yourself airborne in that distance?" Y�life is uncertain, Moonbird
replied.  Hold tightly.

He spread his wings and plunged into the blazing crater.

The depth of my philosophical nature of my own being and that of th
increases the more I see of the world. seem to occur, either practically
or on a more general level.  I now find myself wondering whether a state
of uncertainty might not be the lot of all sentient beings. Still, it
strikes me that there are reasons I do not fully comprehend underlying
the actions of others. Their activities seem directed toward creating
certain situations, whereas I have no real--objectives.  I circulate.  I
obtain information. But I have no idea what it all means.  I do not have
an objective, only its mysterious ghost---something which keeps haunting
me with the notion that I should have more.

Despite my perplexity in the face of existence, I continued to obey the
small imperative which had accompanied me since my departure from
Rondovai.  I saw Mouseglove off on his errand and watched to see that
Ibal did indeed possess the means to de]vc ditiously--not to mention the
will to do it.  I observed Mouseglove's departure and then returned to
the place at

� the foot of Belken where I had obtained my first !essdns in animating
a body.  I tried it again with the spare, with good results, frightening
a group of hikers made up of a number of the younger apprentices.

Then I hovered undecided.  Should I follow the still-dis-eernable
emanation trail of that strange sorcerer back into the city, to discover
what he was about?  Or should I undertake the pursuit of Pol and Larick
in the north?  Almost immediately, that small imperative resolved the
matter.

I rose, achieving some altitude, resolved myself into a tighter form,
then headed approximately northward.  I overtook them in their flight
and simply paced them then,' drifting, for the rest of the day.  Nothing
was answered for me by this, but I no longer felt the pressures I had
experienced earlier.  For this time, I was as content as I had been in
the old days, moving aimlessly about the ruins of Rondoval.

Of course it could not last.  I realized this as the day wore on and the
light was squeezed from it and the great castle, Avinconet, loomed
before us in the darkening distance. In that moment, I learued the
feeling of fear.

A strange foreboding came over me a dark premonition, if you like
accompanied by the seeming sourceless knowledge that I could die, that
my existence could be terminated and that this thing could occur within
that place.  It was something which had never occurred to me before, and
it came as an awful revelation--for even as I considered it along with
what I knew of myself, I saw that it could well be true.  It would seem
that a life as aimless as mine, more filled with questions than anything
else, might not be worth much.  I realized in that same moment that this
was not the ease.  More than anything else, I felt, I wanted to continue
it, as purposeless and puzzling as it seemed.

I drew nearer to Pol.  I wrapped myself about the warmth of his being.
Why the thought of flight did not even occur to me at that time, I had
no idea.  I clung to him as a child to a parent as we rushed nearer that
dark citadel, I remained with him after we landed, accompanying him to
the cell in which he was confined.  I remained there with him for some
time until his food arrived and I realized that it was unlikely he would
be disturbed for the rest of the night.  While my earlier fears had not
been abated, they had receded sufficiently by this time to permit more
rational considerations to come to the fore.  Now, while all was still
and nothing seemed afoot, would actually be the best time for me to
survey the place, to locate whatever menaces might be lurking and
consider the means to nullify them.

Accordingly, I drifted away, leaving Pol in his safe uninteresting
quarters.  I moved about various terminating rats and mice, observing
sleepers, signs of dark magics or dangerous forces.

I moved very slowly, not wishing to be surprised. night wore on, and I
came gradually to feel that I suffered a false augury.  Nothing
threatened, It seemed just another pile of rocks made suitable human
habitation by the application of a few simple struction principles and
the installation of simple ing, some rude pieces of furniture and garish
hangings of nonfunctional nature.  The seemed painfully innocuous.

Yet, feeling what I had felt, discouraged.  The middle of the night drew
on and I explored each high tower.  I- An indescribable pang passed
through my being. like nothing I had ever experienced before, unless it
the unremembered shock of my own birth.  Something suddenly changed,
something affecting me to the of my personality.  But even as it
occurred, I that it was the fearful thing I'd sought.  No tone of magic
accompanied it.  Its ultimate result was a sense something having been
settled in my own case.  If I but discover what it was, I felt that a
part of my mystery might be solved.  I drifted for a long while, tating,
but no illumination ensued and I could not mine the source of whatever
it was that had come me.  It was almost as if, somewhere, my name had
spoken, just out of my hearing.

I settled, descending from floor to floor.  I had gated most of what lay
above the ground and I decided regard the areas below the castle, within
the side.  There were a number of openings, both natural artificial, and
one by one I invaded them and explored.

It was in one of these recesses that I came upon sleeping woman.  She
lay unmoving within a container, spirit wandering, a very pale light of
life still visible her.  I moved nearer, to inspect her further, sprung.
It was a subtle spell, designed to ensnare any less than material being
such as myself who might venture too near the lady--presumably to
protect her against possession.

So I was caught, several body-lengths from her, in what might best be
described as a gigantic, invisible spiderweb. I struggled briefly and
saw that it was to no avail.  I relaxed against my bonds and tried
altering my shape.  This did not work either, nor did my attempts to
shift away to another plane.  The web of forces held me tightly.

I hung, spread out there, trying to analyze it.  It had a certain aura
of venerability about it, of the sort humans ascribe to vintage wines. I
was familiar with this effect from my experience with certain old spells
which remained about Rondova!.  The good ones, such as this,
unfortunately grow better with age, because of the counter-current
entropy on the plane where magic operates.  This spell, as nearly as I
could judge, went back fifteen or twenty years. I tried sending charges
of energy through it, a small segment at a time, hoping to locate a
weakness at which I might work, from which I might unravel the thing
like a stocking.  All to no avail.  It was of a piece, and it had me.

I remained there for a long while, recalling everything I knew that
might be applied against it.  When I tried them all and nothing worked,
I decided that it might be time to cultivate philosophy to a greater
extent.  I began musing upon existence and non-existence, I reexamined
my pre monition, I reconsidered my pang ...

I heard footsteps.

It is generally easy to remain inconspicuous when you are invisible and
soundless, but I made extra efforts to achieve stillness on all levels,
including the mental, when I saw Pol approaching led by a peculiar palm
of light as immaterial as myself.

There was something familiar about the flame-like thing, something I did
not like at all.  I felt, without knowing why, that it had the power to
harm me.

I sensed some exchange going on between Pol and the brightness.  I heard
only Pol's half of it, not willing to try attuning myself to listen in
fully, fearing that this might somehow make my presence known to the
fiery one.

Finally, Pol unfastened the lid of the container,'re moved it and set it
aside.  There was another and then he removed the woman, crossed a
entered a tunnel, following the flame.

Suddenly, I was free.  The spell must have tered upon the woman, not the
locale, not the I hung back.  I wanted to see where they were I did not
wish to get too near, lest I be trapped drifted slowly behind them,
leaving myself ample well aware now of the effective range of the spell.

I recognized the big chamber as soon as I The last time I had passed
this way, I had been metaphysical speeds and following a magical trail,
so had been no need for noting landmarks.

had no idea that this was where the Gate was The Gate .  .  .

Just as I remembered it, from Pol's dreams own fast passage, the Gate
loomed huge, fortunately, closed.  It had never been opened plane, I
guessed, though its ghostly version had many times, permitting the
passage of sendings, spirits.  Had its physical self stood so, it might
possible to close it again, for I could see how an tration of the worlds
would begin, the strangely tured, more ancient forms of that other with
its stronger magics flowing through to dominate this magically weaker
land, changing it into som own image, revivified by the raw, natural
newer place.  Stronger in magic, weaker in general The magic would
dominate, I was certain...

Pol deposited his burden upon the stone with the of death about it.  His
movements were slow, if he were walking in his sleep.  I reached out
then, more carefully than anything I had ever fore, and I touched his
mind, just skimming his thoughts.

He was bewitched.  He was not aware of it, but flame had him in thrall.

I saw no way that I might interfere suocessfully.  I without knowing how
I knew that the thing was than me.  I felt totally helpless as it led
Pol about, directed him to produce the statuette.  I was more little
pleased when Pol's power failed and the project had to be abandoned. The
flame's frustration gave rise to the closest thing to joy that I had
ever known.

I watched them depart.  I doubted that Pol was in any immediate danger,
and I wanted to explore the chamber a little further.  A large,
rectangular piece of morning decorated the wall to my left.  I began to
feel a fresh premonition, concerning this room.

Pol was awakened from a dreamless sleep by the sound of his cell door
being unbarred.  At first he felt leaden-limbed, hung over, ragged about
the edges of his mind, almost as if he had been drugged.  But then,
within moments, before Larick had even set foot in his cell, the
dragonmark began to throb wildly, heavily, in a way it had never done
before, sending an adrenalin-like shock through his entire system,
clearing his head instantly, informing him with a sense of wild power
unlike anything e had known previously.

"Get up," Larick said, approaching him.

Pol felt that he could strike the man single

gesture.  Instead, he complied.

"Come with me."

Pol followed him out of the cell, adopting the cumbersome, lurebering
gait suitable, he'd judged, for a disguised monster.  Through the first
window they passed, Pol saw that full daylight now lay upon the world,
though he could not see the sun to judge the hour, They took a different
route than that upon which he had magically followed Larick the previous
evening---different, too, ;?it' the way upon which the flame had led
him.

"If you cooperate," Larick said almost "it is

possible that you will be released unharmed.

"I do not consider myself unharmed," Pol

ing a stair.

"Your present situation might be remediedl

"What's in this for you?" he asked.

The other was silent for a long while.  Then, "You would not
understand," Larick said.

"Try me."

"No.  It's not for me to explain things to you," he finally answered.
"You will have your explanations shortly."

"What is the price for betraying the trust of the initiation committee?"

"Some things are more important than others.  You'll see."

Pol chuckled soly.  The power continued to spiral within him.  He was
amazed that the other could not feel its presence.  He bad to restrain
himself from lashing out with it.

They ttaversed a lengthy corridor, mounted another stair, crossed a wide
hall.

"I would like to have met you under different circumstances," Larick
said then, as they reached a downward stair.

"I've a feeling that you will," Pol replied.

He recognized an area through which he had passed during the night.  He
realized then that they had come into the northeastern wing of the
building.  They approached a dark, heavily carved door.  Larick moved
ahead and knocked upon it.

"Come in," came a voice slightly higher in pitch than Pol had expected.

Lariek opened the door and stepped across the threshold. He turned.

"Come along."

Pol followed him into the room.  It was a study in rough timbers and
stone, with four red and black rugs upon the floor.  There were no
windows.  Ryle Merson was seated at a large table, the remains of his
breakfast before him.  He did not rise.

"Here is that Madwand we discussed," Larick said.  "He is completely
docile in all but spirit."

''hen you've got the part that counts," Ryle replied.

"Leave him to me."

"Yes."

"I mean it literally."

Pol saw the look of surprise which widened Larick's eyes and parted his
lips.

"You want me to go?"

Ryle's broad face was expressionless.

"If you please."

Larick strifened.

"Very well," he said.

He turned toward the door.

"But stay within hailing distance."

Larick looked back, nodded curtly the

room, closing the door behind him.

Ryle studied Pol.

"I saw you at Belken," he said at length.

"And I saw you," Pol said, returning the older man's stare.  "On the
street, cafe where I sat."

"You have a good memoryi Pol shook his head. "I can't recall giving

"I suppose it must look that way to you."

"I sffppose it would look that way to anybody"

"I don't want to start off with you on the wrong foot--"

"I didn't want to start off with you on any do

you want?"

Ryle sighed.

"All right.  If that is the way it must ou are my prisoner. You are in
jeopardy.  I am in a position to grant you any discomfort, up to and
including death."

The fat sorcerer rose, moving around the table to stand before Pol.  He
made.a simple gesture and followed it with another, his movements
similar to those Larick had used. Pol felt nothing, though he realized
what was occurring and he wondered whether the disguise within the
disguise would hold.

It did.

"Perhaps you have grown fond of your present condition?"

"Not really."

"Your face is masked by your own spell.  I will leave it in place, since
I already know what you look we could start with that."

"You've a captive audience.  Go ahead."

"Last year I heard a rumor that Rondoval again.  A little later,.  I
heard of the battle at Mountain. By magical means, I summoned up your
likeness.

Your hair, your birthmark, your resemblance to Det--it was obvious that
you were a member of that House, and one of whom I had never heard."

"And of course you had to do something about it, since nobody likes
Rondoval."

Ryle turned away, padded across the room, turned back. "You tempt me to
agree and let it go at that," he said. "But I have reasons for the
things that I do.  Would you care to hear them?"!

"Of course."

"There was a time when Det was a very good friend of mine.  He was your
father, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Where did he have you hidden, anyway?"

Pol shook his head.

"He didn't.  As I understand the story, I was present at the fall of
Rondoval.  Rather than slay a baby, old Mot took me to another world,
where I grew up."

"Yes, I can see that.  Interesting.  For whom did he exchange you?"

"Mark Marakson, the man I killed at Anvil Mountain."

"Fascinating.  A changeling.  How did you get back here?"

"Mor returned me.  To deal with Mark.  So you knew my father?"

"Yes.  We engaged in a number of enterprises together. He was a very
accomplished sorcerer."

"You speak as if there was a point where you ceased being friends."

'rrue.  We finally disagreed on a very fundamental issue concerning our
last great project.  I broke the fellowship at that time and sent him
packing.  It was then that he initiated the actions which led to the
conflict and the destruction of Rondoval.  The third party to our
enterprise left him when things began looking bad on that front."

"Who was that?"

"A strange Madwand of great power.  I don't really know where Det found
him.  A man named Henry Spier.  Odd name, that."

"Do you mean that if you both hadn't desertel him Rondoval might have
stood?"

"I am sure that it would have, in a cruelly world.  I prefer thinking
that Det and Spier

"Of course.  And now you want some extra the family, for old times'
sake.""

"Hardly.  But now it is your turn to answer a say that Mot brought you
back?"

"'Returned me' is what I said.  He did not me.  He seemed ill.  I
believe that he went back place where I had been."

"The exchange .  .  .  Yes.  Were you returned Rondoval?"

"No.  I found my own way there, "And your heritage?  All the things that
you know Art?  How did you come by this?"

"I just sort of picked it up."

"That makes you a Madwand."

"So I've heard.  You still haven't you

"Blood tells, though, doesn't it?" Ryle said Pol studied the man's face.
Gone now was the expression which had accompanied most of their
exchanges.  Pol read menace in the narrow-eyed focused upon him, in the
rising color and the about the mouth.  He noted, too, that one clenched
so tightly that its rings cut deeply into the

"I don't know what you mean," Pol said.

"I think you do," Ryle replied.  "Your father Balance which prevailed in
this world, but did in his attempt.  I stopped him here and Klaithe's
finished him at Rondoval.  There had to be a sooner or later.  Mark
Marakson brought it into the at Anvil Mountain, where you stopped him.
Now tip in the other direction again--your total soreerous domination of
the world.  It can be for good at this point, or it can go all the
father's dream realized.  I have been waiting all to stop it pass.

"I repeat.  I Ryle came forward and slapped him.  Pol impulse to strike
back as he felt a ring cut his

"Son of a black magieianl You cried.  "It can't be helped! It's in your
blood!  Even--" He grew silent.  He stepped back.  Then, "You would open
the Gate," he said. "You would complete your father's great work for
this world."

Pol suddenly felt that this was true.  The Gate .  .  .  Of course.  He
had forgotten.  All those dreams ...  They began phasing now into his
consciousness.  With this, a certain wiliness came over him.

"You say that you were party to the entire business, at its beginning?"
he asked softly.

"Ye, that is true," Ryle admitted.

"And you were talking about black magic..."

Ryle looked away, walked back to the table, drew the chair farther back
and lowered himself onto it.

"Yes," he said, his eyes directed toward the remains of his breakfast,
"in both senses, too, I suppose.  Black cause it was being used for
something that was morally. objectionable, and black in the more subtle
sense of its deepest meaning--the use of forces which must warp the
character of the magician himself.  The first is always arguable, but
the second is not.  I admit that I was once a black mag!,cian, but I am
no longer.  I reformed myself long ago.

"Employing Larick to perform the actual spells for you hardly seems to
avoid the spirit of black magic.  As in my His words trailed off as Ryle
raised his eyes and fixed him with them.

"In your case," he said, "I would--and will, if neees-sarydo it myself.
It would at worst be an instance of the first sort---employed to prevent
a greater evil."

"On the general theory of morals---that others need them?"

"I am thinking of more than the two of us.  I am thinking of what you
would do to the entire world."

"By opening the Gate?" Exactly."

"Excuse my ignorance, but what will happen if the Gate is opened?"

'his world would be flooded, submerged, by the forces of a far older
world--in our terms it is an evfi place.  We would become an extension
of that land.  Its more ful, ancient magic would completely overwhelm
the ral laws which hold here.  This would become a dark enchantment."

"The evfi may well be relative then.  Tell me objection a sorcerer could
have to something which make sorcery more important."

"You use the argument by which your father first me.  But then I learued
that the forces released so strong that no ordinary sorcerer could
control We would all be at the mercy of those others from the Gate and
those few of our own kind to whom not matter, in league with those
others."

"And who might those few of our own kind be?"

"Your father was one, Henry Spier another;

and those others like you---Madwands all."

Pol repressed a smile.

"I take it that you are not a Madwand?"

"No, I had to learn my skills the hard way."

"I begin to understand your conversion," Pol said stantly regretting the
words as he change again.

"No, I do not believe that you do,"

ing, "not having a daughter bound by the curse of H Spier."

"The ghost of this place...  ?" Pol said.

"Her body lies in a hidden pot, neither dead nor Spier did that when I
broke the fellowship.  Even so, I willing to fight them."

Pol wanted to look away, to depart.

Instead, "What exactly do Madwand?" he asked.

'�lhose like yourself with a natural aptitude Ryle said, "those
possessed of a closer, more relationship with its forces--its artists
rather than its cians, I suppose."

"I appreciate your explaining all these matters," Pol him, "and I
realize you are not going to believe I might make concerning my
intentions, so I won't any.  Why not just tell me what it is that you
want?"

"You have had dreams," Ryle said flatly.

"Well, yes .  .  .

"Dreams," he continued, "which I sent to you, wherein your spirit
traveled beyond the Gate to witness the starkness and desolation of that
evil place, wherein you saw the creatures who dwell there, engaged in
depravities."

Pol recalled his earlier dreams, but he thought too of the later ones,
showing him the cities beyond the mountains, neither stark nor desolate,
but holding a culture so complex as to surpass his understanding.

"That is all that you showed me?" he asked, puzzled.

"All?  Is that not enough?  Enough to persuade any decent man that the
Gate must not be opened?"

"I suppose you made a good ease then," Pol said.  "But tell me, are
dreams all that you sent to me?"

Ryle cocked his head to one side, frowning.  Then he smiled.

"Oh.  That," he said.  "Keth..."

"Keth?  He was the sorcerer who attacked me in my own library?"

Ryle nodded.

"The same.  Yes, I sent him.  A good man.  I thought he'd best you and
settle things then and there."

"What things?  For all your talk about the Gate and my father and
Madwands and black magic, I still do not know what it is that you want
of me."

The fat sorcerer sighed.

"I thought that by sending you the dreams--showing you the menace of the
thing--and then by explaining the sitnation carefully, as I have just
done, that I might--just possibly might--win you over to my way of
thinking and persuade you to cooperate with me.  It would make life so
much easier."

"You didn't exactly start off on the right foot by playing monster games
with my anatomy."

"It was also necessary to show you the extent to which I will go if you
do not choose to help me."

"I'm still not sure of that.  What's !eft--besides death?" Ryle robbed
his hands together and smiled.

"Your head, of course," he said.  "I have begun in the easiest manner
possible.  But if, after suitable painful prae tiees upon the body you
are now wearing, you refuse give me what I want, then I will complete
the will send your head to join the rest of you in exile the Gate.  I
will be left with a somewhat maimed demon servant,. and you--you have
seen that place--you will have an unfortunate existence before you for
all your remaining days."

"it sounds very persuasive," Pol observed.  "Now, of what might it be
the consequence?"

"You know where the Keys arc--the Keys that can open the Gate or lock
them forever.  I want them."

"Presumably to do the latter?"

"Certainly."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any such Keys.  I wouldn't even know where
to look for them."

"How can you say that when I saw them on the table in your study
numerous times--and even as I watched your struggle with Keth?"

Pol's thoughts went back, both to that scene and to one of his dreams.
He felt the resistance building within him. "You can't have them," he
said.

"I'd a feeling this was not going to be easy," Ryle remarked, rising.
"If opening the Gate means that much to you, it just shows how far gone
you really are."

"It is not opening the Gate," Pol replied.  "It is having something
taken from me in this fashion that rankles.  You are going to have to
work for anything you get out of me." Ryle raised his hands.

"It may be easier than you think," he said.  "Painless, in fact---if
you're lucky.  We'll sighted you might have been."

As Ryle's hands began desire to strike back.  A small voice

"Not yet." Perhaps it was himself.  He to the second seeing and saw a
great orange wave rolling toward him.

When it struck, he felt a certain slowing and then a ri gidity of his
thought processes..A genuine stiffhess came over his body.

wanted or did not Ryle was speaking and his voice seemed somehow more
distant than their proximity indicated:

"What is your name?"

It was with a peculiar fascination that he felt his lips move, heard his
own voice reply, "Pol Detson."

"By what name were you known in the world where you grew up?"

"Daniel Chain."

"Do you possess the seven statuettes that are the Keys to the Gate?"

Suddenly, a sheet of flame hung between them.  Ryle did not seem aware
of its presence.

"No," Pol heard himself reply.

The fat sorcerer looked puzzled.  Then he smiled.

"That was awkwardly phrased," he said, almost apologetically. "Can you
tell me the location or locations of the seven magical statuettes which
once belonged to your father?"

"No," Pol answered.

"Why not?" Ryle asked.

"I do not know where they ate," Pol said.

"But you have seen them, handlecbthem, had them in your possession?"

"Yes."

"What became of them?"

"They were stolen from me, on the way to Belken."

"I do not believe that."

Pol remained si]ent.

" But you are to be congratulated for your fore siglti'" Ryle continued.
"You have guarded against self betrayal with a very powerful spell.  It
would take me a

long time to ascertain its exact nature and to break it.

Unfortunately for you, I have neither the time nor inclination, and you
must be forced to speak.  I have already

mentioned the means which will be employed."

The man began another series of gestures, and Po] felt a

certain clarity return to his consciousness.  As this feeling

grew, the image of the flame faded.

"I have also restored your appearance, for esthetic purposes," Ryle
said.  "Now that you are yourself again, is there anything that you
would care said?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

The fat sorcerer turned away, crossed the door.

"Lariek?" he called.

"Yes?" came a distant voice.

"Take this man back to his cell," he him when the interrogation room has
"You tried a coercion spoil?"

"Yes. A good one.  He's protected.

other route."

"A pity."

"Yes."

Ryle turned back.

"Pol, go along with him."

Pol moved, turning, advancing way.  He wondered as he did .  .  .  He
would be very close to Ryle.  if he were to turn suddenly and the man,
he felt that he could deal with him fairly before the other could bring
any magic course, he would have to fight Larick, whether he could
dispatch Ryle cerer was upon him.  For that matter. A vision of the
flame flashed before

"Not yet," came the voice in his Restrain yourself."

Nodding mentally, he passed Ryle the corridor where Larick waited.

"All fight," Larick said, and he heading in the opposite direction from
which they come.

Pol heard the behind him.  One q below that kerchief he always wears,
out of the picture...

Almost predictably, the image fore his eyes once again.

"Turn here."

He turned, then said, "This isn't the way we came.

"I know that, you son of a bitch.  I want to show you what your kind
have done."

Suddenly, they passed into a familiar area, and with a touch of panic
Pol realized where they were headed and what it was that he was being
taken to see.  He slowed his pace.

"Come along.  Come along."

No plan presented itself to him, but the pulse of power still throbbed
in his disguised arm.  He decided to rely upon the guidance of the
invisible flame.  Something would provide him with an opportunity, very
soon, he felt, an opportunity to smash Larick and- Of course.  His
future actions came into perfect focus. He was suddenly certain as to
what was going to occur, knew exactly what he was going to do when it
did.

They entered the cavern.  Larick produced a magical light which traveled
on before them, illuminating their advance.  Pol readied himself as they
made their way around to the place where the opened, empty casket lay.
Just a few more steps.  ��

He heard Larick cry out.  The sounds echoed from the rocky walls.  His
vision swam through the second seeing. Bands of bright, colored light
moved everywhere.  When he tried, he was able to resolve them into
strands, but the moment he relaxed this effort they became bands again
horizontal, not drifting, but moving slowly upward, of various widths.
After a moment, he saw that they overlay a field of vertical bands, and
beyond them, diagonals.  The world had acquired a peculiarly cubist
structure.  And he realized in that instant that he had but shifted to
another mode of seeing the same thing which had always been presented to
him as the strandsand he knew that there were others beyond it and that,
somehow, in the future, he would always view the magical world in the
mode most appropriate to his needs of the moment rather than the more
restricted vision his power had brought him in the past.  And he knew,
intuitively, how to use these bands just as he had known in the past
what the strands were for. It took a great effort to restrain himself
from reaching out to manipulate them as Lariek turned toward him, teeth
bared.

"She's gonel" he said.  "Stolen1 How--i'

Then his eyes took on a strange east and-his head turned to his right.
Pol was certain that he, too, was into the second seeing and something
in his version was indicating to him the direction in which Taisa been
taken.

Larick turned suddenly and moved rapidly, along the ledge.  The light
which had guided them mained stationary, somewhere behind Pol, spilling
its light into the empty casket.

Pol advanced, moving onto the ledge, holding his ond sight in focus,
ready to utilize his new of magical processes.  He hurried toward the at
the end of the tunnel, rushing past the place where had hidden the
statuette.

When he came into the chamber, a chorns of burst upon his consciousness:
"Now!  Nowl Nowl Now[ Nowl Now["

Lariek, his back to him, was bent over Taisa's still upon the
sacrificial stone, perhaps ten paces before Pol reached up with both
hands and seized upon an ange band, feeling his will In a moment, it was
loose and swinging freely, long, bright pole, sweeping toward Larick.

Even as he made the gesture, however, Pol saw stiffen and begin to turn,
knowing that the other had heard the sounds of his entrance.  He saw the
astonishment upon his face, succeeded immediately one of apprehension.

But Lariek managed to move, and he moved His left hand shot upward,
fingers knotting.  He upon a red diagonal and jerked it into the path of
attack.

The force of the blow knocked him sprawling upon floor, but he had
managed to keep it from striking Pol turned the long shaft which he
still held, and chopping motion of his left hand shortened it to a
Larick shook his head and began pushing himself up the floor.  His gaze
locked with Pol's as Pol was back his right arm to hurl the gleaming
shaft.

Larick pushed himself back onto his heels and he'm ho He WO

mo pre we he'

app tool It't n be

r his head.  Pol cast the spear of light both arms htgh u p.ove j , ;
oed his arms.  The directly toward mm anu" drop, and seemed to bright
bands which lay before him jumped turn on their longitudinal axes.

� , .  den snapping shut of a Venetian It was like the sud a,, i, 'sible
behind a rainbow blind, Larick was momem,-,- --Wand both the shaft and
wall. Pol's lance struck against it the wall seemed to shatter in a
fountain of sparks.  As these fell away, he saw Larick standing, moving
his hands crossbody- ralbarely in time.  Larick His periphe vision
warned him, . erating two lateral diagonals like a bright pair of was op
n xtended both hands before him and rushed SCISSORS.

forward.

He seized upon a vertical and thrust it before him into the light-spell�
The diagonals closed upon it, the jaws of �

their edges halting inches from his wrest.  He saw a slight

sign of strain upon Larick's face as the man's hands tight ' onals
Jerked nearer.  He pushed even

ned further.  The dlg ,  tt, rick leaned forward, arder himself, holding
them v La

straining against the pressure.

Abruptly, Pol heav'd forward with all of his strength, � .

, e and, dropping to the floor and rollthrowing. hmself bac, kv aaered
back and the bands

ing to the side as'm , closed above him.

Regaining his feet, he faced Larick again, watching his hands. He began
circling the other at a distance of about fifteen feet and Larick turned
slowly, accommodating his osition to the'm ment.  Slowly, the other
sorcerer's.

P� vein an elaborate pattern.  Pol followed hands began t.o move  kut
was unable to detect any, has closely a.s the cu.u,,  ...  ;o1's he now
perceived aenmiulation of the magcm n, .... a them. ' oot uassed through
a wide, sweepsnldenly, Larick's f - , bands took Pol ac.  ross the't the
ower � esture and one o o oor.  Cursing himianngldgds and he p!to, n. ea
saaeass[vf'e truggled to rise.

self for being msmrecte, heave, preventing But the floor seemed to
ripple and his recovery.  As he fought against it, he realized that his
.. 'd uoon the floor, but that he now wei't no longer r. este - c ,. ,
nds several inches gh ..,ll oave Ol u,, a rock upou a It'n W

above it. It was then that he began to real'.e that nique in these
matters could be more important energy.  He could not regain his
footing, but himself on his knees and left hand.  He saw Larick's foot
moving rapidly up and down as pedal, keeping the surface in seemed that
Larick's facility so far exceeded his that tire countermeasures were a
matter of reflex to whereas Pol had to think for several moments to upon
each attack and defense.

He wondered then whether a magical attack ultimate answer in dealing
with the man.  if he could get near enough to land a blow capable of
Larick from magical manipulations, he fek his own boxer's reflexes would
be sufficient to deal him in hand-to-hand fighting.  If they were not,
feeling that he'd simply met a better man...

The bands!  They could obviously be employed port one's weight. So...

Reaching upward, he took hold of the higher, bands and drew himself
upright, continuing the until he swung free above the heaving layer.
Larick's hand was already moving, out to the side, at level.

Pol reached far forward, took hold of swung upon it, directly toward
Larick.

He was able to twist his body aside moment, release himself and drop�
Larick had held a three-foot blade of green light, like, swung ready to
impale him.

He felt the normal floor beneath him again, snatched at a diagonal band
of yellow light, willing it blade-form, dragging it into an en garde
position struggled for footing.  It was the first time in this that he
had held anything like a blade in his also the first time since the end
of the previous season at the university.

He parried a head cut and leaped backward, not sufficient footing and
balance to venture a ripeate.  recovered and L arick advanced, he became
aware of things simultaneously: Lariek was facing him than sidewise, and
a dark oblong several feet in length had taken form upon his left arm.

He backed away as Larick came on.  Blade and shield was not normal
collegiate fencing.  It was something me-dieval--slower, more ponderous,
entailing different footwork. He was not about to materialize a shield
of his own and face Larick on terms with which the other man had to be
more familiar.

Larick swung his blade through a chest cut and Poi leaped backward,
entirely avoiding any engagement.  Lar-ick continued his advance, Pol
his retreat.

Quickly, he reviewed everything he knew concerning the other's
techniques.  Lafick should be unfamiliar with the lunge; also, most of
his bladework should involve the edge rather than the point of the
weapon.  Pol maintained a saber en garde, but began thinking in terms of
the pe.

He halted his retreat and feinted a chest cut.  Larick raised his shield
slightly and moved to ready his blade for a slashing riposte.  Pol did
not follow through, and he saw that Larick was beginning to smile.

He adopted a low stance and beat once upon the other's blade.  The
attack followed.

The moment Larick's blade moved, Pol was back and up, very straight and
high, his weapon describing a clockwise semicircle into an overhand
position, from which he executed a stop-thrust to the other's forearm.
Larick made a small noise in his throat as Pol then continued the
movement through a full bind in anticipation of going in for the body
past the edge of the shield.

But the weapon spun out of Larick's hand, and he stepped backward,
covering himself more fully.  Pol smiled, stamped his foot and rushed
him.

Larick raised his fight arm, but Pol ignored it and threw a head-cut.
The green blade came flying back from the floor into Larick's hand, and
he parried it.  Pol could not check his momentum, so he increased it,
crashing into Larick's shield before he could riposte.

As Larick staggered back, Pol chopped heavily at his weapon, knocking it
aside, then kicked as hard as he could squarely against the center of
the shield.  Larick stumbled and Pol chopped again, knocking the blade
from his hand once more.  The shield swung aside and Pol was no in any
orthodox fencing posture, but drive his left fist into the other's The
shield fell away as he struck, weapon aside to throw a right at Larick's
jaw.

Lafick recovered, and raising his hands before his his elbows together
over his midsection, rushed toward him.  Pol stepped to the side toward
his head but did not connect.

Larick dropped and seized him about himself go off balance; grabbed for
Larick's shoulder, only a handful of his shirt and fell backward to the
paniment of a tearing sound.

"Kill him!  Hurry!" the voice came into his head. As Pol fell, Larick
attempted to hurl himself upon but was met with a crosscut that knocked
him off to side.  At that instant, Pol knew exactly what he must do.

He raised his right hand to shoulder level, palm ward, as he rolled to
straddle Larick's supine form. dragonmark throbbed as the blackness of
the lines separated the bands about him fled toward his hand coalesced
into a dark ball of negation, cancellation, death.

As he swung the ball downward toward Larick's face, eyes jerked once and
he barely had time to twist his and hurl the death-sphere across the
room, away.

Larick struggled to rise, and he clipped him once, on the point of the
chin and felt him grow slack.  Then rocked back onto his heels, brushed
his hair out of his and stared.

He reached slowly forward.  There, where he had away the sleeve .  .  .
Larick's right arm lay bare.

His hand trembled slightly as he touched the dragonmark above Larick's
fight wrist.

,R,,yle Merson's voice filled the chamber:

"Is he still alive?"

Pol ignored it, reached up and removed the bandana from Larick's head. A
single streak of white ran through his dark hair, front to back.

Only then did Pol turn his head and regard the heavy figure which had
just come into the chamber.

"Have you slain him?" Ryle asked.

Pol stood and took a step toward the man.

"I haven't kfiled anyone here, yet," he said.  "Who is Larick, anyway?
And what is he to you?"

"How did you come free of the spell which bound you?"

"No.  You answer me.  I want to know about Larick."

"How quickly you forget your position," Ryle said softly. "You may have
freed yourself from direct control, but your leash is short."

He spoke then the words which dissolved the spell of filusion, and the
human guise slipped from Pol to reveal the monster body.

'[ae spell stands ready for the final transfer of which I spoke," he
said, "requiring but the proper guide-word."

"I think not," Poi replied, and his will flowed forth through the
dragonmark, sharering the image of the monstrous form which hung over
him; his features flowed back into their normal pareva, and his hair was
stirred as by an invisible wind, its natural color returning, the white
streak reappearing.

His garments hung in rags upon him and he breathed heavily for several
moments, but he smiled.

"Answer me now," he said.  "Who is Larick?"

Ryle's face grew pale.

"Back when your father and I were still on terms," he said, "he gave his
young son into my care, an apprentice."

"Larick is my brother?"

Ryle nodded.

"He is about five years older than you."

"What have you done to him?"

"I taught him the Art and I raised him to be a man, to respect the
decent things--"

Pol did a quick calculation.

"He was perfect insurance, too--when you broke my father--wasn't he? You
had a hostage then, against wrath of your former friend."

"I am not ashamed to admit it," Ryle replied. never knew your father.
The man was a devil.  And he one of the best sorcerers around.  I had to
have protection."

A sudden flash of inspiration possessed him and asked, "Could it be that
Spier, who was still on good with my father, did what he did to your in
to assure Larick's safety?"

The color returned heavily to Ryle's face.

"You think just like them, don't you?" he said. Even your father hadn't
pierced my defenses, but bastard got through and did that thing to her.
Lariek felt guilty about it all his life."

"With no small help from you, I'd guess.  That's how keep him in line,
huh?  The old guilt trip?"

"Something you've never felt, I'm sure.  You're ready cut a helpless
girl's throat.  You'd have done it by now hadn't heard Larick's cry."

"I'd rather cut yours," Pol said, moving forward.

a damned hypocrite.  You're no better than my father Spier.  Maybe
you're worse.  You were ready to go with their plan when you thought
there was something it for you.  When you saw you had something to lose
became a white magician and a It's a lot of bullshit!  You haven't
changed.

my brother do your dirty work, to keep clean.  But they're not.  You're
not a big enough fool to believe they are, are you?"

Ryle moved his hands into the beginning of a warding gesture, and Pol
slipped immediately into the second seeing, dragonmark still pounding
with his pulsebeat.

"You talk to me of morality when you hold the Keys to the Gate and my
daughter lies ready for your blade?  Who is the hypocrite, Detson?"

An are of fire passed between the man's fingertips, and Pol looked about
for strands or bands, in vain.

But then, suddenly, it seemed as if great clouds of colored fog were
drifting into the chamber.

Pol extended his hand and a blue mist was there when he needed it.  He
felt the condensing moisture upon his fingers.  A moment later, he
passed a globe of water the size of a basketball, dripping, from hand to
hand.  Fire� Water.  It seemed he had the logical remedy ready for
whatever Ryle had in mind.

As he waited for the older sorcerer to make the first move, he thought
back over his battles with Keth and with Larick, wondering again why his
perception of the magical world had altered in each instance.  Then it
occurred to him that on each occasion his vision could have been colored
by the other's magical world-view� Perhaps, now, Ryle's world was
somewhat more cloudy than most.

"We change each other's way of seeing, don't we?" he said, half-aloud.

"I am here to kill you, not to instaet you," Ryle replied, and the fires
he held became reurved dagger which he east toward Pol's breast.

Pol willed coldness and felt it flow through his fingertips. The watery
sphere clouded and grew solid, covered with frost.  The blade gouged ice
chips from it when it struck, and then fell to the floor� Pol hurled the
ice ball at Ryle, but the sorcerer stepped aside and it shattered
against the wall behind him.

Ryle raised both arms and lowered them suddenly.  The room vanished.
They inhabited a region composed entirely of themselves and the colored
clouds.  Pol took another step forward.  As before, he reasoned that if
he could get within striking distance with his fists he could become a
sufficient distraction to dispense with the magic then, of course, with
Ryle.

He moved to take another step forward and his blocked by the abrupt
appearance of a low wall.  He to step over it and its top was suddenly
studded shards of glass.  He withdrew and bumped against thing. Glancing
quickly to the rear, he beheld wall.  And then there was one to his
right, 'and his A/most simultaneous with his awareness of their they
began to move nearer.  Ryle was staring toward him, the palms of his
hands facing one another moving slowly together.

But there was no up, no down here.

to boil beneath him, to levirate him as the earlier, He rose out o� his
prison then forward wa[l.  It seemed almost too easy...

Studying Hyle then, he saw traces of concern those probing eyes.  The
man did not know his his weaknesses yet, knew only what he had thus far.
And so there was fear.  So he was conservative duel at this point,
testing him, keeping his distance.  Such seeming the case.  Po] suddenly
apprehensive himself.  Ryle was do ' good at this sort of thing In a
little -----"- ' ubtl, e, ss

� wzll He WO!ll]

the limits o Pol's experience and would

devastating attack.  Pol was not at all

survive it.  Therefore, he ought to act

sive]y.  But how?  He could not think

offense in this silent, dreamlike place

candy.  Unless...

Perhaps he might change the rules, change the

Perhaps he had, in some fashion, { of letting

other man choose his own battle, much that he still did not know...

He felt that he had to finish with possible.  Beyond the possibility of
Lariek's any time and coming to the aid o�his adversary, Pol a
recurrence of the effect he had already failing He had wondered several
times since he had fought Keth whether all of the symbolic byplay was
truly neces-ry in a magical encounter.  Since it was will against will,
force manipulation against force manipulation, and perhaps, personal
energy against personal energy, it would seem that it might be stripped
to its barest essentials and Devil take the hindmost.  It occurred to
him immediately that this was an untutored, Madwand way of thinking� But
he was slowed whenever he tried to imitate the refinements the others
had developed in the long courses of their studies, and he knew that he
was handicapped when he was forced to play their games.  There were
obvious advantages in doing things that more subtle way, but he had no
time  'learn it at the moment.  Therefore, he determined to attempt the
alternative as he tried to move nearer.

With some trepidation, he blanked the second seeing. The fogs vanishcalf
The room returned to normal, Ryte standing near its entrance, a faraway
look in his eyes.

Pol raised his right hand, directing it toward Ryle, and willed that the
other fall down, shrivel and die.  The dra-gonmark seemed suddenly icy
and he felt the power leap forth.  He continued to focus his will and a
steady flowing sensation moved, wavelike, down his arm.

Ryle swayed for a moment, then steadied himself.  Suddenly, Pol found
himself standing on a spit of land, his stance unaltered, a mighty
torrent of water rushing past him at either hand.  Ryle stood upon a
small island downstream. Even as he watched, the nearer edge of Ryle's
islet was being eroded away and the man was forced to draw back upon it.

But Ryle raised both hands, a look of intense concentration upon his
face.  The movement of the water began to slow.  A tremor shook the land
upon which Pol stood.  The water lashed about for several moments, then
grew still. This did not last long, however.  Shortly, it began moving
again.  But this time it was flowing toward Pol.  He watched,
fascinated, as its velocity increased and the land began to wear away
before him.

He shook his head as if to clear it.  Ryle had drawn him back into a
symbolic situation.  He dismissed the waters for a moment and bent his
efforts toward presence in the chamber.

The river vanished.  They were bck in the room Nothing had changed. Only
now Pol pronounced squeezing sensation all increasing by the moment.

He refocused his energies.

"Burn, melt, fall down..."

The pressure vanished and Ryle staggered, as sudden blow.  Pol
maintained his own pressure entire will behind it.  Ryle began to sway,
as heavy wind.

Then, suddenly, there were flames between them, as if by a great gale
blowing in Ryle's direction. from a wide chasm which divided a rocky
tween them.

Even as he watched, the winds died down and flames became vertical. Then
he felt the warm touch breeze upon his face.  The tongues of fire began
to toward him...

"No!" Pol cried, and the vista was swept away. The breeze and the heat
remained until he gained trol of his forces once again.  Then they fell,
and his energies at the other with renewed vehemence.

� ..  He stood upon a mountain peak, Ryle other.  A storm was raging
between ning fell upon both slopes- "No," he said softly, "not this in
the chamber and continued the pressure.

� � .  Each of them stood upon a floe gray choppy sea-- "No�"

They were in the chamber and His arm was beginning to ache, continued to
pulse through it.

� ��There was darkness all about them shower begarv.

"No�'

He maintained the focus of his dismiss any new distraction.  It had to
be The room began to fade and he

"No."

He smiled.

For half-a-minute he maintained his assault, and then he

felt the pressure beginning to mount against him: He

drew upon his reserves of determination, but it continued

to build.

Even this way, he realized then, Byle had the edge.

The man had played a careful game but it had not really

been necessary.  He knew that he could not hold him back

much longer.  Byle really was stronger.  Of course, he had

no way of knowing that.

Poi took another step forward.  If he could just reach

him, could just use his fists again ���

ressure grew excruciating with the next step.

But the p ��'s the chamber.

He knew that he would never make't acres

And now the fat sorcerer was beginning to smfie ���

"Father?" ..  , , � assure was gone.  Off to'd his Beac ano Ryle turne�
� �u n me his left, Pol could see that Talsa was srtmg up po slab of
stone.

"Taisa. �� ?"

The man took a step forward, Pol gathered his forces and strtk.  Ryle
fell like a poled

"Fatheal"

Taisa slumped back upon the stone, Larick, who had been stirring, grew
still, Gargantuan peals of laughter shook the room.

The wolf paced and turned in the great cavern, below the Face, before
the frozen forms of the other beasts and the men.  He slipped out only
briefly eat, unable to go too great a part of his mind always kept watch
made his kill quieldy and took it back grotto. He lay before the shadowy
hosts, crunching bones.  Beyond this, there was only silence.

When he rose again, his movements were less rapid and they continued to
slow, as did his heartbeat and his breathing.

Finally, he was barely stirring, and at last he came to a halt, His eyes
grew glazed.  He became totally immobile.

Slowly then, a serpent uncoiled itself upon a ledge near the place of
the Face.  It twisted its way down the rough, rocky wall, tongue
darting, eyes bright.  It slithered across the floor.  It fell upon the
remains of the wolf's meal and consumed them.

It mounted the wall again, exploring ledge after ledge, entering each
cranny and crack, eating any insects it came upon. Tongue darting, it
tested every stirring of the air.

Hours passed, its movements slowed.  At length, it stopped within a
night-dark erevice.

The big cat awakened and stretched.  She went to regard the still and
expressionless Face high upon the wall.  She patrolled the cavern, She
left briefly to feed, as the wolf had done, returned and grew stiff as
she licked her ree-ham, one leg high overhead.

A man awakened.  He cursed, drew his blade and in-speeted it, sheathed
it.  He began to pace.  Aer a time, he spoke to the Face.  It never
replied, but he was hot mis el the intelligence, the power within it.
led.  He could ef The sightless es seemed to follow him wherever he
went.

At last his words trailed off and he became a part of the sceneryuttered
a cry and a curse.  She The Harpy awaxenea anu � pro sphddn
shmact''Yered the Face and gre.w silent.  She went to feed at the
remains of the cat's meal.

All were as one before the Face.

Pol turned toward the doorway.  Ar

Shadow covered the large figure of the

there.  As soon as Po]'s gaze fell upon him, that one moved

forward and entered the chamber.  The shadow went away.

Pol stared.  The man wore a yellow cloak, darker garments beneath it. He
was blue-eyed, ': iandy hair

white at the temples.  His features were ed, his expression almost open,
almost honest.  He He had a shiny, capped tooth.

"There is a lesson there for you, lad," and Pol recognized the voice.
"He had you, but he allowed himself to be distracted.  I lifted an old
spell, an opening, to see what you would do." He head.

"You shouldn't have allowed yourself also.  You should have strnek
instanfiy, not stood gawking.

A better man could have killed you in that

"But the distraction itself might have epresented a threat," Pol
replied.

"If a bufiding is falling on you, you your self with the horn of an
approaching car.

with the

most immediate peril first.  That's survival.

but you hesitated.  That can be fatal."

"Car?  Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"You know my name."

"Henry Spier?"

The man smiled again.

"So much for introductions."

From somewhere, he produced a black cigarette holder, a cigarette into
it and raised it to Smoke drifted upward from it before it reached his
mouth.  He puffed upon it and looked about the chamber.

"Things seem to have worked themselves out just about as I'd calculated
them," he observed.

He reached beneath his cloak and produced the statuette Pol had hidden
in the tunnel.

"You found it "

"Of oourse."

Henry Spier walked past him and placed the figure at the second point
from the right in the diagram upon the floor.

"Six to go," he commented as he straightened and turned.

"That is the first cigarette I've seen in this world," Pol said.

"A man of perception may choose his pleasures from many places," Spier
replied.  "I'll be happy to teach you all about them later.  But now we
have some important business to conclude."

"My dreams," Pol said.  "You released me from what I might call the
first series, that night on the trail..." Spier nodded.

"... But then there were more--set in the same world, but very
different."

Again Spier nodded, and the smoke curled above his head.

"Since you were being propagandized in the first instance," he stated,
"I felt it only fair that you should be granted a somewhat fuller
picture when the opposition had its opportunity."

"I must confess that the fuller picture was not entirely comprehensible
to me."

"It would be surprising if it were," said Spicy, "since it was an alien
and vastly older civilization that you viewed. What is far more
important, though, is whether or not you found it attractive."

Spier's eyes suddenly met with his own and Pol looked away.

"I found it--fascinating," he said, and when he looked back he saw that
Spier was smiling again.

"Excellent," the man replied.  "I believe that finds us in basic
agreement as to values.  What say you other six Keys now and we be about
our usmess? Po] looked about the chamber.  He gestured.

"You cautioned me against inattention and What of these?"

"My power would have to be broken for these awaken," he said.  "It would
require a faltering and I doubt the sufficiency of anything I propose
now to work that end."

Pol shook his head and turned away.  He still form of Taisa upon the
block of dark stone.

"Your gaze follows the direction of your thor see."

"Does this thing really require a human's '

"Yes.  So be of a't aerifice?"

"u cheer that you now have a We can save the girl for your later
pleasure and use who would be most happy to kill you if it would ends."

"what of--my brother.a"

"He would not go along with our plans.  Ryle has his thinking.  I
suggest you permit me to banish

"He is a'

"It will be a simple enough matter to inflict a memory."

"That could be kind of rough."

"His treatment of you was somewhat less than

"But as you said, Ryle influenced him."

"Who eares what the reason may be?  !  am only to spar.,him at all
because he is your brother."

� ay mat I give you what you want.  What assurance I that I will be of
any use to you afterwards?"

"There will be massive changes, and I cannot con entire world by myself.
There are not that many wands about.  I would not dispense with any of
unnecessarily. And you, of eial place, because of

"I see," Pol said.

"Do you really?  Are' this world when the Gate is opened?"

"I think so.  Or at least I have my suspicions."

"It will become our plum.  With the power at our disposal, we will be
gods of the new world."

Pol's eyes moved toward the Gate, where some trick of the light made the
figure of the nailed bird seem to jerk forward.

"Supposlng I said 'no'?" he asked.

"That could cause us both considerable inconvenience. But what possible
reason could you have for not agreeing?"

"I don't like being pressured into things, whether it's by you or Ryle
or the statuettes themselves.  I've been manipulated ever since I set
foot in this world, and I'm tired of it."

"Well, as in most major matters there is only a limited number of
choices.  In this case, you are with me, you are against me or you want
to walk away from me.  Two of those responses are unacceptable and would
require action on my part."

"I wouldn't like that," said Pol.  "But then, you might not either."

"Are you threatening me, tad?" Spier asked.

"Just stating a possible consequence," Pol replied. The big man sighed.

"You're strong, Pol," he said, "stronger today than you ever were before
in your life.  You've passed your initiation, and your lights are all
shining as pretty as can be for the moment.  No telling how long it will
last, of course. But be that as it may, I am stronger still.  There
would be no contest 'whatsoever between us.  You would be as a candle's
flame before the hurricane of my will.  Now, I could force you to
produce the Keys.  But I would far rather you did it willingly, for I
want you alive and on my side and wearing no special enchantment."

"Why?"

"I've my reasons.  I'll tell you later, after I'm sure of you."

"You foresaw a possible conflict between us.  Something you'd said .  .
."

"Yes, I did.  But it need not be.  If you're squeamish, I'll even do the
sacrificing myself."

Pol laughed.

"That's not it.  I'd have killed Ryle only a little while ago if I could
have.  As I '

manipulating me."

"I have no choice."

"The hell you don't.

Spier turned away, staring for a moment at the

"I wonder...  ?" he began.

"By the way," Pol said, "if you were to kill me, would you get at the
Keys"

"Only with great diicuity, if at all." Spier said, you are carrying them
around in what is private universe.  If you die, it would be a hell of a
le m,.  piercing it."

"Then your 'candle in the wind' metaphor isn't quite is it?  You'd have
to pull your punches if it came to ing any."

"Perhaps.  Perhaps not, I wouldn't count on it, The Gate could be opened
with just one might take me a couple of years and an trouble.  Good
thing we're just speaking isn't it?"

Pol crossed the chamber and touched the Gate for first time.  It felt
cold.  The eyes of the nailed seemed to be fixed upon him.

"What would happen if the statuettes were he asked.

'lat would be a very difficult thing to Spier replied, "even if one knew
how."

"But we're being hypothetical, aren't we?"

"True.  The Gate would fade away from this plane, you would be standing
there looking at a raw piece mountain."

"But it is open now--or can be opened without Keys---on another plane?"

"Yes.  But only tenuous things can take that route, as did in your
dreams."

"What brought it here in the first place?"

," lean my.  se... th great exertions."

re me statuettes involved?"

'hat's enough for being hypothetieal-or anything of an interrogatory
nature," Spier said.  "There choices--one good one and two bad ones.

Pol turned toward him, leaned back against the door

and folded his arms across his breast.  Immediately, he felt

the coldness along his spine, but he did not move.  The

power was still there, moving within his right forearm.

Spier's eyes widened, slightly and but for an instant.  He

glanced upward and then back down at Pol again.

"I know your answer," he said, "but I have to hear you

say it."

"You ran out on my father and left him to face an army.

Spier frowned, looked puzzled.

"He acted against my advice," he said.  "The army was

there because of his actions, not mine.  There was no sense

in my dying with him.  But what is all of this to you?  You

never even knew him."

"Just curious," Pol said.  "I wanted to hear your side of it."

"Surely you are not going to use that as a basis for

refusing me?  You were only a baby."

Pol nodded.  He was thinking of the thing that might

have been his father's ghost walking beside him in the

misty chamber.

"You're right.  But humor me with one more question, if

you will.  Would the two of you have fought one another

eventually, for hegemony in this new land?"

Spier's face reddened.

"I don't know," he said.  "Perhaps � .  �

"Had it already b e, gun?  Were you on the threshold and

was this your way- "Enough!" Spier cried.  "I take it that your answer
is

'no'.  Would you care to tell me which is your real reason

for denying me?"

Pol shrugged.

"Choose any of the above," he said.  "Maybe I'm not

certain myself.  But I know there is a sufficiency."

The coldness had invaded his entire body now, but he

made no move to withdraw from the serpent figure of the

Gate against which he leaned.  It was almost as if it had

invited him to position himself just there .  ��

"It's a shame," Spier said, "because I was beginning to

like you ...

Pol hit him.  He summoned up every bit of the powel could muster, backed
it with all of his will and hurled the man.

Very slowly, Henry Spier unscrewed the its holder, dropped it upon the
floor and stepped on it. replaced the holder in some hidden pocket
beneath cloak.  It had to be sheer bravado. Poi knew that the must be
feeling the force of his attack.  But the display effective.  Pol felt a
tremor of fear at Spier's power, maintained the siege and reached for
even more force hack it.  He was committed now, and he felt as if he
sliding down a long tunnel which ended in blackness.

Spier raised his eyes and they bored into his own.

suddenly felt a resistance rising.

Spier took a step toward him.

It was as if he suddenly faced a heat backlash, as target of his
exertions stood directly before him than some distance away.

Frantically, he switched to the second seeing.  His focused upon Spier,
advancing upon him, fists The image of Spier, still standing in the
distance, The man's face was twisted into a smirk and dotted his brow.
His fist was already moving.

Pol's concentration was broken.  He ducked raising his hands to protect
his face.  He heard a thunk, followed by a brief cry and realized that
Spier's blow had fallen upon the Gate.

He dropped his hands and drove his left fist, right, into Spier's
abdomen.  The blows had little effect.  The man was solid.

Even as he swung a left uppercut and felt it connect, that the main pain
the man seemed to have in the bloodied knuckles of his right hand, which
held in an awkward position.  Pol immediately toward his face, but this
blow rushed him.

Spier's bulk crashed into him, driving Gate.  Pol was dazed as his head
struck upon it.

stepped back and their eyes met again.

He called upon the dragonmark to raise a defense ran through his entire
system like a jolt of ity.  He struck out with the power he had wielded
earlier, but it barely seemed to shield him against the forces the other
was turning against him.  He felt a pressure beginning to build, not
unlike that which Ryle had turned upon him.  Both he and Spier stood
absolutely still now, and though he threw everything he had into the
defense, the pressure continued to mount.

A throbbing began in his temples and his breathing became labored.  He
grew damp with perspiration, though he still felt abnormally cold.  A
wave of dizziness came and went, came again.  He felt that he might only
be able to hold Spier off for a few more seconds.  His defenses would
crumble, the man would place him under control, force him to produce the
statuettes and then possibly use him for the sacrifice.  Where was the
flame which had guided him, protected him?

He seemed to hear faint, mocking laughter.  In that instant he realized
that this was the end toward which they had guided him.  They wanted the
Gate opened.  if he were not willing, then they would not protect him
against the one who would.

His vision began to fade as the vertigo reruned.  If this were to be the
end, then at least he ought to try inflicting a final hurt upon his
enemy.

He placed his right foot fiat upon the door behind him and thrust
himself forward toward Spier, striking outward and upward with both
fists.

He was surprised that his blow actually landed.  The last thing that he
saw before he fell was the look of astonishment on Spier's face as the
man toppled over backwards.

A wave of darkness rushed through Pol's head.  He felt nothing as he hit
the floor.

Drifting.  He was drifting through blackness and silence.

His only other sensation was a feeling of intense cold, but

after a time this passed.

For how long he drifted, he could not tell--moments, ages .  . .  The
sensation was not unpleasant, now that the

coldness had passed.  Memory required too much effort.

He only knew that it was good to of rest, of an end to all exertion.

A gentle rocking motion began.

It was hardly disturbing.  But then motion commenced in a single
direction.  He rode with it, still feelin as he was drawn along.

He perceived a faint light.  It seemed from all directions, but he did
not wonder variety of sensory apparatus the sensation might require. His
consciousness was growing, but pertions of His mind were numb.

The light grew and the motion continued.  Whatever was below seemed a
pale yellow with smoky patches.

Now the prospect grew clearer, but his sense of perspective was warped.
The light values were strange, and there was no way of determining his
distance from the slowly resolving objects below.  It was a broken land,
rocky, sandy, shadowed, with wind-borne clouds of dust and low-lying,
snaky mists.  But there was nothing recognizable for contrast, nothing
to provide a scale.

was familiar.  Where?  When?

He dropped lower.  Were they mountain peaks or low ridges above which he
moved?

And where was he going?  Was he controlling his own movements, only
drifting, or both?  Or neither It almost seemed- He was moving alongside
one of the larger stone prominences.  Suddenly, he rounded it and the
matter of relative proportions was resolved.

About ten feet below him, high on a stake, a demonic head was impaled.
Something which might be classifiable as a grin drew the dark, sealy
face tight.  The eyes were fully oponed, very black and appeared to be
staring reetly at him.

He felt something akin to a shudder as he was swept on hdt the grisly
thing, with the distinct impression that it winked at him.  The
wasteland fell farther below him as he soared into a twilit area of pale
stars in a pale sky above the level of blowing dust.  Here the wind
still blew, cold, with a moaning sound, empty of everything.

Far below now, the features of the landscape fled hack-ward. A fountain
of sparks rose as if to intercept him, but he veered far wide of it.
Shortly afterwards, a crashing metallic note filled the air, as of the
striking of a great gong, the reverberations of which seemed to remain
with him for many long minutes.

A bright meteor cut a long, slow trail above and before him; and he
heard a sound like thunder though there were no clouds in the sky.  His
velocity seemed to increase, and the moaning of the wind rose in pitch.
Far below him, the dark and light patches of the land moved in a sea of
distortions, rendering themselves into momentary faces--elongate,
twisted, beautiful, alien, angry, composed, bereft. He passed over a
shattered city above which dark forms hovered and turned.  Small blue
lights darted amid the ruins.  Occasionally, the dark things fell upon
one and extinguished it.  He passed above a black tower from whence a
lovely, liquid-voiced singing emerged.  A squat, many, legged creature
with a juicy, cracked skin, lay like a rotten plum atop it.  A brazen
chariot passed silently through s-middle air, driven by a dead-white
being muffled in -from, drawn by long-tailed creatures whose breath
emerged in white clouds to congeal and fall as crystals upon the winds.
In a moment, the apparition was gone, and he began to doubt whether he
had actually seen it.

A tinkling, as of hundreds of tiny bells, passage above a gray plain
where armies of humans demons stood frozen in martial attitudes beneath
ancient enchantment whose fringes he had touched. of him then, the
horizon was broken along its !ength--a thin, irregular edge of the
world, rising. focused his attention upon it.

It grew into a saw-toothed band and then a mighty, towering and black.
For a long while it that at any moment he might be dashed against the
range.  And then a shifig of light lay a new across the land, and he
realized that it was distant, incredibly huge.  Something tightened
within cloud of his being as he realized intuitively that he pass over
it.

Below, the hidden features of the land were still yealed in fragmentary
flashes.  He no longer had vision the rear, but he felt, vaguely, that
something was ing him.  Briefly, he assaulted the frozen part of his
mind, with inquiry as to what he was, where he had from.  Nothing
yielded, the brief frenzy passed and ruiness of its occurrence ensued.
He continued his templation of the world before him, realizing that he
come this way before, knowing that this time it was ent, knowing that he
had a mission to fulfill.

The mountains loomed even larger, and he knew no matter what the nature
of his form--their would not be easy.  He began looking for a low area,
a gap---anything passage.  He thought that he detected the left, and he
made an effort to direct it.

He was surprised when this actually first voluntary act that he could
recall since coming consciousness, and it pleased him to see it prove
Immediately, however, he wondered what had been recting him up until
this time.

He became aware then of a kind of tugging, of the sation of being drawn
onward by something beyond mountains, something which was little leeway,
that he come more rapidly and safely into its lands.  He exerted himself
again, and his velocity ineresei.

As he drew nearer to the mountains it seemed that he grew more tangible
than he had been earlier.  For now he began to meet with resistance,' to
feel the buffeting of the winds.

The mountains towered above him, their peaks vanishing in the darkness
overhead.  He rose to an even greater altitude as he came nearer,
approaching the gap.  The winds caught him and cast him back down,
screaming now in their passage.

He stabilized himself and' mounted again, moving even nearer to the
rocky face as he ascended.  This time he rose higher before the
screaming winds forced him back.

On his third attempt, he moved more rapidly, driving himself upward with
great force, the slope of the mountain becoming a dark blur before him.
When the winds finally took hold of him, he fought them, almost reaching
the level of the bright gap before he was forced downward yet again.

The fourth time he tried a different angle of attack and was beaten back
almost immediately.

He hovered at a lower altitude, recovering orientation and stability,
mustering fortitude.  He massed his energies once more.  Then he began
to rise.

This time he followed the best course he had taken earlier, close to the
face of the mountain.  He hurled himself upward, attempting to exceed
all earlier velocities.

The wind curled about him and played upon him as on the string of some
musical instrument.  He throbbed to its vibrations as he fought it.  He
continued to rise against its pressures, but he felt the rapid
dissipation of the energies which composed his being.  A feeling came
over him that if he did not make it up and through this time, he would
be swept away to drift for perhaps half of an age before he recovered
sufficient strength to try again.

As the battering increased and he felt himself slowing he invested all
of his remaining strength in an attempt to continue the upward drive.  A
momentary lull permitted him a great gain, but the assault began again
just as he neared the gap.

"Whoever you are that calls," he cried the gap, "if you really want me,
then lend a hand"

Almost immediately, he felt the tugging--and for first time it seemed a
physical sensation rather than psychical leading-on.  He added his own
energies to it felt himself rising at a more rapid rate.  He swept
highest point he had achieved with his earlier efforts. gap was before
him if he could but bend his course strike a proper passage now.

He exerted himself again, and the steady ahead now--assisted him.  He
came into the gap.

He had hoped for some sheltering from the winds he achieved the deft in
the mountains, but now he gale blowing through it.  Fighting his way to
the shelter an opening in the right hand wall, he gathered his and
considered the way ahead.  He had seen before him and other openings in
the walls.

Braving the winds, he advanced and took shelter in lee of a rocky rib to
the left.  The wind whistled by and icy crystals sparkled in long
streaks within dark amid the stone.  He made another effort, advancing a
distance and sheltering again.  The tugging had or, rather, reverted to
the mental level, as a When he felt that he had regained sufficient he
entered the blast and moved forward once such fashion, he traversed the
long defile, finding at last in the final protected area, adjacent to
the opening of the pass.  As he waited there, course of action upon
emerging.  He decided to immediately to the nearer side--this being the
departing the gap to prevent his being swept back As he traveled that
final distance, he caught a glimpse a dark and ancient sea, far ahead,
before he slipped to side, was taken by the winds and felt himself
skyward.

He rose at a rapid rate, and the world spun ieally through whatever
senses he possessed. upward and outward away from the mountain and found
himself falling, to be caught and dragged through washboard-like trough
of turbulence.  When this he fell again, his senses in total disarray.

After a time, he slowed, and he became aware of the tugging once again.
He drifted away from the region of high winds, continuing to lose
altitude.  Gradually, what passed for vision reasserted itself.

Below him, sweeping down to the still sea and seeming to continue
beneath its surface, was a fantastic, terraced city of asymmetrical
buildings, many of them of a darkly burnished metal, extending on to the
right and the left to vanish at the horizon.  He was drawn nearer to
this[dace. Towers of colored smoke redolent with heavy perfumes drifted
by him.  His vision was constantly tricked by the unusual perspectives,
the pale light.  He drifted lower and saw where demons walked with their
human lovers; he heard the strange, slow music from the revolving
pentagons. He moved above an avenue lined with grotesque statues, all of
them turning slowly in a centuries-long figure-dance.  An enormous
being, chained among russet pillars, wept continually into a stone basin
from which green chalices were filled by the passersby.  Faint flashes
like heat lightning colored the somber sky far out over the sea.  He
grew dizzy at the prospect; there was something new and not quite
comprehensible in every direction that he looked.  Such as the high,
yellow tower near the seaside with the statue of the dark woman-like
bird-thing crouched atop it.  �

Then it stirred and he knew that it was no statue.

Nyalith's voice went forth like trumpets across the land and the sea.

All motion below him was frozen for an instant.

And be knew.

He turned toward the waters and directed his course out over them, his
velocity mounting steadily, the world becoming a gray, tunnel-like blur
about him.  He moved along that line of force which had drawn him across
the world.  He felt, for the first time, the presence toward which his
flight was bearing him.

Before him, there occurred a darkness at the end of the tunnel.  Then,
for one flashing moment, he caught sight of the great black-winged form,
limned against a violet sky, lightnings flickering about it.  A moment
only, and then he was swept to that destined rendezvous, his newly ened
consciousness shifting and breaking apart, He opened his beak and sent
forth his across the still waters, a cry of exultation in the that he,
Henry Spier, had been joined with the consciousness of Prodromolu,
Opener of the Way.

He rode the winds to a great height, then dived regard his own
reflection in the waters---shadowy haloed in baleful light.  Here was
the power, he would summon his people and lead them across the to the
place of the Gate.  There he would arouse body on the other side.  It
mattered not that but one was in place.  This would prove sufficient
with the of the Way as aid, once the blood of any of the fallen added to
the spell.  There was nothing now to stay merger of the planes, the
salvation of his world.  He downward once with his wings, feeling their
grazing the surface of the water beneath which things moved.

Then, sea-splitting tower of scale and mud, it rose fore him, red eyes
unwinking, wrack of the depths ing its hems, upon whose back the
rock-shelled danced among skeletons of ships and shards of dead bones.
And even as it reared, it swayed, the into-the-mud of primordial
creation, Talkne, the Still Waters, who had for cons awaited this and
the renewal of their eternal conflict.

Prodromolu's wings went wide, scooping at the slowing his forward
progress.  In that instant before cry, Talkne struck.

Hammerlike, the head of the serpent fell against fluttering bird,
driving it down among the waves flurry of feathers.  Talkne plunged ater
him.

Prodromolu's talons extended like switchblade tars, to gouge long
furrows in the serpent's side.  His slashed as Talkne threw a coil over
his back.

Then they' were rolling over and over in the sending up mighty showers
of spray, their blood the foam as it billowed in all directions.  His
talons ued to slash against the side of the snake, seeking chase there,
as the coil tightened across his back Talkne's head darted from side to
side, moved forward, moved backward, seeking an opening for a deadly
strike. Above them, the skies darkened and lightened again.  Fa across
the water, the cry of Nyalith was repeated.

"It is a summons you will never answer, Bird," hissed Talkne.

"We've had this conversation before, Snake," Prodromolu answered.

For the first time, their eyes met, and both stared for a long, peculiar
moment.

"Pol?" the bird croaked.

"Henry...  ?"

And then Prodromoln struck, overwhelming the slower, human personality
within.  Talkne writhed in the sudden spasm of his talons, but the dark
wings were already shrugging water as they beat with a sound like wet
sails aluff, and the serpent was rolled onto her back, tail thrashing,
as Prodromolu mounted the air and strove to raise the other into his own
element.

Talkne fought back, heaving coil aer coil toward the bird.  But
Prodromolu avoided them or slashed with his beak, never missing a beat
with his pinions as he commenced a slow movement in the direction of the
land, dragging the serpent ater him, half-in, half-out of the water.

The bird uttered a triumphant cry as his velocity increased and more and
more of Talkne's bulk was drawn into the air, dangling and writhing.
PETER a time, the mountains came into view, and the world-city upon
their slopes.  It was then that the serpent struck again.

Talkhe's head flashed upward, mouth wide.  But the fangs closed only on
feathers.  The tail swung then like a great club, battering the bird.
Prodromolu reeled and jerked at the blow but did not lose altitude.
Three times the serpent attempted to catch him in a coil and three times
failed.  Again, the head came up and back, but Prodromolu parried the
strike with his beak and strove for a greater altitude.

They mounted higher into the streak-shot air.  The land was nearer now,
and Talkne's weight hung limp and heavy in the dark bird's claws.  The
wing-beat tempo and a steady wind fanned the snake.

"Out of the water," Prodromolu said, "you are but a stuffed skin, a
sausage."

Talkne did not reply.

"I am Opener of the Way," he said after a time.  "I throw wide the Gate,
to bring the breath of fresh

"You will not depart this world," Talkne hissed. Prodromolu swept on
toward the land, its music incense now reaching him across the water, a
crowd orange-robed inhabitants waiting near the shoreline to slain,
singing and swaying as his shadow drey::ear. opened his beak again and
cried out to them.

As he approached the land he chose the spot with fled across the lower
terraces and opened his claws as banked and commenced a wide circle.

The serpent body writhed, twisting as it upon the city.  Where it
struck, buildings collapsed people and demons were crushed, fountains
were and fires sprang forth from the rubble. Prodromolu's dropped and
his wings swept back.  He plunged fallen adversary.

As he struck with his talons, Talkne's still body responded like a
broken spring.  A coil fell across his and tightened immediately.  Off
balanced, one feathers flying, Prodromolu was wrenched to one side then
over, and over again.  More o� the buildings lapsed, statues toppled, as
they turned, rolled, fell. descended the terraces, the ground shaking
beneath them. The singing grew louder as they dropped toward the est
level.

As the constriction of Talkhe's body increased, romolu tightened his'own
grip upon it and continued strike and tear with his beak.  Their blood
mingled spread in a series of coin-like pools.  Orange-clad lay all
about them as the bird continued to hammer at sealy form which
imprisoned him in massive bands.  At there came a slight loosening of
the serpent's coils, the bird struck with-renewed energy, tearing out of
flesh and dashing them aside into a small garden of silver-leafed
shrubs.

He felt the serpent go limp.  Dragging himself free, he struck once
again, then threw back his head and uttered a piercing shriek.  Then he
spread his wings slowly, painfully, and lifted himself into the air.

The head of the serpent flashed upward and the mouth mapped shut upon
his right leg.  With a whiplike movement, Tallme cast Predromolu through
the air and into the water, not letting go the leg, slithering
immediately after to wind about the dark bird again.

"You will not depart this world," Talkne repeated, driving them out into
deeper water.

"Poll" said the other, suddenly.  "You don't know what you're doing ..."

There was a long pause, as the serpent dragged him even farther away
from the shore.  Then, "I know," came the reply.

Talkne dove, bearing Prodromolu along with him.

The bird tore partway free for an instant and drove his beak down upon
the back of the serpent's head a bare instant before the fangs found the
side of his neck and closed there.

As the waters rolled about him and the blow from that great beak fell
upon the head of the serpent, Pol felt his consciousness fading and then
everything seemed distant. Even as he locked his fangs more tightly upon
the other, he felt insulated from the event, as if it really involved
two other parties ...

Thrashing frantically, he could not free himself from the grip upon his
neck.  As he was drawn ever more deeply beneath the water, Henry Spier
felt the blackness rising and covering him over.  He wanted td cry out.
He reached to summon his powers, but he was gone before the need-essary
movement of Art could be completed.

He was walking.  The mists were

and the figures came and went.  There was one very family iar one, with
a message...

It was cold, very cold.  He wanted a blanket, but some thing else was
thrust into his hands.  A warmth seemed to

flow from it, however, and that was good.  The moaning

sounds ceased.  He had barely been aware of them until

then.  He clutched more tightly at the object he held and

something of strength came into him from it.

"Poll Come on!  Wake up!  Hurry!"

The message...

He was aware that his face was being slapped.  Face?

Yes, he had a face.

"Wake ups"

"No," he said, his grip continuing to upon the staff.

Staff

He opened his eyes.  The face out of focus, but there was something
familiar about it even then.  It moved nearer to his own and the
blurring vanished from its features.

"Mouseglove .  ."

"Get upl Hurry!" the small man enjoined him.  the others are stirring!"

"Others?  I don't...  Oh!"

Pol struggled to sit up and Mouseglove 'assisted him.  As he did so, he
saw that it was his father's which he held clutched in his hands.

"How did you come by this?" he

"Later! Take it and use it!"

Pol looked about the chamber.  Larick had rolled onto his side, facing
him.  His eyes were open, though his expression was not one of
comprehension.  Across the chamber, near the door, Ryle Merson was
moaning and beginning to move.  From the corner of his eye, Pol saw that
Taisa's arm was rising.  He remembered Spier's words 'concerning a lapse
of will, and he stared at the man, just as Spier began to sit up.

"Are they all enemies?" Mouseglove asked.  "You'd better do something to
the ones who are---fast!"

"Get out of here," Pol said.  "Hurry!"

"I'll not leave you now."

"You must!  However y o u came in--"

"Through the window. "Back out it then.  Go!"

Pol got up onto one knee and raised the scepter before him, staring at
Henry Spier across it.  Mouseglove moved out of sight, but Pol could not
tell whether he had fled or only retreated.  From somewhere, the smell
of dragons came to his nostrils.

His arm was already throbbing, and he gave a grateful shudder that the
power had not again deserted him.  The statuette still stood in position
upon the diagram, facing the Gate.  He rose to his feet and sent his
will into the scepter.  There was an answering tingle in the palms of
his hands.  A sensation as of a protracted, subauditory organ note
passed through him.

He felt no doubt whatsoever that Spier must die.  If he let him live, he
decided that he would be guilty of a greater offense than if he killed
him, becoming himself responsible for any evil the man would work.

With a sound like a thunderclap, a sheet of almost liquid flame leapt
from the scepter's tip to fall upon Henry Spier. The chasber was
brilliantly illuminated and shadows ran relay races about the uneven
walls.

Then the flame parted like a forked tongue, to reveal Spier standing
beyond the bifurcation, right arm.  upr, aised;, "How'd you manage to
get your hands on that thingr he said, above the fire's roar.

Pol did not reply but bent all of his efforts to closing the fiery gap.
Like a bloody pair of scissors in a shaky hand, it

WI7RD WOILD

commenced swaying toward, then away from the man in its midst.  Pol felt
the counter pressure growing and then waning, as Spier mustered his
forces with occasional lapses.

"Your dragon outside the window, eh?" Spier said.  "Must have him
well-trained.  Can't stand dragons myself.  Smell like stale beer and
rotten eggs."

The flames suddenly flew wide apart, like a letter Y, then a T.  They
began retreating toward Pol, the arms of the T slowly curving back
around in his direction.

Pol gritted his teeth, and the flames' progress toward him was halted.
He was seized with the sickening realization that even with his powers
augmented by the scepter, Spier seemed to hold the edge.  And Spier's
strength was continuing to grow as he recovered, whereas his own
appeared to have reached its limit.  The flames began to sway again, but
they were edging closer toward him.  He knew that it was too late to
shift to a different mode of attack, and he knew also that it would not
make any difference if he could.

"It is a powerful tool that you hold," Spier stated slowly, as if
reading his mind.  "But a tool, of course, is only as good as the man
who uses it.  You are young, and but recently come into your powers. You
are not sufficient to the task you have set yourself." He took a step
forward and the flames roared ominously.  "But then, I doubt that any
man in this world is."

"Shut up!" Pol cried, and he tried to banish the flames, but they
remained.

Spier took another step and halted as a surge of effort accompanying
Pol's anger flicked them back a span in his direction.

'here can be only one outcome if you persist," Spier went on," and I do
not want that.  Listen to me, boy.  If you are good enough to give me as
mueh trouble as you have, you are very good.  I would regret very much
having to destroy you, especially when there is no reason for it."

There came a loud report from the direction of the window, and a bullet
riehoeheted about the chamber. Spier glaneed in that direetion at the
same time Pol did.

Mouseglove, standing outside, had rested his elbows upon the wide, stony
sill.  The pistol, pointed :,? er, still smoked in his hand.  He seemed
to stiffen, and he slid away out of sight, the weapon clattering against
stone as it fell.

Pol turned back in time to see Spier completing an almost casual
gesture.

"Had I a moment or so more, I would have made him turn it against
himself," he said.  "But I can do that afterwards. Firearms are such a
barbaric intrusion in this idyllic place, don't you think?  I approve of
your actions at Anvil Mountain, by the way.  The Balance must be tipped
toward more magic, where we will be supreme."

Panting now, Pol fended off the return of the flames, his dragonmark
feeling as if it were itself afire.  He knew that without the scepter he
would be dead in the face of the present onslaught.  Spier seemed to be
increasing even in stature now, as he recovered, an aura of poise and
command growing about him.

"As I said, there is no reason for this," Spier continued. "I am willing
to forgive our archetypal struggle beyond the Gate and what passed
between us here before then.  I feel that you still do not understand. I
am also more convinced than ever of your suitability as an ally." He
took a step backward and the pressure diminished.  "A sign of my good
faith," he said.  "I have made the first move toward our easing away
from this in stages.  Let us call a halt and work together to our mutual
benefit.  I'll even teach you some unusual things about that staff you
hold.  I--"

Pol screamed and fell to his knees as his entire let side was seized and
twisted by a hideous series of spasms.  He thought that he felt his
lower ribs give way.

Summoning all of his remaining energy, he drove it toward Spier in a
gigantic psychic wedge, powered by fear, hate, a sense of betrayal,
shame at his own gullibility...

"It wasn't me!" Spier cried--half in anger, half in surprise--as he was
driven, tripping, back against the wall.

"Larickl Stop it .  .  ." came a weak voice from off to the right, as
Ryle Merson struggled to his feet.

Instantly, the seizure halted, though its aftereffects left Pol
kneeling, aching, shaking.

"Help him! Damn you?  Ryle cried, advancing.  'That's Spier he's got
against the wall!"

The fat man suddenly moved quickly and placed hand upon the scepter
below Pol's own. felt a partial easing of the tension which had held so
long.

Spier's eyes, which had been wide, suddenly Larick came up beside Pol
on the left, his hand, coming to rest upon the scepter.

"You say I would use you," Spier said, "and this is But they are also
gnilty--of the same thing."

Pol bore down with his will, augmented by the The flame leaped forward
again--and halted, as if it met an invisible wall.

He strove to increase his efforts and felt the doing likewise, yet the
situation remained fact, Spier was smiling--a small, almost sad smile.

"What's happening?" Pol said in a hoarse whisper. "He's holding us,"
Ryle replied.

"All three of us?" Pol asked.  "I almost had him before!"

"My little serpent," Spier said from across the

"Although you surprised me several times, I was but ing your strength
and letting things run long give me the opportunity to speak with you. I
see now I have failed, and I must conclude things, though it does my
heart' sore to see you put to waste. until some more agreeable life,
perhaps."

He began to walk toward them.  Immediately, the ter became burning hot
in Pol's grip.  He clung despite this, however, and directed all of
their toward halting the man, who now seemed the ment of strength and
assurance.  He felt some but Spier did not stop, and the smell of
burning came to his nostrils. His head swam, and for an instant mists
seemed to roil about him and the figure to his was no longer Ryle
Merson.  What was he saying?

Spier doubled forward as if experiencing a sudden ach cramp.  He waved
both his hands in small frantically, the right before him, the left far
out to side.

continuing but becoming more regular now, the circles growing.  He
looked ahead and then to the left.

'aey're coming out of the woodwork now," he said ruefully.

Pol, who could no longer tell whether the scepter was hot, cold or
lukewarm, turned his head toward the chain-her's entrance.

Ibal and Vonnie stood there.  He bore a white wand. She held what
appeared to be a brass hand mirror, crosswise and close to her breast.

"You've roused the bloody geriatrics ward," Spier added, glaring now and
appearing fully recovered.  "We'll just have to retire them again."

His left hand changed its pattern, altered its rhythm. The metal mirror
flashed as Vonnie swayed.  Ibal laid a hand upon her shoulder and
displayed his wand like an orchestra conductor at the opening of Brahms'
Second Symphony.

"There was a time when you were good, old man," Spier said.  "But you
should have stayed retired..."

He flicked his right hand suddenly and Ryle Metson cried out and fell.

"A little misdirection never hurts," he said.  "And then there were
four..."

But his face showed signs of strain, and the mirror flashed again.

"Damned witehi" he muttered, retreating a step.

A needle-fine line of white light fled from the tip of Ibal's wand and
pierced Spier's right shoulder.  Spier bellowed as the arm fell to his
side and a wave of fire and force from the scepter swept over him.

Clothing smouldering, he gestured wildly and the seep-ter was torn from
Pol's and Lariek's grip, spinning across the room and striking Ibal
about the chest and shoulders as it turned.  The white wand dropped to
the floor as the sorcerer fell, his face already twenty years older.

The mirror flashed again 'and Spier seemed to catch its light with his
left hand, from whence it was reflected upon Pol and Lariek.

Pol felt it as a blow and was momentarily blinded. Falling, he struck
against Lariek, who was not strong enough to hold him.  Both of them
went down as Spier, his arm dripping blood, hair and eyebrows singed,
face bright red, cloak smoking, turned toward the woman.  He was
muttering--whether profanity or the beginning of a spell, she was not
certain.

"My dear lady,",Spier said, advancing upon her, swaying.  "It is all
over."

Distantly, Pol heard her reply: "In that case, behold yourself."

He heard Spier's scream and thought that she had fill ished him.  But
then, at an even greater distance, he heard the man's weak answer:
"Good.  But not good enough."

But Pol was already walking through the place of mists, the form of the
man so like himself at his side, telling him some thing, something to
remember, something important... "Belphaniori" he said aloud,
half-raising his head. And then he slumped and the mists rolled over
him.

My world was torn apart and reassembled in an instant. Possibly I, too,
was subjected to the same process.  My existential yearnings were
redefined and satisfied by that single gesture.  The perturbations of my
spirit subsided. Everything--for the first time in my existence--was
made clear to me.  I reveled in the moment.

"Belphaniorl"

Belphanior.  Yes, Belphanior.  It fit so beautifully, like an exquisite
garment tailored just for me.  I turned before the mirrors of my spirit,
admiring the cut and the material.

I had been hurriedly assembled from the raw stuff of creation in this
world by the sorcerer Der Morson on the day of his death--almost within
minutes of it, actually.  So rushed had he been by the unusually speedy
advance of his enemies that he had been unable properly to conclude the
work, to charge me in full with all of the necessary restrictions,
compulsions and promptings.  He rushed off to tend to his death without
quite completing his spell and setting into motion all of those reflexes
he had instilled.  Or telling me who I was.  Conscientious in the
extreme, I realized, I had been trying to figure these matters out for
myself.

It is very pleasing to learn of one's importance in the scheme of
things.

And it is a good thing, in a very real sense, to have made one's own way
in the world, unlike those others who came full-furnished with stocks of
intellectual and emotional equipment suiting them for their comfortable
niches in and requiring never a second thought.  Consider...

Der rushed off.  I see now why he did not release me.

4OO

Not only was I incomplete, without that final pronunciation of my name,
but my infant strength would have been of small use against that army of
besiegers and their wizard would doubtless have put me aside, useless
for my true purposes.  For how Rondoval I remained, trapped by the spell
in that small chamber, I do not really know.  Years, perhaps; until the
natural erosions of time wore away the designs which barred my exit from
that room.  No true hardship this; for my existence at that time was
next to vegetable in character, not at all the inquiring and highly
sophisticated state of mind I now enjoy.  In the years which followed, I
learned the geography of the place thoroughly, though I never questioned
the nature of the force which kept me anchored to it--not even when I
found that my modest forays into the countryside were invariably
accompanied by an apprehension which was only allayed when I returned to
the castle's confines.  But and naive.  There were so many questions I
yet ask.  I slithered along raers.  I danced among Life was idyllic.

It was not until Pors arrival and all of the activities which ensued
that anything like a true curiosity was aroused in me.  Beyond the
vermin and some then incomprehensible dwellers upon other planes, my
only experience with sentients had come from the minds of the sleeping
dragons and their companionshardly the most stimulating intellectual
fare.  But I was suddenly deluged with thoughts and words, and the ideas
which lay behind them.  It was then that I came into self-consciousness
and first began to explore the enigmas of my own condition.

I know now that I was drawn to Pol bee: dragonmark, and any of the horde
of other eues which served to identify him to me at some primal level
with my first aceurs&l master.  I did not know, however, that this was a
part of the design of my existence.  In light of it, certain of my other
actions became even more intelligible. Sueh as my animation of the
corpse for purposes of conveying a message to Mouseglove.  Such as my to

depart Rondoval and follow Pol.

"Belphanior." Delicious word.

As Pol lay semiconscious, gasping, aching, suffering from a number of
burns, broken bones, sprains, abrasions, contusions and near-total
fatigue, I realized that an important part of my mission in life
involved his protection and I was pleased to have succeeded as well as I
had, considering the handicap under which I was working.  It gratified
me that I had occasionally relieved the pressure of some of his more
distressing dreams, not'to mention sending Mouseglove after the scepter,
without which he would almost certainly by now have been dead.

Yes, it pleased me that I had done the right things when I had acted,
had reached so many proper conclusions by virtue of my own initiative
rather than because of any standing order I was obliged to follow.  As I
considered the fallen form of Larick--also under my protection-as well
as those of Ryle, Ibol and the rapidly failing lady Vonnie, I was happy
to know that by extension, as allies, I could also count them as being
in my care.  The philosophical vistas now opened to me seemed almost
limitless.

Yes.

With the pronunciation of my name I was immediately aware of who and
what I was:

I am the Curse of Rondovol (a technical term, that), existing to defend
both the premises and the members of the House, and failing that, to
avenge them.

I look upon it as a challenging, exciting and wonderful occupation.

It is with extreme gratitude that I now consider the fact that Der
Morson, hard-pressed as he was there at the end, yet managed to md time
for the creation of a good Curse.

As I watched Henry Spier and ronnie swaying and staggering back and
forth, hurling their remaining energies through intricate and deceptive
patterns at one another in a conflict to determine the fate of my
charges, not to mention that of the world, I realized that, despite the
forces which had been thrown against him; the man had the edge and would
doubtless in a few moments emerge victorious.  It was instructive to
follow his magical manipulations. There was genuine artistry there, as I
understood it.  The man had, ater all, once been a peer and close friend
of my accurs6d master.  It was, in this sense, unfortunate that he had
become an enemy of Rondoval and, hence, the designated recipient of my
wrath.

Which led me to another important train of considerations: With Det
Morson dead these two decades and two heirs of Rondovol visible on the
floor, who was his proper successor as my accurs6d master?  Larick was
Pol's senior, yet he had forsaken the family precincts to dwell at
Avin-conet. Pol, on the other hand, maintained his residence at the
family seat and thus was more sensitive to the needs of Rondovol itself.
Witness, his ongoing program of repair and renovation.  The matter
could, over the years, become very important when it came to the ss:j'�5
iorities in my work-schedule.

I resolved it finally in Pol's favor.  Possibly, ultimately, a
sentimental choice.  While I allowed myself to be swayed by the
argument from residence, I was not unaware that my decision could easily
have been colored by the fact that I knew Pol better than I did his
brother and that I had not approved of Larick's earlier actions against
him.  Or, to put it more simply, I liked Pol better.

I drifted near his twitching, recumbent form, and for the first time
attempted direct communication with him.

Everything is all right now, accursed master, I reported, except for a
few details.

He began coughing just as Vonnie screamed, interfering with his
acknowledgement.

I regarded Henry Spier once more, his face twisted and blackened, as he
tied the final knots of his spell.  I noted, too, that Ryle Merson was
awake and struggling to raise one arm.  Larick and Ibal were like!y to
remain unconscious for some time longer.  Taisa was sitting up and
looking very bewildered.

I reviewed a number of possible actions I might take against Spier,
rejecting many--even the one which involved flooding the chamber by
diverting a nearby under ground stream, a course which possessed a
esthetic appeal for me.

Finally, the choices were narrowed to one only remaining detail involved
my decision as to the proper color scheme.

Avocado, ranging to a very pale green, When Poi heard the voice in his
head, he rolled onto his side and opened his eyes.  He lacked the
strength to do anything more.  The situation appeared virtually
unchanged so far as he could tell.  Vonnie seemed no longer a young
woman, but middle-aged and tired-looking.  Spier also looked worn, but
there was still some vitality in his gestures.  A moment more and it
appeared that the man would win.

There came a loud hissing sound from the back of the chamber.  Spier
glanced in that direction and his face froze.  His hands halted in
mid-gesture.  Vonnie also looked that way, with identical results.

Pol struggled to turn his head, and when he succeeded he beheld a
particularly ghastly materialization.  It appeared to be the demon body
he himself had briefly worn, taking rapid shape beside the table
headless.  In place of a head, it wore a crown of flames--avocado,
ranging to a very pale green.

Pol heard Taisa shriek.  And from their changing expressions, it
appeared that Spier and Vonnie each thought the other responsible for
the phenomenon.

In that moment, a bit of light fled from between Ryle Merson's cupped
hands to fall upon Spier's breast.  Spier staggered back, gesturing as
if to brush it away and casting a quick glance in Ryle's direction.

Pol raised his hand and moved it as if engaged in a sorcerous
manipulation, though the power was gone, the dragonmark still once
again.  Spier made a warding movement just as the voice boomed out:

"The Curse of Rondoval is upon you, Henry Spierl" The flame-headed
demon-form lurched forward, and Spier---al] color fled from his
faceturned and statuette, which he, raised before him.

"I have served you!" he cried.  "N:a your Now, or never!"

There came a flash of light from Vonnie's rected toward Spier,
simultaneous with a heavy sound from the direction of the table.

The light from the mirror did not reach Spier. where in the vicinity of
the figurinc at arm's fore ht appeared to be absorbed.  The jewels
statuette suddenly shone like tiny, colored fires.

A dark shape rushed forward, racing the toward Spier.  It passed the
creature--a heavy armchair from beside the table--passed Spier also,
oted in midair, dropped and pushed forward, striking behind the knees.

The somerer collapsed blazing icon.

The chair tilted backward and levirated rapidly, the Curse of Bondoval
sprang toward il It swung wide arc about the room and the fire-crowned
bounded aer it.

It rushed at the wall, banked rectly toward the window.

Belphanior recovered his balance, turned, and aer it, talons extended.
He caught the edge of long yellow cloak which trailed behind.

The chair jerked and Spier made a gagging sounding at his throat with
one hand.  Then its clasp tore and the cloak fell away.  The chair
resumed its motion, picking up speed, and passed out window.

Pol heard a startled cry fobowed by a dragon's moment later, there were
gunshots.  Then he heard glove cursing.  He propped himself with one
stiff arm started to sway.  He felt Ryle's hand upon his steadying him.

"Easy..." Byle said.  "He's been checked.  We're Byle helped him into a
sitting position, then toward Taisa, Larick, Vonnie.

The old woman was sitting upon the her side.  She held Ibal's head in
her lap and was speaking softly, almost crooning, above him.  When she
felt Ryle's gaze, she raised one hand to cever her face.  Ryle quickly
looked away.

Larick was stirring again.  Ryle rose slowly, ponderously, to his feet
and made his way toward his daughter.  Pol caught only one brief glimpse
of his face.

"Accursed master," Belphanior said then, prostrating himself before him.
"I have answered your summons.  I al..logize that the man escaped my
wrath."

"What--who are you?" Pol asked, moving his suddenly warm foot back from
the bowed, avocado to pale green-flamed head.  "And please rise."

"Belphanior, the Curse of Rondoval, your servant," he said, raising
himself into a semi-erect stance.

"Really?"

"Yes.  You called and I answered.  I would have dismem-bored him for
your delight, save for that unfair chair trick."

"Perhaps you'll have another opportunity one day," Pol said.  "But thank
you for this service.  It was timely, and well done."

Belphanior handed him the yellow cloak.

"Your own garments are in need of repair.  Perhaps the sorcerer's
robe..."

Pol took it into his hands.  The light fabric felt strange, yet at the
same time familiar.  There was a small patch of white on the inside,
below the collar.  He raised it and looked more closely.

CUSTOM-MADE IN HONG KONG ran the words upon it.

He almost dropped the cloak as he was taken by a sudden chill.

"May I assist you, accursed master?"

"No.  I'll manage."

He drew it about his shoulders and fastened it at the neck.  He
straightened his legs painfully, rising upon them. The ache in his left
side grew stronger.  Larick, too, was attempting to rise.  He extended
his hand..Larick looked at it for a moment, then took it and pulled
himself up.  He did not release it for a moment, however, but stare at
the dragonmark.  Then he looked up at Pol's

"I never ]mew," he said at last.

"I only learned at the last possible moment myself," said.

Over his shoulder, Pol saw that Mouseglove was upon the windowsill,
staring.  A moment later, the man shouted something out the window and
the floor.

"Moonbird couldn't follow the chair," he called out. was moving too
fast."

Po!  nodded As Mouseglove came toward him, he that Ryle and Taisa were
also approaching.

Larick turned toward the woman, sm'fiing.  She past him, placed her arms
about Pol's nook and him.

'ank you," she said, at last.  "I thought never come, till wandering in
spirit I saw you, here.  I knew somehow that you would free me.

As he gazed past her, Pol saw a peculiar look pass Larick's face.  He
disentangled himself quickly, pushed gently back and bowed

"I am pleased to have it

hardly my doing alone.  It

"You are medest."

Pol turned away.

"We'd best see to Ibal and Vormie immediately."

The old sorcerer looked young again but was

conscious.  Vonnie's beauty had for the most part

and its enhancement continued as Pol watched.  She

up at him.

"Hem!  be all right," she said.'l just wanted to from awakening until
the cosmetic spell was in place. can repair the rejuvenation spells
later."

She picked up the magic mirror and regarded it.  She smiled.

"Vanity, I know," she said.  "Delightful thing."

Let us," Ryle said, coming up beside them, "repair more congenial
quarters. Ibal, Pol."

That will not be necessary," Vonnie answered, holding the mirror before
Ibal's face.

lbal's eyes opened.  He considered his reflection, then began to rise.

"Lead on," she said.  "We will follow."

Night had fallen.  In a large chamber in the castle Avin. conet, six
jeweled fgurines were grouped at the center c/ a series of concentric
circles painted upon the floor; amonf these circles and about them
various Words and Signs had also been executed.  It had taken the entire
day to situat( them so, for every possible thing that could have gore
wrong--from spilled paint, mispronounced Words, incorrectly drawn
figures, a series of earth tremors and troops of marauding vermin who
had marred the pattern--had gone wrong.

At last, however, the fnal spell had been pronounced, the final line
drawn, the final gesture executed.  Immediately, the interference had
ceased.  The Keys were contained.

Now Pol, Larick, Ibal, Vonnie, Ryle, Taisa, Mouseglove and Belphanior
sat, reclined, stood, paced, drifted as an invisible cloud, took
refreshment, rested and conferred at the farther end of the large room.

"...  Then I don't understand wy didn't help Spier," Mouseglove was
saying.

"I believe that they were helping Spier all along," Ryle replied, 'ut we
finally exhausted them, too, for a little while.  Long enough, though.
Almost."

"You say that, theoretically, he could still open the Gate with the one
Key?" Mouseglove asked.

"He told Pol that he could, and I believe that he's right. It would
probably take a lot of effort, though.  I just don't know for certain.
He's the greatest living authority."

"What now?" Larick asked, from where he sat beside Taisa who was looking
at Pol he held in his lap.

"They're neutralized now, but I will not rest until all seven Keys are
destroyed," Ryle said.  "They could still be stolen or freed somehow and
the thing could start all over again."

"I can guard them against mortal thieves for a time," Mouseglove
offered.

� .  .  And I against those of the other variety, Belphanior said from
somewhere.

"But can they be destroyed?" Taisa asked.  "After everything we tried on
them earlier..."

"Everything that exists has some weakness," Ibal said, lowering his
goblet.  "We will have to explore carefully."

"It's in here," Pol said.  "Far back, and scattered, but our father did
leave some clues.  I've already come across a few new ones.  I am going
to have to read through the entire thing now and put them all together.
It will take a while..."

"It must be done," Larick said.

"Yes."

"I cannot help but admire their vision," Ihal said.  "You know, if I
were Madwand rather than a traditionally trained man of the Art, I don't
believe that I would be sitting here with you."

Ryle looked at him sharply.

lbal chuckled.

"Don't give me that look," he said.  "You were in on it at the
beginning, till you learned that one important fact.

And if you had been Madwand, what then, Ryle?"

Ryle looked away.

"I can't deny it," he said.  "It's wrong, but I hate them as much for
shattering that vision as for anything else."

"I did not say it just to irritate you," Ibal continued, "but as a
caution: Trust no more Madwands than those here present--unless they be
well-proven."

"You think Spier may now seek allies?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"I believe I am onto something," Pol said,"turning a page.  "I don't
think this is going to be easy...

A feeling of tension came into the room, as if the air pressure had
suddenly been raised.  It built for several seconds and then subsided.

"What was that?" Mouseglove asked.

The Keys attempted to shatter their confines, ior announced.  But they
failed.  Your spells proved than adequate.

"Very promising."

And mark that passage.

Later, invisible and save for a drowsing dragon, when Pol sat upon the
parts of Avinconet and played his guitar, slowly, bandaged hands.  I
counted myself fortunate to have my name and found my e-tiling in life
that dw listened to his song, I decided that he must not bad, as
accursed masters go.  I rather liked his music.

Then a strange thing happened, for my not as their perceptions and I
like to feel less readily tricked.  The moon broke forth from cloud,
infusing the land with its pale light; and upon him there, it made it
seem for a moment that hair was white with a dark streak down the
middle, than the other way around.  In that moment, I infant perception
of my creator, and it seemed looked again upon the face of Der
overlaying Pol's masklike.  The image had a more than natural the
impression it made upon me, and the created was somehow an uncomfortable
thing.

But it was gone in an instant, and the music Is life a quick illusion or
a long song?  I asked was in need of new phfiosophieal pursuits.