DEVIL AND THE DANCER

THE moon hung round and the cold winds blew when Oele danced for Devil, her footmarks traced in fire before the empty stone-faced altar. In the lands below it was already spring, but here in the mountains the night spoke of winter. Still, she danced barefooted, wearing but a flimsy gray garment belted with silver, more revealing than concealing her lithe figure as she raised the fires in ancient patterns, her long blond hair streaming about her.

The ground became a flickering tapestry, yet she was not burned. Far below on the northern slope, a ghostly palace quivered in the moonlight, towers fading to the point of transparency and regaining partial solidity moments later, walls moving to join with shadow and fleeing from it, lights waxing and waning behind high windows. The voice of the wind was a raw, shrieking thing, but neither did Oele feel the cold.

The darkness grew more dense above the altar until finally it blotted out stars. As this occurred, the wind died down and ceased. The flames sprang higher then, but the great blot above the stone was not illuminated thereby. It was a massive, rough-winged outline, great-headed and rippling. It seemed almost a hole in space itself, and she received the impression of enormous depths within it whenever her eyes passed that way.

She had danced thus, at certain seasons, down the years, beyond the memories of any who dwelled in the vicinity. All of these called her witch, and she, too, thought of herself in this fashion. The only one who knew more called her by a different title, though the distinction had become considerably frayed in the years since a dancing girl had slain her lover upon this spot to gain the powers he alone of all men had possessed. A priest he had been, the last surviving worshipper of an old god who, as a result, had valued him highly. Now Oele was the last worshipper, and she did not even know the god's name. She called him Devil and he granted her wishes in response to her choreographed acts of devotion, which she considered spells. A witch invoking a devil, a god responding to a worshipper, then—it was partly a matter of perspective, but only partly. For the things she asked of him were more in keeping with her own notions, and their relations were far removed from what his had been with his original worshippers long ago.

Yet between them the bond was strong. He drew strength from her dancing, from this final contact with the earth. And she also gained, many things.

At last her movements ceased and she stood amidst her design, facing the dark shape above the altar stone. For long moments a heavy stillness hung between them, until finally she spoke:

"Devil, I bring you my dance."

The figure seemed to nod, then to grow slightly. Finally, in a voice deep and slow, it replied:

"It is pleasing to me."

She waited, a ritualistically prolonged silence, then spoke again:

"My palace fades."

Again the pause, then the words "I know," followed by the gesture of a jagged, winglike member from the bottomless shadow, toward the place down the slope occupied by the wavering structure.

"Behold, priestess, it is firm once again."

She looked and saw that this was true. Now, in the moonlight, the palace stood still and substantial, its lights gleaming steadily, its ramparts thrusting prow-like against the night and the stars.

"I see," she finally replied. "But for how long will it remain thus? One by one my servants vanish, returning to the earth from which they sprang."

"They are with you once more."

"But for how long?" she repeated. "This is the third time I have had to call upon you to restore order— in less than a year."

The figure was silent much longer than the customary period.

"Tell me, Devil!"

"I cannot say for certain, priestess," it answered at last. "I have been growing weaker. Considerable energy is required to support yourself and your establishment for long periods—more than I can transform from your dance."

"What then is to be done?"

"You could choose a simpler way of life."

"I must have magnificence!"

"Soon I will lack the force to sustain it."

"Then you shall again have something stronger than my dancing!"

"I do not ask this."

"Yet you accept it when it becomes necessary."

"I accept it."

"Then you shall have sufficient man's blood to restore your powers, and to enhance my own."

There was silence.

"I begin now the closing dance," she stated, and as she commenced moving once again the flames died with each step that she retraced, the wind grew up about her, and the figure above the altar thinned and faded, giving back a fistful of stars.

When she had finished, she turned away and walked toward the palace without looking back. It was time to prepare for a journey, through the land below, to a seacoast town where it was said that anything one wanted could always be found.

The lady on the black-maned gray mare wore tan leather breeches and jacket and a brown and red cloak. Her hair and long-lashed eyes were dark and her wide mouth appeared to be faintly, perhaps unconsciously, working its way toward a smile. She wore a jade ring upon the middle finger of her left hand, an onyx one upon her right. A short sword hung from her belt.

Her companion wore black breeches and green jacket and boots. His cloak was black, lined with green, and he wore a sword and dagger at his waist. He sat astride a black, horse-shaped creature whose body appeared to be of metal.

The two of them led three pack horses up the mountain trails through the brisk, clear afternoon air. The sound of running water came to their ears from somewhere ahead.

"The weather improves daily," the lady remarked. "After the regions we've traveled through, this seems almost summerish."

"Once we've quitted these heights," the man replied, "things should be even more comfortable. And when we reach the coast it could almost be balmy. We'll get you to Tooma at a good time of year."

The lady looked away.

"I am no longer so eager to reach the place…"

Bearing to the right, they rounded a rocky promontory. The man's mount made a strange noise. Turning his head, the rider scanned the trail.

"We are not alone," he observed.

She followed his gaze to where a man was seated upon a rock ahead and to the right. His hair and beard were pure white and he was dressed in animal skins. As they watched him, he stood, leaning upon a staff that was taller than himself.

"Hello," he hailed.

"Greetings," said the green-booted rider, coming to a halt before him. "How fare you?"

"Well enough," the man replied. "Do you travel far?"

"Yes. Down to Tooma, at least."

The man nodded.

"You'll not be out of these hills tonight."

"I know. I glimpsed a castle far ahead. Perhaps they'll let us sleep within its walls."

"Mayhap they will. For its mistress, Oele, has always been kindly disposed toward travelers, with a liking for whatever tales they bring. I am, as a fact, headed that way myself, to partake of the place's hospitality—though I've heard the lady is traveling at the moment. That beast you ride has a most unusual appearance, sir."

"He has indeed."

"… And you've a somewhat familiar look, if I may say it. May I ask your name?"

"I am Dilvish, and this is Reena."

The lady nodded and smiled.

"Not a common name, yours. There was a Dilvish, long ago…"

"I do not believe that castle stood in those days."

"To be sure, it did not. This was then the home of a hill tribe, reasonably content with its flocks and its god—whose name has since been forgotten. But the cities grew up below and—"

"Taksh'mael," Dilvish said.

"What?"

"Taksh'mael was their god," Dilvish answered, "keeper of the flocks. A friend and I once laid an offering on his altar when we passed this way—long ago. I wonder whether the altar still stands."

"Oh, it does, where it has always stood… You are definitely a member of a minority to have it in mind at all. Perhaps 'twere better you did not stop at the castle… Seeing the area come upon such bad times could not but depress one such as yourself. On second thinking, I'd say ride on and clear this poor place from your mind. Remember it as once it was."

"Thank you, but we have traveled a great distance," Dilvish replied. "It does not seem worth the extra effort merely to preserve a few sensibilities. We will go to the castle."

The man's large, pale eyes fixed him, then jerked away. With one hand he groped beneath his shaggy garments, then he limped forward, extending that hand toward Dilvish.

"Take this," he muttered. "You should have it."

"What is it?" Dilvish asked, automatically reaching down.

"A trifle," said the other. "An old thing I've had a long while, a mark of the god's favor and protection. One who remembers Taksh'mael ought to have such hereabouts."

Dilvish examined it, a fragment of gray stone veined with pink, into which the image of a ram had been scratched. It was pierced on one end and a worn woolen strand passed through this aperture.

"Thank you," he said, reaching for his bag. "I'd like to give you something in return."

"No," said the old man, turning away. '"Tis a freely given gift, and I've no use for citified geegaws. And 'tis not much for all that. The newer gods can afford much fancier, I'm certain."

"Well, may he guard your footsteps."

"At my age, I doubt it matters. Fare thee well."

He hiked off among the rocks and was soon gone from sight.

"Black, what do you make of it?" Dilvish asked, leaning forward to dangle the charm before his mount.

"There is some power in it," Black replied, "but it is of a tainted magic. I am not at all sure that I would trust anyone who bestows such a thing."

"First he told us to stop at the castle, then he told us to pass it by. On which piece of advice shall we mistrust him?"

"Let me see it, Dilvish," Reena said.

He dropped it into her hands and she studied it for a long while.

"True, it is as Black says…" she finally began.

"Should I keep it or throw it away?"

"Oh, keep it," she replied, passing it back. "Magic is like money. Who cares where it comes from? It's what you spend it on that counts."

"That is only true if you can control the expenditure," he said. "Do you want to stop at the castle? Or shall we travel as far as we can tonight?"

"The animals are getting tired."

"True."

"I believe he was a bit dotty."

"Most likely."

"A real bed would be very nice."

"Then we shall visit the castle."

Black was silent as they moved ahead.

Oil lamps, candles, and a large fireplace lit the tavern where Oele danced. Sailors, tradesmen, soldiers, and assorted rogues and citizens drank and dined at the heavy wooden tables. Tonight she wore her blue and green costume, and two musicians accompanied her energetic movements in the cleared area at the rear of the main room. Business had improved considerably since she had come to town two weeks earlier, and though she had received three proposals of marriage and many other sorts of offers, yet did she remain unattached. Nor did her lack of a hardy male companion result in many difficulties. A steady gaze and a single, imperious gesture terminated the un-desired attentions of the most importunate, causing a man to drop senseless to the ground. It was obvious that she did not desire the beery embraces of most patrons of the place, though her eyes searched every face during the course of an evening. And now there were some new ones. A caravan had come in from the west that afternoon, and a ship had arrived from southern waters. Tonight's crowd was even noisier than usual.

One tall son of the desert drew her eyes—slow-moving, dark, and hawkish. His flowing garments did not conceal his sturdy, well-proportioned frame. He took his ease near the doorway, sipping wine and smoking from a complicated contraption he had set upon the table before him. A number of similarly garbed men were seated at the same table, conversing in their sibilant tongue. The tall man's eyes never left her, and she began to feel that he might be the one. There were signs of great vitality in even the smallest of his movements.

A group of sailors arrived as the evening wore on, but she ignored them. By then she was dancing only for the one she had chosen. And it became apparent from the light in his eyes, his smile, and the words he had spoken as she passed near that he was captivated. He would be a fine one. Another hour and she would take him away…

"Move it this way, lady. I like it."

She glanced to her right toward the man who had spoken and saw blue eyes beneath a wild thatch of coppery hair, a gold earring, very white teeth, a red neckerchief—one of the sailors who had just come in.

It was difficult to judge his size, leaned forward the way he was.

She did move nearer, studying him. Interesting scar on his chin… Big, capable hands on the table before him…

She moved her lips through a faint smile. He was more animated than the other, and certainly as filled with life. She wondered…

She heard a noise at her back and turned without missing a step. The trader was standing, glaring at the sailor. His men were also rising. She continued to smile and turned away again. The music died abruptly. She heard an oath, loud in the sudden stillness.

"You're a live one," the sailor said, getting to his feet. "I hope you're worth it."

All at once the entire room seemed to be in motion as tables and seats were upset. The sailors and traders moved toward one another, blades appearing almost magically in their hands. The other patrons scurried to sheltered vantages or quit the establishment entirely via the nearest exits. Showing no fear, Oele removed herself several paces, to make room for the combat.

The sailor she watched was moving forward in a low crouch, a stiletto in his right hand. The tall trader brandished a longer, curved blade. As their men struggled with one another about them, they pushed their way toward a cleared area nearer the center of the room as if by mutual consent. From somewhere a flagon sped toward the back of the trader's head. Oele gestured sharply and it veered off to shatter against the wall.

The sailor rolled away from the first slash of the other's blade and riposted instantly with a high overhand thrust that nicked the man's biceps. He could not dodge the countercut, however, but managed to parry it with his own weapon. He danced away then, unable to counterthrust beyond the other's greater length of blade. He began to circle him widdershins, his feet shuffling and stamping. As his back was for a moment exposed to the general melee, a small trader rushed toward him. Oele gestured again and it was as if the shorter man had been seized by a giant hand and cast sideways across the room. She smiled and licked her lips.

In circling, the sailor's foot encountered a small stool. He kicked it toward the other. Despite his lengthy garments, however, the trader avoided it with a quick movement and cut again toward his opponent's head. But the sailor had drawn a belaying pin from his sash, and he blocked the blow with it, moved in rapidly, and thrust toward the other's belly.

The trader managed to recover and parry in time, but it left him in an awkward position at very close quarters. The belaying pin struck him on the side of the head. He fell back, obviously dazed, swinging a wide parry, and the club took him again, high upon the left cheekbone. He stumbled and the club rose and fell twice more in rapid succession. He sprawled upon the floor and lay unmoving, garments disarrayed. The sailor advanced and kicked the blade from his extended hand. Still he did not stir. Breathing heavily, the seaman wiped his brow and smiled up at Oele, thrusting the pin back into his sash.

"Well done," she said. "Almost."

He glanced at his blade, then shook his head.

"It's done," he said. "I'll not be sticking him just for your amusement."

He placed his blade back into a sheath on the side of his right boot. The fighting between the sailors and the traders still continued behind him but already showed some signs of slowing, losing force. After one quick glance in that direction, the seaman bowed to Oele.

"Captain Reynar," he said, "at your service. Master of my own vessel, Tiger's Foot." He extended his arm. "Come now and I'll show her to you. I think you might enjoy cruising the southern waterways."

She took his arm and they turned.

"I think not," she said. "For I, too, rule in my own place, which I am not about to forsake. Shall we save these poor fellows from further injury?"

She made a sweeping gesture toward the remaining combatants, and they all fell unconscious to the floor.

"Now that's a fine trick," he said, "and one which I wouldn't mind knowing."

She gestured again as they advanced and the door swung open before them.

"Perhaps I'll teach you," she answered, as they passed outside. "But my rooms are nearer than your ship and doubtless less cramped—though we'll be leaving them in the morning on a journey to the heights."

He grinned at her.

"It would take a lot to persuade a captain to desert his vessel—with no disrespect to your obvious charms."

"Cup your hands."

He released her arm and did so. She covered his hands with her own and a clinking sound began. Moments later he strained at an unexpected weight. She raised her hands and his were filled with gleaming coins. More continued to drop into them, spilling over and falling to the ground.

"Stop! Stop! They're getting away!" he cried.

She laughed, a sound not unlike the rattle of the gold, but the deluge of money ceased. He began stowing the coins in various places about his person. He knelt and recovered the fallen ones. He examined them. He bit one.

"Real! They're real!" he said.

"What were you saying about a captain and his ship?"

"You've no idea how wretched a thing the seafaring life can be. I've always wanted to live in the mountains." He touched his brow and offered his arm again. "Which direction?" he asked.

The sun had passed behind the mountain, casting long shadows, though day still lay upon the land below when Dilvish and Reena approached the castle they had seen hours earlier.

They halted and stared at it. Pennants were flapping upon battlements and tower tops and there seemed to be a light behind every window. The portcullis was raised and a faint sound of music came from within.

"What do you think?" Dilvish said.

"I was comparing it to the castle that was my home," Reena replied. "It looks fine to me."

They peered in through the gate. A woman who had been waiting near it stepped through and hailed them:

"Travelers! You are welcome here if you are seeking shelter."

Dilvish gestured toward the trappings upon the walls, toward the long carpet that he now saw stretched beyond the gate.

"What is the occasion," he asked, "for the display?"

"Our mistress has been away," the woman replied. "She will return tonight with her new consort."

"She must be a remarkable woman, to keep such an establishment in this place."

"She is indeed, sir."

Dilvish stared a moment longer.

"I've a mind to stay here," he finally said.

"… And I've a body that would welcome some ease," Reena told him.

"Let's go."

They advanced until they reached the squat, dark-haired woman who had called to them. Her hands were large, her movements deliberate; her face was peppered with moles. She smiled a large-toothed smile and conducted them within.

Dilvish counted five other servants—two women and three men—laboring at various chores in the courtyard. Among these, several were hanging additional decorations. The woman who had welcomed them called to one of the men.

"He will take care of your horses," she stated. Then she turned and eyed Black. "Except for this one. What do you wish done with him?"

Dilvish glanced toward a small corner area off to his left.

"If I might, I would leave him over there," he said. "He win not move."

"You are certain?"

"I am certain."

"Very well. Do it. Set aside the things you would have taken in and I will help you bear them to your chamber. You will dine at the mistress's table later."

"In that case, I'll want that larger one," Reena said, indicating a pack, while Dilvish and Black moved off toward the chosen corner.

"I am vaguely troubled," Black said, "by our meeting with that old man. So I will not wander off from this body while it stands here. Should you need me, summon me and I will come."

"All right," Dilvish said, "though I doubt I will need to."

Black snorted and grew still, becoming a statue of a horse. Dilvish dismounted, hefted his gear, and followed the others inside.

The woman who had met them, whose name they had learned was Andra, conducted them to a third-floor chamber overlooking the courtyard.

"When the mistress and her man arrive, we will summon you to dinner and an entertainment," she said. "In the meantime, is there anything you might need?"

Dilvish shook his head.

"Thank you, no. I am curious, though, how you know exactly when she will arrive. You seem fairly far removed from most other places."

Andra looked puzzled.

"She is the mistress," she replied. "We know."

After she had departed, Dilvish nodded toward the door.

"Strange…" he said.

"Perhaps not," Reena replied. "There is a peculiar feeling to this place. I should recognize it if anyone should, though it is not as strong as it was in my former home. I believe this Mistress Oele might be a minor adept of some sort. Even her servants all seem to have the dull responsiveness of someone under control."

"You have never heard of her, though—or of anyone in this vicinity—as a sister in the Art?"

"No. But there are so many lesser practitioners about that one cannot keep track of them all. Only the doings of the big ones provide general subjects for gossip."

"Such as those of your former employer?"

She turned toward him, eyes narrowed.

"Must you turn every conversation back to your enemy and your revenge?" she said. "I hate him, too, and I know he put you through a lot. He also killed my brother! But I'm sick of hearing about him!"

"I—I am sorry," he replied. "I suppose that I have become somewhat single-minded…"

She laughed.

" 'Somewhat'?" she said. "Do you live for anything else? Do you ever listen to yourself? The way he controls your every thought, your every action, you might as well be under his spell! If you succeed in destroying him, what then? Is there anything else left of your life? You—"

She broke off and turned away.

"I am sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have said any of that."

"No," he replied, not looking at her. "You're right. I never noticed. But you are right. Would you believe that I was raised to be a courtier—that I played music and sang, wrote poetry… ? I did other things later because of circumstances, but my birth was gentle. It was only by accident that I developed certain military aptitudes, and necessity that furthered such a career. I had always intended—something else. Now… How long ago all that seems! You have said something true. I wonder…"

"What?"

"What I would do if it were all over. Return to my homeland perhaps, try to resolve some ancient wrongs against our house—"

"Another vendetta?"

He laughed, a thing she had seldom heard.

"More likely a matter of dull legalities. I am going to think about it, and a lot of other things, now. Even the big—gap—in my life has shifted a bit, from nightmare to dream. Yes, I should occasionally concern myself with other matters."

"Such as?"

"What to do until dinner time, for one."

"I'll help you think of something," she told him, coming across the room.

The torches blazed and crackled and the sounds of music were all about them as Reynar and Oele entered her courtyard, riding across the long carpet, garlanded with flowers her servants had cast upon them as they passed through the gate. Oele nodded and smiled and the shadows danced and slithered. Then her expression froze as her gaze fell upon a dark shape in a distant corner, metallic highlights upon its surface. She drew rein and pointed.

"What," she asked in a loud voice, "is that?"

Andra rushed to her side.

"It belongs to a guest, mistress," she stated, "a man named Dilvish, who came by earlier. I offered hospitality, as you have always wished."

Oele dismounted, handing Andra the reins. She crossed the courtyard and stood before Black. Then she circled him, still staring. Finally she put out a jeweled hand and slapped his shoulder. A ringing sound followed. She backed away, then returned to Andra.

"How," she said, "did he transport a statue of a horse through the mountains? And why?"

"Well, it is a statue now, ma'am," Andra replied, "but he rode in on it. Said it wouldn't move when he left it there. It hasn't."

Oele looked back at Black. In the meantime, Reynar had dismounted and moved to her side.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

She took his hand and led him across the yard toward the main doorway.

"That—thing," she said, with a jerk of her head, "bore its master here earlier."

"How can that be?" Reynar asked. "It looks pretty stiff to me."

"Obviously our guest is a sorcerer," she replied. "I find this more than a little awkward."

"How so?"

"We hurried to get home today because it is tonight when the moon stands full in high heaven that I must do the things to insure the power of which I spoke."

"To grant me powers like your own?"

She smiled.

"Of course."

They mounted a stair and passed into a large entrance hall. There was more music, from somewhere off to the left. Reynar sniffed exotic perfumes.

"And this sorcerer… ?" he inquired.

"I don't care for the idea of having one of his sort about just now. His arrival is strangely timed."

Reynar smiled as she led him toward a stair.

"It may be that I can arrange the time of his departure to suit your taste," he said.

She patted his arm.

"Let us not be too hasty. We will dine with the man and take his measure shortly."

She led him up the stairway and into her chambers, where she rang for a servant. A woman resembling Andra, though taller and heavier, answered the summons.

"When," Oele asked her, "will dinner be ready?"

"As soon as you wish, ma'am. They are all dishes of a sooner or later sort. The meat has been turning slowly on a low flame for some time."

"We shall dine an hour hence. Ask the man to join us."

"Only the man, ma'am? Not his woman?"

"I did not realize that there were two of them. Say me their names."

"He is called Dilvish, and his lady is Reena."

"I've heard that name before," Reynar said. "Dilvish… It seemed familiar when the other one mentioned it out in the yard. A military man, perhaps?"

"I do not know," the woman answered.

"Of course you are to tell Reena also," Oele said. "Go and do it now."

The woman departed and Oele laid out her clothing for the evening—a surprisingly simple gray garment and a silver belt. She stepped behind a screen where water and towels awaited her, and shortly after that Reynar heard splashing sounds.

"What do you know of this man?" she finally called out.

Reynar, who had crossed to the window and was staring out over the yard, turned.

"I believe he is said to have distinguished himself at a place called Portaroy," he answered, "in those interminable East-West border wars. Something about his riding a metal horse and having raised an army of the dead. But I don't recall the details. I know nothing of the woman."

"He's a long way from Portaroy," she said. "I wonder what he is doing here?"

He moved to her dressing table where he combed his hair and cleaned his fingernails. He located a nondescript piece of cloth and began wiping his boots with it.

"Uh—if he is here for something which might be at cross-purposes with your own plans for tonight," he said, "can you deal with—something like that?"

"Do not worry yourself," she replied. "I am not without certain resources. I'll take care of you."

"I never doubted it," he said, smiling and polishing his belt buckle.

Reena had changed into a long, decollete green dress with black trim and puffed sleeves, Dilvish into a brown blouse and soft green leather vest, his black trousers belted with matching green. They heard the music from the dining hall as they descended the stair —strings and a flute, slow. Soon the cooking odors reached them.

"I'm anxious to meet our hostess," Dilvish stated.

"I must confess I am more anxious to make the acquaintance of a warm meal," Reena said. "How long since that last inn? Over a week…"

Smiling, Oele rose when her guests entered. Reynar hastened to imitate her. The introductions were brief, and she bade Dilvish and Reena be seated. Servants moved to bring in the first course and to pour wine. A fire crackled on the hearth, across from Dilvish, behind Reena. The musicians were stationed at the far end of the room.

They had been eating for several minutes before Dilvish realized that there was another diner, not in their company. At a small table at the far side of the fireplace sat an old man clad in skins, his staff leaning against the wall. It appeared to be the same man who had met them on the trail earlier. When their eyes met, he smiled and nodded. The man gestured toward his throat and Dilvish touched the charm inside his shirt and nodded back.

"I hadn't noticed the old man," Dilvish remarked.

"Oh, he's been by before," Oele said. "Keeps flocks. Passes this way occasionally. Reynar tells me that he believes he recalls your name in connection with a place called Portaroy. Did he get it right?"

Dilvish nodded.

"I fought there."

"I've begun remembering stories I've heard," Reynar said. "Is it true that the metal beast you ride is really a demon who helped you to escape from Hell and that one day he will carry you off?"

"He carries me off almost every day," said Dilvish, smiling, "and he has helped me in many ways—and I, him."

"… And there was some business about a statue. Is it true that you once were one—as the beast is now?"

Dilvish looked down at his hands.

"Yes," he said softly.

"Extraordinary," Oele remarked. "Might I ask what brings a man of your—background—so far from the scene of your triumphs?"

"Revenge," he said, beginning to eat again. "I am on my way to find someone who has caused me and a great number of other people a good deal of trouble."

"Who might that be?" Reynar asked.

"I do not wish to bring a curse upon this place by mentioning his name in it. He is a sorcerer."

"You seem to find yourself bad enemies," Reynar said. "We've that in common. I slew a sorcerer once, in the Eastern Isles. Damn near suffocated me before I could reach him. He'd stopped my breathing. Fortunately, I'd had some experience at pearl diving…"

Dilvish turned his attention back to his meal. A fresh question every now and then kept the sailor talking about his voyages. From the corner of his eye, Dilvish noted signs of growing exasperation on Oele's part, but she seemed to restrain herself each time he had thought her ready to silence the man. Then Dilvish realized from the direction of his smiles that Reena seemed to be listening to him with a growing fascination, even to the neglect of her food; nor were his smiles unreturned. Dilvish glanced at Oele and she quirked an eyebrow at him. He shrugged.

Suddenly everything about her was extremely beautiful and desirable. Far more so than moments before. He recognized the feeling, though the knowledge in no way detracted from the impression. Glamourie. He had felt it years before in his homeland. She was magically enhancing her natural appeal. Yet it lasted for but a moment, faded, and left her as she had been. What had been its purpose; he wondered. A promise? An invitation?

When they had finished eating, Oele rose, fixed him with her eyes, and said, "Come dance with me."

He got to his feet and moved alongside the table toward the vacant area at the end of the room near the musicians. As he did, he saw that Reena and Reynar were also rising.

He took Oele's hand and began to move to the music—stately, slow. It was a variation of something he had learned long ago, and he quickly met the rhythms. Oele moved with considerable grace, and whenever she faced him she was smiling. She seemed to be moving nearer on each such occasion.

"Your wife is very lovely," she said.

"She is not my wife," he replied. "I am escorting her to a city in the south."

"… And after that?"

"I will be about the business I mentioned earlier. I've no desire to expose another to the danger."

"Interesting," she said, turning away again. When next she faced him, she continued, "I gather you do not care to speak much about such things, but are you a binder of demons? Can you control them?"

Dilvish studied her face, learned nothing from it.

"Yes," he finally said. "I've some experience in the area."

After several more beats of the music, he asked, "Why?"

"If you were to succeed in binding a truly strong one to your will," she said, "might it not serve you well in this struggle with your sorcerer?"

"Possibly," he replied, raising her hand and lowering it again.

She brushed against him.

"It would be better," she said, "to control such a one than to have it control you, to order it about without having to pay it first—wouldn't you say?"

He nodded.

"That applies to most servants and services, doesn't it?" he said.

"Of course," she agreed. Then: "I have such a one about…"

"Here? In the castle?" Dilvish almost halted.

She shook her head.

"Nearby."

"And you want me to subdue it?"

"Yes."

"Do you know its name?"

"No. Is that important?"

"It is essential. I had assumed you knew something of these matters."

"Why?"

"There is that about you which bespeaks some involvement with such forces."

"I pay for my powers, but I do not understand them. I am tired of paying. If I get you the name will you take control of the devil and remain here with me?"

"… And Reena?"

"You said that she is not important, that you will be disposing of her shortly…"

"I did not say that she is not important. What of Reynar… ?"

"He is not important."

Dilvish was silent for several measures. Then: "If you merely wish to be rid of your demon, I might be able to manage it without the name," he said.

"I do not wish to be rid of it. I want to establish complete control over it."

"I am not at all sure your demon would be that beneficial to me, but if you had the name I might be persuaded to stay a little longer and see what I can do for you."

She was against him for a moment.

"I will enjoy persuading you," she said. "Perhaps even tomorrow."

Their hands rose and fell again. Dilvish glanced toward Reena and Reynar. They seemed to be talking, but he could not overhear what was being said.

As Reena rose from a curtsey in time to the music, she noted the direction of her partner's gaze and smiled.

"Ah, lady! You're about to pop out of that gown," he said. " 'Tis pity we're not alone somewhere, where the matter might be pursued to its proper conclusion."

"For how long have you known Oele?" Reena asked, still smiling.

"A few weeks."

"Men are hardly models of loyalty," she said. "But even so, it seems brief even for an infatuation."

"Well, now…" His face grew serious. He looked away from her breasts and glanced at Oele. "I've no reason to lie to a stranger. She's lovely and lively— but I'm just a bit afraid of her. You see, she's a sorceress."

"Nonsense," said Reena. "She did not respond to any of the recognition signs common in the profession when I made them to her."

"You?" he said, his eyes widening. "I don't believe it!"

She gestured and the room vanished. They danced through phosphorescent caverns, towering stalagmites standing like pillars all about. Moments later they swirled across pale sands on a green sea bottom, bright corals and brighter fish at every hand. This, too, passed in an instant, to be replaced by the star-strewn darkness of outer space, far from any habitation of men. Giantlike, godlike, they trod the constellations, silently, to the omnipresent measures of the dance. Her hand passed like a slow, flickering comet before his eyes. They were back in the firelit, candlelit hall again, continuing the dance, and not a step missed.

"I say that your lady is not a sorceress," Reena stated. "I really ought to know."

"Then what is she?" he asked. "I know she's certain powers to command. She's knocked men unconscious with a gesture. She's filled my fists with gold when there was no gold."

"That gold will turn to pebbles and dust," Reena said.

" 'Tis a good thing then that I spent it quickly," he replied. "I'd best avoid certain people next I pass that way. But if that isn't sorcery, what is?"

"Sorcery," she replied, "is an art. It requires considerable study and discipline. One must generally apply oneself for a fairly long period even to obtain the relatively modest status I have achieved. But there are some other routes to magical power. One might be born with a natural aptitude and be able to produce many of the effects without the training. This is mere wizardry, however, and sooner or later—unless one is very lucky or careful—such a one gets into trouble from lack of knowledge concerning the laws involved in the phenomena. I do not believe that this is the case with your lady, though. A wizard usually bears some identifying mark visible to others in the trade."

"What then is her secret?"

"She may draw her power directly from a magical being she either serves or controls."

Reynar's eyes widened and he looked toward Oele again. He licked his lips and nodded.

"I believe that's it," he said. Then: "Tell me, is such power transferable? Can it be shared?"

"Why, yes," she answered. "It could be done. The other would serve, also—or share control, as the case may be."

"Is there any danger in such a thing?"

"Well… possibly. There are too many things about the situation that I do not understand. But why would she want to share her power? I wouldn't."

He looked away.

"Perhaps I have too high an opinion of myself," he finally said. "How long will you be about?"

"We should be leaving in the morning."

"Where are you headed?"

"Southward."

"On your mission of vengeance?"

She shook her head.

"Not mine. His. I'll be starting a new life, perhaps in Tooma. He will be continuing on. I don't believe I can talk him out of it—or should if I could."

"In other words, you'll be going your own ways before very long?"

The right corner of her mouth tightened.

"It looks that way."

"Supposing," he said, "supposing we both just chucked everything and ran away together? I've my own ship, and it's south I'd be going if I were to be leaving suddenly. There are a lot of strange and interesting ports. There would be some excitement, new foods, dancing—and of course the good company of myself."

Reena was surprised to find herself blushing.

"But we've just met," she said. "I hardly know you at all. I—"

"It does work both ways, and I'll admit I'm an impulsive devil. But I've always been good to my women, for so long as we're together."

She laughed.

"It's a little too sudden, but thank you anyway. Besides," she said, "I'm more than a little afraid of the sea."

He shook his head.

"I had to try, as you're the loveliest thing I've ever seen. If you should change your mind while you're still in a position to do something about it, remember that I'm wavering here myself because of my fear. Your decision would make mine."

"I'm flattered," she said, "and it might be fun for a time, but no. You will have to make your own decision, for yourself."

"Then I've a mind to go along with things," he said, "and see what happens. The gain might still be great."

"I might guess at the things," said she, "and I wish you luck. When?"

He looked to the window, where a pale glow was now visible.

"The moon is rising," he replied.

"I'd suspected as much."

"How?"

"From your actions, your feelings."

"Well, is there any advice you might give me, seeing as you're familiar with these matters?"

She stared into his eyes.

"Run away," she said. "Go back to your ship, to the sea. Forget it."

"I've come this far," he answered.

She reached out and brushed her fingertips across his forehead as the music moved them nearer.

"Already the mark of death is beginning to appear upon your brow. Do as I say."

He smiled crookedly.

"You're a lovely lady, and mayhap a bit jealous of your skills—or fearful of what may happen should I gain a few myself. As I say, I've come this far, and I've a fair wind at my back. It's more to the setting of the sails I'd be concerned."

"In that case," she replied, "I can only give you a general caution: Be wary of what you may be presented to eat or drink."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

He smiled again.

"After a meal like this, that should be no problem. I'll be remembering you, and we may get together yet."

She blushed again and looked away.

Later, as the music drew to a close, he took her hand and led her back to the table for a sweet and a final round of wine.

When they had finished and were retiring, Dilvish felt a tugging at his sleeve as he followed the others from the hall. Turning, he saw that it was the old man who had sat by the fire.

"Good evening to you," Dilvish said.

"Good evening, sir. Tell me, are you going to be leaving now?"

Dilvish shook his head.

"We will be staying the night, leaving in the morning. Did you wish to travel with us?"

"No, merely to repeat my caution."

"What do you know that I don't?" Dilvish asked.

"I am not a philosopher, to answer such a thing," the man stated, taking hold of his staff, turning and limping off toward the kitchen.

… There was Jelerak, leaning above the sacrifice. Dilvish advanced upon him, blade in hand, kicking aside magical paraphernalia, cursing, rushing to the aid of the victim. Only… only now he was not rushing. He felt his limbs grow heavy, his movements slow. When he looked into the hate-filled eyes of the shadowy figure hovering before him, he looked past his own clenched fist, unnaturally whitened, grown stonelike in response to the clipped words that had summoned the forces that fell upon him like a torrent, constricting his insides, slowing his heartbeat… He swayed, he halted and grew numb—except for his spinal column, which seemed to be afire. Something was wrenching at his consciousness and a fault, gibbering voice reached him through a sound like a roaring wind. It felt as if he were being torn out of his body…

He was being shaken. He raised his hands and lowered them again. The panic began to recede as he realized that he was in bed.

"It's all right," Reena was saying. "A dream, a bad dream… It's all right."

"Yes," Dilvish finally said, rubbing his eyes. "Yes…"

He dropped his hands, patted her thigh.

"Thanks," he said. "Sorry to wake you."

"Go back to sleep," she answered.

"What is that?"

"What?"

"To the right," he said softly. "Look at the door."

There was a long pause, then: "I don't see it…"

"Neither do I."

He swung his feet to the floor, rose, and crossed the room. He halted near the place where the doorway should have been. He reached out and touched the wall, pressed upon it. He ran his fingertips along the stone. He moved from one corner to the other.

"It's not just a trick of the darkness," he said. "There is no door."

"Magic?" she said. "Or masonry?"

"I can't tell, and it doesn't matter," he replied. "Either way, we're prisoners. Get up and get dressed. Get your things together."

"Why?"

"Why? I'm going to try to get us out of here."

He moved across the room toward the narrow window.

"Wait! Are you certain it would be wise, even if you can find a way?"

"Yes," he replied. "When someone makes me a prisoner, I am certain that it is better not to remain one."

"But no attempt has been made to harm us—"

"Yet," he said. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

"It might be more dangerous outside than it is in here."

"Why do you say that?"

"Something is going on out there tonight. Something dangerous, I believe, from—hints—I got when I was talking with Reynar. I feel safe here. Why don't we just wait—until morning?"

"I will not be controlled," Dilvish stated, "if there is something I can do about it."

He leaned his head into the narrow window and shouted:

"Black! I need you! We're walled into this room! Come to me!"

There was movement within the well of shadow below and to his right. Moonlight touching its eyes to fire, the dark horse shape advanced several paces and halted. Abruptly it threw back its head and emitted a wailing note that caused Dilvish to draw away from the aperture.

"Black! What is it! What's the matter?" he cried.

"Just burned myself" came the reply. "Someone's encircled me. Can you break it from there?"

"I don't think so. Wait a minute."

He turned toward the bed.

"Someone's bound Black—" he began.

"I heard," she said. "I can't loosen it from here."

"All right."

He located his clothing and began dressing.

"What are you going to do?"

"It'll be a bit of a squeeze, but I believe I can get through that window."

"Those are flagstones down there."

He picked up a blanket and knotted it about the nearest bedpost.

"We've enough linen to get me far enough down to drop. Get the basin and soak it all. It's stronger that way. I don't think the bed can be moved, though… No, it won't budge."

He finished knotting the bedclothes together and slung his blade over his back. He raised the damp line and cast it out the window.

"All right. I'm going now," he said, kicking over a stool and mounting it. "Get ready. I'll be back for you shortly."

"But how—"

"Just do it."

He was already edging his way through the window. He had to pause to unsling his blade, holding it in one hand and the line in the other. He stopped, exhaled heavily, and resumed pushing himself to the left, slowly, feeling the stone grate across his backbone. Expelling more breath, he continued to slip sideways, his sternum also scraping slowly past the narrowest portion of the window. A cold night wind fell upon his face as he came free and reslung the blade over his back. Taking the line into both hands, he began his descent.

His Elfboots found purchase where others might have slipped. Leaning heavily, straining his arms, he backed down the wall. He paused to wipe his hands one by one as he descended, his weight wringing moisture from the taut cloth. He looked up once, looked down several times. The moon, climbing toward midheaven, cast a milky film upon the still courtyard beneath him and the grainy wall upon which he trod.

His intention when he reached the end of the line was to hang suspended at arm's length before dropping the remaining distance. However, his hands slipped free before he could achieve this position. As he tumbled backward, he felt his body jerked about, repositioned with respect to the ground, his charmed boots calling upon the forces necessary to assure his landing upon his feet.

He bent his knees. He threw himself forward into a roll as soon as he struck, his ankles still taking a heavy jolt upon the unyielding surface.

He rose quickly and buckled on his sword belt in a more traditional fashion, looking about, listening the while for any indications of approaching danger. Save for the wind and his own heavy breathing, however, he heard nothing. Nor did he see anything out of the ordinary.

He moved across the courtyard quickly and stood before Black.

"Who did it?" he asked.

"I don't know. I wasn't even aware that I was bound until I attempted to depart. Had I known what was going on, I certainly wouldn't have waited here for them to finish it. I can refresh you on the loosening procedure if you do not recall—"

"It takes too long," said Dilvish. "Since I can do a few things you can't, I'm simply going to break the circle and bring you out."

"It will be painful. It's a strong one."

Dilvish chuckled softly.

"Whatever, I've felt worse."

He moved forward, feeling first a tingling, then a fiery pain as he neared his mount. He paused for a moment in its midst and it rose to an agonizing peak, as if his entire body were burning inside and out, his head swimming. Then it began to subside. He reached out and touched Black with both hands.

"I've drained off the worst of it," he said, and he mounted. "Let's go!"

Black began to move. There was a tingling sensation, and then they were crossing the courtyard, heading toward the main entrance. Moments later they were through it.

"Up that stairway!" Dilvish said, and Black sprang forward, hooves clattering. "To the right and around when you reach the top. Then up the next stair."

Large standing candles flickered as they passed, tapestries flapped, hanging weapons chattered against stone walls.

"Turn right here"—at the top of the second stair. "Turn again—right. Slow now… Near the middle of the corridor. Hold it!"

Dilvish slid down and approached the wall, placing his hands flat upon it.

"It was here," he said. "Right about here—the door. Reena!"

"Yes"—faintly—from beyond the wall.

"I don't know what they did with it," Dilvish said. "But we need another one."

"I've a feeling," Black said slowly, "that the original one is still there, somewhere—that you were trapped by an illusion. But it is only a feeling, and I can't detect it either now. So we will start from scratch, so to speak."

Black reared, casting a giant shadow. As he did, there followed the first silence since they had entered the building. Through it, beyond it, Dilvish thought that he heard voices and footsteps, coming from the vicinity of the stair. No one was in sight, however, and moments later the nearer silence was shattered as Black's forelegs descended to strike against the wall.

Dilvish drew back as chips of stone flew about the hallway. Already Black was rearing again. His second blow struck sparks from the stone. The third time that he lunged a crack appeared within the wall.

A group of servants entered the corridor, clubs in their hands. They halted as Black rose up and struck again.

The woman, Andra, moved forward, calling to him.

"You said that the metal beast would not move!" she cried.

"… And I meant it—until I was made a prisoner," he answered.

Black crashed against the wall once again. Stone shattered and fell away. A head-sized hole appeared.

After several moments' hesitation, the servants— four men and two women—began to advance. Dilvish drew his blade. Black's next assault upon the wall tripled the size of the opening.

Dilvish moved toward the approaching servants. He lowered the point of his blade and drew it across the floor.

"I'll dismember the first person who crosses that line," he stated.

From behind him there came another crash and the sound of more falling masonry.

The advancing figures hesitated, halted. Black's next blow seemed to cause the entire castle to shudder.

"I'm through," he said simply, backing away from the opening.

"Reena?" Dilvish inquired, not moving his eyes from his muttering adversaries.

"Yes." Her voice was clear and near.

"Mount," he said. "We're getting out of here."

"Yes."

Dilvish heard the movements behind him. Then Black's shadow slid forward. He glanced up, mounted quickly behind Reena.

"Better get out of the way!" he announced. "We're coming through!"

He brandished his blade.

"Take us away," he said to Black, and they began to move forward.

The six figures pressed back against the wall to let them pass. They held their weapons at ready but made no attempt to use them as Black went by. They stared without expression and glanced back along the dust-filled hallway. Dilvish looked back, also, as Black made the first turn toward the stair. The doorway had reappeared, about two feet beyond the new opening in the wall.

Moments later they were moving down the stair. Nothing barred their way. They left the keep to find the courtyard still deserted. Crossing it, they saw that the portcullis was raised.

"Strange…" Dilvish remarked, gesturing.

"Perhaps," Reena said, as Black increased his pace and they rushed through. "I have your cloak here…"

"Hang onto it till we're farther away. Black, when you hit yesterday's trail, go left."

"The horses…" Reena said. "The other things…"

"I'm not about to go back for them."

Black began to climb, beneath a high moon. The cold winds caught at them as they passed, and at a great distance some creature barked, howled, and grew still. Reena looked back once at the castle, shuddered, then rested in the circle of Dilvish's arms.

"You are going to die, you know," she said. "He is going to kill you. You haven't a chance."

"Who?" he said.

"Jelerak. There is no way you will ever be able to destroy someone like that."

"Quite possible," Dilvish said, "but I have to try."

"Why?"

"He has done a lot of harm and he will do more unless someone stops him."

They reached the trail and Black bore them to the left, still mounting.

"There has always been evil in the world and there always will be. Why should you take it upon yourself to purge it?"

"Because I have seen his at closer range than most who live."

"And I am another who has. But I know that there is nothing I can do about it."

"We differ," he replied.

"I do not believe that it is a desire to do the world a good turn that drives you. It is hate and revenge."

"There is that, too."

"Only that, I think."

Dilvish was silent for a time. Then: "You could be right," he said. "I like to think that there is more to it than that. But I suppose that you could be right."

"It will warp you and ruin you, even if he does not destroy you. Perhaps it already has."

"I need it for now. It serves me. It gives me an edge. When its object has been removed, it will go, too."

"In the meantime, it leaves small room for anything else—like love."

Dilvish straightened slightly.

"I've room for many other feelings, only they must be subordinated for now."

"If I asked you to stay with me, would you?"

"For a time, I think."

"But only for a time?"

"That is all anyone can really promise."

"Supposing I asked you to take me with you?"

"I'd say no."

"Why? I could be of some help."

"I would not risk you. As I said, I've room for other feelings."

She rested her head upon his biceps for a moment.

"Here's your cloak," she finally said. "It's cold. We must be far enough away…"

"Hold it, Black. Stay a minute."

They began to slow.

He had watched Oele dance for Devil with a growing feeling of panic, there before the dark heap of stones with the silver dagger atop it, cup clutched in his hand, seeing the bright design occur on the ground about her, feeling the cold wind.

"Drink it all," she had told him. "It is a part of the ritual."

Reena's words came back to him as he looked down into the steaming cup. He had raised it and pretended to sip as Oele spun away into her dance. He had sniffed. It looked like mulled wine, but there was a peculiar odor to it. He had touched the moist rim with his tongue and known a bitter taste. When Oele was faced in his direction, he threw back his head and raised the cup as if he were draining it. When Oele faced away, he dashed it over his shoulder into the darkness.

Scheming bitch! he thought. She's not about to give you anything. My lovely Reena was right. I'd wager you're the sacrifice for something she wants. Let's just play at getting sleepy and see what happens next. Bitch!

He placed the cup on the ground and leaned upon the altar, watching the bright design become more elaborate. It was almost hypnotic, the way that she moved. Another man might have bolted and run, having reached the same conclusion as Reynar, but he had been sufficient to every occasion that brought him danger in the course of a very active life. He smiled as he watched Oele's form flowing beneath her light gray garment, remembering to yawn whenever she turned in his direction. Sad… He'd liked her more than most.

Then the panic had begun. A chill, out of all proportion with the wind and the night, crept across his neck, his shoulders. It was as if someone were standing right behind him, regarding him intently. He judged that he might be able to snatch up the dagger as he turned and defend himself adequately, keeping the altar between himself and his abrupt companion. Yet… He had never before felt himself an object of scrutiny with such intense accompaniments. The mere regard of a stranger had never caused a tingling in the hands, a tightening of the stomach, an absolute certainty of presence. Weakness invaded his limbs as he tried to tear his gaze from Oele's concluding movements to turn and consider the visitor.

You seek to defraud the priestess, came words like drops of blood into his mind, and by so doing, you would cheat me.

Who are you? he asked within himself, toward the other.

That you shall never know.

He leaned heavily upon the altar, using all of his strength to turn partway toward the presence, the edge of something absolutely black coming into his field of vision. A force seeming to emanate from it clamped down upon him with even greater firmness then, keeping him from turning any farther. He knew that he could never reach the dagger on the stone— and even if he could, that it would be of small avail against the thing that held him.

He slumped, as if totally drained, his left hand catching at the edge of the stone, his right falling loosely along his side. As he leaned farther forward, he saw that Oele was slowing, that what might be the final steps of the figures were bringing her closer to him. The moon, he had noted, was now almost directly overhead. He still felt the presence beyond the altar, but now its attention seemed nowhere near as intense as it had been moments before. He wondered whether it was communicating with Oele.

As he leaned just a little more, he kept his eyes focused upon her approaching form. Finally she halted, only a few paces away. The dance was finished. He had let his eyelids droop, his breathing deepen. But she was paying him no heed. Her attention appeared to be devoted to something beyond him.

He waited, wondering just how subdued he might really be, afraid to test it. The earlier panic had passed, to be replaced by the controlled tension, the heightened alertness that always came upon him at times of crisis.

Oele seemed to be speaking, though he could not hear the words, and then pausing as if listening, though he could not hear any replies. Finally she moved, passing before him with barely a glance, reaching out, taking up the dagger from the stony surface.

Then she turned toward him, her left hand moving as if to catch hold of his hair.

"Bitch!" he hissed, his right hand drawing the knife from his boot sheath and thrusting it forward and upward as he straightened, even as he felt the chilling power from behind the altar striving to control him once again.

The expression upon Oele's face was one of surprise. Her cry was brief and she slumped almost instantly, the sacrificial dagger slipping from her fingers.

He caught her as she fell, turned and cast her body back atop the altar.

"Here's your blood!" he snarled. "Take it and be damned with you!"

He held the knife before him and took a step backward, expecting a supernatural retaliation at any moment It did not follow. The dark presence remained beyond the form of his bleeding lover and he felt its scrutiny, but it made no effort to control him or to strike at him.

Finding that his strength was with him once more, he took another step backward and began glancing about him, seeking the safest avenue of flight.

"Sailor, sailor" came that voice which now seemed audible across the windy night. "Where are you going?"

"Away from this damned place!" he answered.

"Why did you come?"

He gestured with his blade.

"She'd promised me powers like her own."

"Then why do you flee?"

"She lied."

"But I do not. You can still have them."

"How? Why? What do you mean?"

"Two routes lie before me, and I am more loathe to give up this world than I had realized. I am not entirely pleased by this, but that is the case. Look back upon the castle from which you have come. It is yours if you want it, and everything in it. Or, if you bid me, it will vanish in the next instant, and I will raise you another place of your own desire—or not, as you would. You may have what she had—anything you want that I can give you—for I find myself in need of you."

"In what way?"

"She was my link to this plane of existence. I require a worshipper here in order to focus my energies in this world. She was the last. Now my presence will weaken here until I must retire to the places of the Old Ones. Unless I find a new worshipper."

"Me?"

"Yes. Serve me and I will serve you."

"… And if I say 'no'?"

There was a pause. Then: "I will not try to stop you. Perhaps I was actually finished with this place a long while ago and cling now only because of certain perceptions it affords me. I will not try to stop you."

Reynar laughed.

"Now, with so many things I'm wanting, I'd be a fool to turn down your offer, wouldn't I? You've just acquired an acolyte, a priest, a devotee—or whatever it takes. What say you grant me whatever powers the homicidal lady possessed and give me some quick instruction in the articles of the faith. There's a little filly I'd be riding before the night is through."

"Then put aside your weapon, sailor, and approach the altar…"

Dismounted, Dilvish and Reena were donning warmer clothing when Dilvish saw a figure approaching down the slope of a low hill ahead and to his right.

"Someone coming," he said to Reena, who immediately looked back in the direction of the castle.

"No. From over there," he said, gesturing. "We'd best be moving along."

He finished tying the parcel of their belongings and moved to help Reena to mount.

"Ho! Dilvish!" came a cry from the advancing figure. "Reena!"

They hesitated, staring through the night. Then the moonlight touched the approaching form.

"Wait up a bit! We've something to discuss!"

Black turned his head.

"I don't like this," he said. "Let's go."

Dilvish moved around him.

"I'm not afraid of Reynar," he answered.

For a moment he watched the man striding down the slope.

"What is it?" he called then. "What do you want?"

Reynar halted, perhaps twenty paces away.

"Want? Just the girl. Just Reena," he answered. "Unless you want to try being a statue again. We have an understanding."

Dilvish looked back.

"Is that true?" he asked.

"No—yes—no…" she answered.

"We seem to have a little confusion on this end," Dilvish called to Reynar. "I don't understand the situation."

"Ask her to tell you what happened to the door," the other said.

Dilvish looked again. Reena looked away.

"Well… ?" he said. "I'd like to know."

"It was my doing," she finally stated. "One of my better spells. To everyone else, the door had vanished. I could have walked out through it."

"Why? And how did he know about it?"

"Well… I told him that that was what I was going to do. In fact, I had just finished laying the spell when you awoke. That kept me from doing the second one."

"Second one? Of what sort?"

"A sleep spell. To keep you there while I did whatever I decided to do."

"I'm afraid I'm still lost. What were you deciding?"

"To run away with me," Reynar shouted down. "To teach me to use my new powers properly."

"Then I'm in the way," Dilvish said. "Why didn't you just tell me? I have no claim on you. I—"

"I said that I was deciding!" she almost snarled. "It would have been so easy if you had just stayed asleep!"

"Next time I'll know better."

"But I did decide! None of this should even have come up. I don't want to go with him. I want to continue as we were."

Dilvish smiled.

"Then there is no problem. Sorry, Reynar. The lady has made her choice. Let's go, Reena."

"Wait," Reynar said softly. "The decision, you see, is mine."

Dilvish looked to see a bright spark appear in the air high above the hilltop. It raced toward Reynar's extended right hand, growing as it approached. When it arrived, he held a cold blue ball of light that he drew back beyond his shoulder.

"You," he said to Dilvish, "have became extra baggage."

The globe flew from his hand. Dilvish attempted to dodge it, but it curved to follow him. It struck him full upon the breast, rebounded, and hit the ground some eight feet before him and to the left, where it exploded into a brilliant fountain of sparks, leaving a smoking hole in the earth.

Dilvish rushed forward. Reynar raised both hands and began gesturing with them.

Dilvish felt as if he were barely missing being buffeted. It was as if a series of gusts of gale force wind were breaking all about him, passing… He continued on up the slope, now able to make out the puzzled expression on the sailor's face.

"Devil lied to me," he said. "You should have been dead by now."

Dilvish's eyes went past him, to the low outline of the altar, Oele's body atop it, small and pale in the moonlight.

"Black!" he cried, as he began to understand. "Destroy that altar up ahead!"

Moments later he heard the sound of metal hooves. Reynar spun, pointing, and a line of flame raced from his extended finger, striking Black upon the left shoulder as he passed them by. The area reddened. But Black continued on his course without slowing, nothing in his movements even indicating an awareness of the effect.

Reynar spun to face Dilvish, stooping to rise with his blade in his hand.

"If the magic won't take you," he said, "here's something better."

Dilvish's own blade, four times the length of the other's, sighed into his hand. He moved forward to engage the other.

Reynar's fingers twitched, and his left hand described a sweeping gesture.

The blade was torn free of Dilvish's grip, spinning high into the air where it passed from sight.

"So it's only your person that is proof against the power," Reynar announced as he lunged.

Dilvish raised his cloak before him, twisting his left arm within it as he did so. The blade tore through the fabric a foot below his forearm. He pushed forward and downward as this occurred, at the same time drawing his own knife with his right hand and thrusting across with it.

Reynar recovered quickly, disengaging his own weapon, as Dilvish's blade struck his shoulder and ground on bone before it withdrew again. Crouching low then, they moved to circle one another. Reynar's left hand made a quick sweeping movement, and again Dilvish felt as if a mighty wind had passed him, though only the trailing corner of his cloak was taken by it. He felt a warmth upon his breast, and something caught at the bottom of his vision.

For an instant he glanced downward. There, where it had come free of his shirt, the charm the old man had given him was glowing faintly. He shook the cloak as Reynar thrust again, baffling the blade and riposting immediately, though he slashed only air, for the sailor had retreated nimbly. In the distance he heard the first crashing blow as Black struck at the altar.

Reynar's eyes had widened the moment they had rested upon the glowing amulet, as if some suspicion had at that instant been born. They were narrowed now, however, as he moved rapidly, almost too rapidly, to Dilvish's left. Dilvish half anticipated the stumble and quick recovery that followed. When that left hand moved again, it was not magic but a handful of dirt that was cast toward his face.

Loathe to lower the cloak, Dilvish shielded his eyes with his right forearm and twisted to the side, knowing that an attack would follow immediately. Reynar's knife grazed across his ribs on the left side. Hand still high, unable to gain a thrusting position in time, he brought the pommel of his weapon down upon the shoulder he had cut earlier. He heard a sharp intake of breath from the other and attempted to grapple with him. But Reynar pushed him away and danced back, tossing the blade from his right hand to his left, springing forward and slashing with it.

Dilvish felt the cut across the back of his hand as he heard Black strike at the altar stones again. He riposted, but Reynar was already out of range. Both their glances were momentarily drawn by a faint reddish light upon the hilltop, haloing Black and the altar.

Reynar raised his right hand, pointing at Dilvish as he had at Black earlier. The flame leaped toward his breast, struck in the vicinity of the glowing amulet, and veered away as if reflected from a mirror. Reynar immediately followed this with another attack with his blade.

He rushed and came in low. Dilvish struck the blade down. Reynar straightened suddenly then and his right hand shot forward, seizing the charm and jerking hard upon it.

The strand parted and Reynar retreated, bearing it away with him.

Above them the red glow brightened as Black reared once more, very slowly, as if struggling against some opposing force.

"Now let's see how you fare!" Reynar cried, and the fires danced at his fingertips, spread, and coalesced into a sword of flame.

As he stepped forward, the light flickered and died on the hilltop to the accompaniment of a shattering sound. Rocks bounced past them as Dilvish retreated, flapping his cloak, his own blade held low.

Reynar's attack cut a large rent in the material. Dilvish continued to retreat, and as the other brandished the blazing weapon it began to fade, flickering once—twice—and was gone.

'The story of my life," Reynar remarked, shaking his head, "The good things always seem to melt away."

"Let's just call the damned thing off," Dilvish said. "Your power is broken."

"Perhaps you're right," Reynar answered, lowering his remaining blade and taking a step forward.

He was standing uphill of Dilvish, and suddenly he dropped, sliding downward, his left foot hooking behind the heel of Dilvish's extended right leg, his right foot striking Dilvish below the kneecap, straightening, pushing.

As Dilvish toppled backward, Reynar was already recovering. He sprang forward as soon as he had, blade upraised, casting himself down toward the other's supine form.

Dilvish shook his head clear as Reynar launched himself, rolled once, and twisted. He blocked with his right arm as he moved his left into position. He felt Reynar stiffen as he struck the ground beside him, impaling himself upon the blade Dilvish had transferred. He held off Reynar's knife hand until the strength went out of it. Then he rose to one knee and turned the man over onto his back.

The sailor's face twisted in the moonlight.

"Leaping and not looking again…" he muttered. "It's finally caught up with me… Ow! that smarts! Don't be pulling it out—till after I'm gone, will you?"

Dilvish shook his head.

"—sorry I ever met her!"

Dilvish did not ask to whom he referred.

"I don't know—why he should have given me the power—you the protection…"

"I met a man not too long ago," Dilvish replied, "who was possessed of two very different minds in the one body. And I've heard of others. If it can be so with a man, then why not a god?"

"Devil," Reynar stated.

"Perhaps the distinction between the two is not so sharp as men would think—especially when times grow hard. I knew this place long ago. It was different."

"The devil with them all, Dilvish the damned! The devil with them all!"

Something went out of him and Reynar slumped, his face finally loosening.

Dilvish withdrew his blade and cleaned it. Only then did he look up at Black, who had approached noiselessly and stood watching. Reena stood farther away, weeping.

"Your sword fell over there," Black said, turning his head back and to his right. "I passed it on the way down."

"Thanks," said Dilvish, rising.

"… And the castle is gone. I noticed that on the way down, too."

Dilvish turned and stared.

"I wonder what became of our horses?"

"They are wandering below. I can fetch them."

"Do it, then."

Black turned and moved off.

Dilvish walked over to Reena.

"Can't dig here," he said. "I'll have to use rocks."

Reena nodded. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"You couldn't have foreseen all this."

"I saw more than I realized," she said. "I wish now I'd realized more—or seen less."

She turned away and his hand slipped from her shoulder. He went to fetch the other blade.

They had traveled this night until they came to a rocky bay free of the winds, near to the edge of the snowline, just above the point where the trail began its downward twisting toward the plains and springtime. There they sheltered and slept, the horses roped in at the rear of the windbreak behind them, Black as still as a piece of the landscape farther ahead.

Dilvish stirred from his sleep as the sky grew pink in the east. His wounds throbbing dully, he sat up and drew on his boots. Neither Reena nor Black stirred as he passed, heading toward the skin-clad figure with the staff at the right of the trail.

"Good morning," he said softly.

The old man nodded.

"I want to thank you for the charm. It saved my life."

"I know."

"Why did you do it?"

"You once made an offering to Taksh'mael."

"That is so important?"

"You are the last to remember his name."

"Don't you count?"

"I cannot qualify as a worshipper, save in the most narcissistic sense."

Dilvish looked at him once again. The figure seemed taller, nobler, and there was that in his eyes which caused him to look instantly away—a sense of unearthly depth, a power.

"I am going now," he continued. "It was not easy to free myself from this place. Come, walk with me a way."

He turned and moved upward without looking back. Dilvish followed him toward the fringes of the snow, his breath steaming before him.

"Is it a good place to which you go?"

"I like to think so. I heard you earlier. It is true that anyone can be of—two minds. Now I am of but one, and I owe you thanks for that."

Dilvish blew upon his hands and rubbed them together as the landscape grew white about them.

"At the moment, I am possessed of more power than I need. Is there anything I can give you?"

"Could you give me the life of a sorcerer named Jelerak?"

Ahead, he saw the other's stride falter for a moment.

Then: "No" came the reply. "I do know of this one, but what you ask would be no easy thing. It would take more than I have to give. He is not easily dealt with."

"I know. It is said that he is the best."

"Yet there exists at least one who might destroy him on his own terms."

"And who might that be?"

"The one of whom you spoke earlier. Ridley is his name."

"Ridley is dead."

"No. Jelerak defeated him but had not the strength to destroy him. So he imprisoned him beneath the fallen Tower of Ice, whence he planned to return when he regained his strength, there to finish the work."

"That doesn't sound too promising."

"But he cannot do it."

"Why not?"

"Their conflict drew the attention of the greatest sorcerers in the world. For ages have they sought a weapon against Jelerak. When he departed without succeeding in destroying his enemy, they combined their forces to lay a magical barrier about the broken tower, a barrier not even Jelerak can penetrate. Now they have their surety. If he ever presses them too hard, they can threaten to lift it, to release Ridley."

"And Ridley would destroy him the next tune?"

"I do not know. But he would have more of a chance than most."

"Could I release Ridley, unaided?"

"I doubt it."

"Could you do it?"

"I fear that I must be going now. Sorry."

He gestured toward the east where the sun was beginning its ascent. Dilvish looked in that direction, to where it parted the clouds like scarlet curtains. When he looked back, the other was far above him, climbing with an amazing speed and agility across the sparkling snowface. Even as Dilvish watched, he rounded a rocky shoulder and passed out of sight.

"Wait!" he cried. "I've more things to ask you!"

Ignoring his assorted pains, Dilvish began to climb, following the other's trail. Before long he noticed that the rough prints grew farther and farther apart, yet paradoxically were shallower and shallower, until, rounding the shoulder, he found only one, very faint. The following afternoon, they rode out of the mountains. He did not tell Reena about Ridley.

In the high place, when the moon is full, the witch-fires rise and the ghost of the girl Oele dances before the shattered altar, though no Devil comes, but sometimes there is the form of another watching from the shadows. When the final stone is fallen, he would bear her off to the sea.