FALLTHRU

Paul H. Deal

Copyright 2003 by Paul H. Deal

This is a work of fiction. All places, names, characters, and incidents are the
author's imaginary creations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
places, events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted, or

used in any manner without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Table of Contents
PART ONE: FALAND
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
PART TWO: THE PARTNERSHIP
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PART THREE: THE QUEST
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PART FOUR: THE EMERALD OF THUN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY
PART FIVE: NORTH FORTRESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
PART SIX: SHENDUN'S EGG
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
PART SEVEN: MORDAT'S CASTLE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
PART EIGHT: THE HUNDRED RUBIES
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
PART NINE: HOLE-IN-THE-WALL
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
PART TEN: THE TOWERS OF EYRIE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
PART ELEVEN: AROON
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CHAPTER SIXTY
PART TWELVE: DARC'UN
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
PART THIRTEEN: THE BEGINNING
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

PART ONE: FALAND

CHAPTER ONE

Sunlight touched Martin's face and though his eyes were closed the
brightness caused his eyelids to twitch. He turned his head aside, mumbling
softly as an appealing kaleidoscope of leafy images drifted through his mind.
The euphoria of sleep still claimed him, and he fought waking. But it was a
losing fight, and at last he blinked his eyes open. He rubbed his hand across his
stubbled cheeks and tried to focus.
What?
Above him he saw rough-hewn planks, but still clouded by sleep, his mind
could not make sense of the scene.
Something's wrong!
He came more fully alert. "Where am I?"
He sat bolt upright. A thin blanket slid from his shoulders, leaving his
upper body bare. His heart began hammering. "Hello! Isn't this the hospital?"
The vigor of his voice startled him, and he shook his head. "This isn't the
hospital! How did I get here? Am I dreaming?"
He looked anxiously around. But the scene was so warm and friendly he
relaxed and the flutter slowly left his chest. "Must be a dream, but definitely
the strangest I've ever had. It feels exactly as if I'm awake, yet I can't be."
He looked at his bony chest and his frown deepened. It was thin, thinner
than it had been since he outgrew the gawkiness of his teen years, nearly three
decades before, but his skin looked healthy. What had happened to the raw bed
sores that had made movement so painful?
When he stroked the coarse sheet stretched tightly over the mattress on
which he was sitting, he shuddered. Even the thought of such rough cloth
against his blasted flesh made him wince, yet he felt no pain.
It is a dream. It must be. I'm probably delirious from chemotherapy.
The narrow mattress felt firm but yielding beneath his buttocks. A soft gray,
tautly woven blanket was draped over his feet and slumped around his waist.
The bed extended part way along one side of a small room, the walls of which,
like the ceiling, were of rough-hewn wooden planks. Puzzled, he moved his
fingers across the coarse wood grain, then shrugged. "Okay, so I'm dreaming. I

might as well go with it. At least I feel great. I haven't had such a good dream
in a long time."
Beyond the foot of the bed, he saw sunlight entering through a window of
four glass panes. Yellow light touched the rough walls and made the room
seem to glow. He turned his head and drew in a quick breath. Another bed, like
his, was ranged along the opposite wall. In it someone was sleeping, wadded
almost entirely beneath the covers, with only a shock of black hair protruding.
"Who's that? Someone I know?" His mind raced. "I'm supposed to have a
private room." Then he laughed. "This is a dream. Anything can happen in a
dream."
Briefly, he considered waking the sleeping figure but decided not to act too
hastily. Looking beyond the head of both beds, he noted a small wooden table,
two wooden chairs, and against the wall near the table, a cabinet, also made of
wood. The more he looked, the more delighted he became. He could not
remember a previous dream with such detail.
What looked like a lantern, of unfamiliar design, hung from the ceiling over
the table. Beyond the table, he saw a closed door and discovered a second
door, slightly ajar, just beyond the foot of his unknown companion's bed.
When he started to rise, he realized he was entirely naked beneath the thin
cover. Hastily, he pulled the blanket up and felt the cloth brush softly against
his bare skin. His head spun. He felt disjoined, as though there were two of
him, one awake and one still sleeping. His senses told him he was awake, in a
real world, feeling and acting, but his mind said it was impossible.
"Is this truly a dream?"
Martin remembered that he had gone to bed in the hospital. His heart
thumped when he recalled the reason; I've got cancer and I'm supposed to
have chemo today.
His brow wrinkled, and he sat thinking for a long moment, trying to sort
things out, but could not make sense of it. Cautiously, he swung his feet over
the edge of the bed, drawing the blanket around his unclothed body. A glance
told him his roommate was still asleep. Gingerly, he slid to his feet. The feel of
the raw wood on his bare soles felt oddly good.
He glanced down at his five-foot ten frame. My ribs stick out, but I feel
better than I have for years.
Tentatively, he took a few steps, then brushed a hand over his face. Where
are my glasses? I can't see diddly without my glasses. Yet, he could see, and
everything seemed more sharply clear than he remembered. What's that

hanging over my bed? Clothing, perhaps?

He moved toward the odd object, leaned and unhooked a cloth and leather
apparatus. When he unfurled the structure, two folded leather moccasins fell to
the bed along with a roll of soft, woven cloth. In his hand remained what
looked like a garment fitted with a sturdy belt.
It must be meant for me, but how is it worn?
With sudden intuition, he wrapped the cloth strip around his loins, then
buckled the leather apparatus over it. The cloth served as an undergarment
while the leather girded his waist and formed a secure loin-covering. "Strange,
but neat." With his fingers he explored several pouches attached to the
encircling belt and found them all empty.
A soft moan interrupted him. Turning, he saw the stranger roll over and
fling back the coverlet. His brows rose in surprise. A child?
Padding to the bed, he looked into the sleeping face of a young boy,
probably less than a dozen years old. His face was small, white like his own.
A mop of black hair fell back from his forehead and straggled onto the
mattress. Martin took in the bony shoulders where the cover had fallen away.
Skinny like me.
The boy's soft, even breathing told Martin that he was still soundly asleep.
Above his bed hung another of the cloth and leather garments, but smaller.
Must be intended for this kid.
Then Martin noticed again the slightly open door at the foot of the boy's
bed. A push swung the door silently on metal hinges. It opened into a small
adjoining room.
"Bathroom," he murmured and suddenly realized how badly he needed to
relieve himself. He entered the room and pushed the door shut. Below a
narrow window was a low wooden stand on which rested a copper or brass
basin. Next to the basin, a small wooden box held a stack of thin paper sheets,
apparently toilet tissue. Beside the box was a closed metal canister. A spigot
protruded from one wall, and under the spigot was a toilet with a wooden seat
and hinged cover. He raised the cover and sent his stream into the opening
where it tatted against a metal liner and dropped into emptiness. When he
manipulated the spigot, water shot from the tap into the metal toilet bowl and
rinsed its interior.
He grinned, "Crude, but effective."
Above the basin was a roughly fashioned wooden cabinet, its door secured
by a toggle. When he released the toggle, the door swung open to reveal, on its

back, a brass-colored mirror. The sight of his own face astonished him. He
scarcely recognized his bright blue eyes and coarse, sandy hair. His face
glowed with unaccustomed health.
Have I grown younger?
His recognizable, yet unfamiliar countenance, did not seem to show the
signs of his nearly fifty years as strongly as it had the night before, in spite of a
slight stubble of beard.
Inside the cabinet, he found two small glass cups, a pair of objects with
straight, wooden handles that looked like tooth brushes, two combs with brass
teeth, and a wood-handled, blunt knife with a blade made of an opalescent
material, reminiscent of mother-of-pearl.
"Wow, very sharp!" Martin grimaced at the drop of blood on his testing
finger. "Is this, perhaps, a razor?" He looked into the mirror and his grin
broadened. "I guess I can give it a try."
Reflected in the mirror, he saw several small pieces of cloth hanging on a
rack behind him and surmised that they were towels. "Everything I need."
By now feeling quite cheerful, and not disposed to question too closely
why he was where he was, he picked up the metal basin and filled it with
water from the tap. In the canister he discovered a creamy paste that, when
wetted, worked into good lather. He washed, then soaped his beard and raised
the pearl-bladed razor to his face. Being unpracticed with a straight blade, he
suffered many small nicks, which he blotted with tissue.
When he returned to the main room, he noticed the sun's light no longer
struck the ceiling but extended in a long slant across the floor. East. The
window faces east and it's just past sunrise.
His pulse quickened when he glanced out the window. Below was a large,
roof-top courtyard surrounded by a broad wall about three feet high. Beyond
the wall, he saw the tips of a high wooden palisade and beyond that, stretching
to great distance, a green countryside accented with giant trees whose vast,
spreading crowns lifted rounded domes of leaves high above the rolling plain.
Sunlight spread over the plain like a golden sea, shining through translucent
leaves, building a halo of green phosphorescence around field and trees.
"Oh my Lord! I must have died and gone to heaven!" He turned with such
haste that he nearly fell over the foot of his bed. Trembling, he rushed to the
boy's bed and almost grabbed the sleeping child. He wanted to shout and dance
and share the glory of his discovery. Yet something stayed his hand, and fear,
coming as quickly as joy, replaced the rush of exhilaration. Slowly, he backed

across the room, sat down on the edge of his bed and forced his breathing to
slow.
This absolutely can not be real, yet it is no ordinary dream. Uncertainty
caused his fear to grow. But, if it's not real, what have I got to fear? And, if it
is real there must be an explanation.
Rationalization calmed him and he decided for the moment to accept the
illusion without trying to understand it. He glanced again at the bed and saw
the moccasins still lying there. They were soft and pliant, high-topped and
looked about the right size to fit him. Tentatively, he pulled one on and found it,
like the leather loin-covering, a perfect fit. When he had both moccasins on and
laced, he stood and looked down at himself, marveling. I look like something
out of a sword and sorcery novel, lacking only the sword.
Tentatively, he approached the closed door at the head of the room. A
cautious shove opened it. It was the egress from his quarters, and with his heart
in his throat, he stepped into a long hall with walls of gnarled wood. At each
end of the hall, light entered through a glazed window. At the north end a
passage turned west. Three more doors, like the one through which he had just
exited, led off the hall. All were closed, and he considered knocking at one.
Instead he made his way north and entered the west passage. Warily he
descended a flight of wooden steps to a small landing. Stairs continued
downward. A closed door led farther west, and an open passage went east,
beneath the upper rooms. Following the east passage, he emerged onto the
roof-top courtyard he had seen from his room.
A feeling of wonderful peacefulness came over him, and he felt his whole
body relax. Beyond the elevated courtyard, he saw rolling green fields and
wild-flower dotted meadows, great trees and brilliant sunshine and a sky so
blue it made him want to sing. Dozens of multi-colored birds soared over the
fields, filling the air with splendid music. "Please don't let me wake up," he
whispered.
As he crossed the yard, fine gravel crunched under his moccasins. He
filled his lungs with clean, cool air, scented with flowers. A slight breeze
tousled his hair. At the far side of the courtyard, he leaned on the broad railing
and looked down into a narrow alley that separated the building, upon which
he was standing, from a log palisade that reached upward nearly level with the
courtyard wall. The palisade reminded Martin of the walls that were
sometimes built around eighteenth-century frontier fortresses. He glanced back
and studied the upper stories of the huge log structure. A flicker of motion at an

upper window caught his attention.

"The boy must be awake!" Excited at the prospect of someone to talk with,
he hastily retraced his steps. When he entered his room, he saw the youngster
sitting up, wrapped in a blanket. "Don't be afraid," he said quickly. "I share this
room with you."
"I'm not afraid. I saw you out there." The boy nodded toward the window.
"I guessed you must be the somebody that used the other bunk."
"Good guess," Martin extended his hand. "My name's Martin."
"I'm Jason," the boy poked a thin arm out of the blanket.
"Pleased to meet you," Martin said formally.
"Why are you dressed so crazy?"
"Oh, this," Martin laughed and felt suddenly self-conscious. "It's all I could
find. There's something like it hanging over your bed. Didn't seem to be any
real clothes here."
Jason glanced at the rigging and grimaced.
"I can help you with it if you want." Martin lifted the garment from its
hanger and shook out the moccasins.
Jason hesitated.
Martin quickly said, "Look, I'll show you how it works, then I can go in the
other room while you put it on."
"Naw, it's okay," Jason slid off the bed and wadded the blanket on top of
the mattress. Martin was shocked at how thin his body was.
"The cloth strip goes around your waist," he said. "Works like underwear."
Jason wrapped the cloth awkwardly around himself, then let Martin help
him fit the leather outer covering and work the straps to snug the garment to his
body.
"How old are you?" Martin asked as he bent to help Jason with his
moccasins.
"Eleven, last month."
"You've been sick, haven't you?"
"Up 'til this morning. I don't feel sick now."
Martin stood up and looked thoughtful. "Where were you when you went to
bed, before you woke up here?"
"Children's hospital . . . I couldn't even get out of bed yesterday."
"I'll be damned," Martin muttered. "Do you know how you got here?"
"Somebody beamed me."
"Beamed?"

"Yeah. You know; like on Star Trek."

Martin's mouth dropped open, then he laughed. He remembered his own
first thoughts. "Don't you think you're dreaming?"
"No." Jason wrinkled his brow. "Why should I?"
"Well, I woke up here out of a hospital bed, same as you. Frankly, it seems
pretty strange to me."
Jason's brow wrinkled. "Can't be a dream," he said.
"Oh, yeah, why not?"
"I had to pee. And whenever I dream and I have to pee I wake up with a
wet bed."
Martin roared.
Jason scowled and reddened.
"Why were you in the hospital?"
Jason's face sobered. "I got Aids."
"Aids?"
"From blood. I got hemophilia, then I got Aids. I'm supposed to die." His
statement was matter-of-fact.
The mirth went out of Martin. He remembered his own cancer and
shuddered. "You want to go outside?"
Jason smiled. His dark eyes lit up and Martin could not help smiling in
response. I like this kid. The observation surprised him. His one-time
marriage had ended in divorce without children, and generally he avoided
kids.
Martin led Jason to the courtyard. When they arrived, he was surprised to
see another man and boy already there, standing at the rail, looking raptly to the
east as Martin had first done. The man was huge, dwarfing the frail lad at his
side. When Martin turned to Jason, he saw a sparkle of tears in his wide dark
eyes.
"I haven't been outside in a long time," Jason said, his face radiant.
The two at the rail heard and turned. "What ho? Two more it appears," said
the big man with a wide, friendly grin. He reached out a giant hand. "My
name's John. This here's Robert. We met this morning, bunked opposite in one
of those rooms up there." He gestured at the log structure.
Martin took the hand and looked upward into warm gray eyes that smiled
with lively excitement. "Same for us," he said and introduced himself and
Jason.
At close quarters, Martin could see that John was a man of advanced years.

His shapeless body showed little sign of recent exercise, and his craggy face,
topped by a great mane of white hair, showed the pallor of long confinement
away from the sun. Another who has been sick, and the boy is as thin as
Jason.
"There are others," John said. "We met our neighbors before we came
down here. They'll be along shortly I expect. Woman and a young girl. You met
any others?"
"No. I didn't know there were any."
"Four rooms; I'll bet there'll be eight of us."
"How did you get here?" Martin asked.
"Don't know," John shrugged. "My memory hasn't been too good lately. I
thought I was still in the nursing home where I was parked after my stroke a
couple of years ago. But, somehow, I woke up here this morning next to my
young friend. I'm too old to feel this good so I figure I've died and gone to
heaven."
"We aren't dead," Jason said. "I'll bet we've been kidnaped by aliens.
They've fixed us up so we aren't sick anymore, but we're not dead. I'm flesh
and blood! My body's real!" He took a little hop and swung his arms, then
slapped his thighs. His face glowed. "I can feel my heart beating and I'm
breathing and I can feel the sun on my back and smell the air." His words
tumbled out. "I'm alive and I love it here." For emphasis, he circled the
courtyard at a run, scattering gravel as his moccasins dug into the loose
surface. He yelled and his voice echoed off the west wall.
"Jason's right," Martin said. "By damn, he's right! Whatever this is, it's not
death." He ran after Jason and felt like a kid again. When he returned,
breathless, Robert and John were laughing.
"This has got to be heaven," John said. "Haven't you ever heard of the
resurrection of the body?"
Just then the two that John had mentioned emerged from the log building.
The older was an olive-skinned, dark-eyed woman not much over five feet tall,
uncommonly thin like Jason and Robert. She kept self-consciously adjusting
her leather clothing which, other than including an added breast wrap, was as
scant as that worn by the men and boys.
"I'm Carol," she said in a thin, reedy voice that shook a little. "Are we
dead? Susan says we are."
Susan was a small, rail-thin, red-haired child with a freckled face who
peered at them from eyes as green as the surrounding fields. She looked about

ten but said she was thirteen. "It makes sense," she said. "You said you had
lung cancer, and people usually die of that. And I've been sick all my life and
felt like dying a lot of times. I'm not sorry to be dead at all. In fact I rather like
it." Her child's laughter sounded like a bell chiming.
"I don't think we're dead," Jason said, his jaw set stubbornly.
At that moment, two more people joined the growing assemblage, another
woman accompanied by a young girl. The woman was nearly as big as John.
She stood six feet tall with massive thighs and arms. Her oval, light
complexioned face, topped with luxuriant, dark hair, set off brown eyes that
sparkled with good humor. "Hello," she said in a voice that sounded like
thunder. "I'm Bertha and this little lass is Linda."
Bertha, as it turned out, was the only one among them who had gone to bed
the night before in her apartment with no apparent illness or other distress. She
laughed and shook her head in disbelief when the others speculated about what
had happened to them and how they might have gotten there. "You guys are
sappy with all your talk of heaven and being dead and all. It's obvious this is a
dream. We're gonna wake up pretty soon. At least I am."
Linda was a diminutive eleven-year-old with brown skin and dark hair.
Her black eyes were large, like Jason's, and her face, Martin thought, held such
comeliness that she might easily be an angel. When her turn came to describe
what had happened, she spoke softly and gravely. "There was a fire. I woke up
and everything was red and there was smoke everywhere. I couldn't breathe."
Her voice became agitated as she remembered. "I couldn't see and I got scared.
I . . . I heard a big noise - something broke, I think - then . . . then I woke up. It
was like the fire was in a dream, and I was up there," she gestured toward her
room, "with the sun on my bed and it was real quiet and I felt peaceful, only I
didn't know where I was."
Martin listened, his brow furrowing. "When was yesterday?" he asked.
"What do you mean, when was yesterday? Yesterday was yesterday."
"I mean, what was the date? And where were you? What city, what
hospital, what community?"
"Yesterday was Monday."
"No, it was Friday."
"I was in Philadelphia."
"It was May twenty-third in New York."
"Hold it," Martin shouted. "Don't you think something's mighty strange
here?"

"Everything's strange here."

"Yes. But don't you see, we all came from different times and places. This
is very odd, even for a dream."
"It's not a dream," Jason said.
Robert cried, "Look!" His thin arm pointed, and all turned in the direction
toward which his wide blue eyes were staring.

CHAPTER TWO

The man toward whom Robert was pointing might have stepped from a
medieval courtyard. A wide red band, adorned with gold and silver emblems,
encircled his light brown, shoulder-length hair. On his upper body, he wore an
intricately tooled leather vest, studded with polished brass stars. Leathergirded kilt and moccasins completed his attire. The pouches on his belt bulged,
a jeweled knife rode on his left hip, and on his right hip a short scabbard
sheathed an ebony-handled sword. The rising sun glinted from his coppery hair
and fell full on the strong, angular planes of his clean shaven, Caucasian face.
He stood six feet tall, his lean arms and legs knotted with muscle, and he had
the bronzed appearance of one who spent much time in the sun.
"Well, I see you've gotten acquainted, and it looks like you've mastered the
intricacies of your sirkelns and mokads." His voice sounded pleasant and his
wide-set, hazel eyes smiled with friendliness.
Martin was first to regain his composure. "Are you in charge here?"
The stranger's grin broadened. "Not really, but I'm here to help you. My
name is Engar."
"You can start by telling us where we are," Carol demanded.
"I'll try to answer your questions, but first may I get your names?" Engar
tilted his head to look into the rugged countenance of Big John. "You, sir, are
the largest man I've ever seen. What name do you go by?"
"Name's John." The big man reached to shake Engar's hand. "Are we dead
or is this a dream?" He spoke partly in jest, but his voice held earnestness.
"I ask your patience. I know you have a lot of questions." Engar turned to
Robert, knelt, and brought his face in line with the boy's. "What's your name,
my young friend?"
Robert smiled shyly and told him. Then Engar moved to each person, shook
hands, and introduced himself. When he reached Bertha he eyed her with some
wonder. She was about his height but at least half again as heavy. "You are
clearly a woman of substance," he said.
"Watch it, Honey," Bertha bristled. "I don't take well to those who make fun
of me."
Engar raised his hands in protest. "No offense meant. I make no fun of
anyone. Here size is valued."

When Engar completed his review, he motioned them to be seated. "I'm

sure it'll take a while to satisfy all your curiosity." Some seated themselves on
the broad courtyard wall in the dappled shade of a tree that spread its leaves
above the palisade. Others scooted down at the base of the wall and braced
their backs against it. "First I assure you, you're not dead." Engar paced as he
spoke. Bright points of light flickered from the emblems on his headband as he
shifted through the mixture of sun and shade. "However, I can't rule out the
possibility that you did, in fact, die, and might've been dead for some time
before this morning. From a practical standpoint it's completely irrelevant."
"What do you mean, irrelevant?" Bertha thundered. "Dying seems damn
relevant to me!"
"Being alive is what's relevant," Engar countered. "Whether dead and
resurrected here or merely kidnaped and brought here is of little practical
significance."
"Kidnaped! That's what I think," Jason said. "We were kidnaped by aliens,
weren't we?"
"Possibly." Engar's voice was casual. "I really can't say. I woke here much
the same as you, about a year ago, and have thus far found no provable
explanation for how I got here. I've learned to survive, however, and find
Faland to be neither heaven nor hell though, perhaps, it has elements of both."
"What is this Faland?"
"Who lives here?"
"Are there other people?"
"Let me explain." Engar paused in his pacing. "There are other humans
here, but not many. They started coming about eighteen years ago. Most were
ill or injured before arriving--"
"Not me," Bertha cut in. "I wasn't sick or hurt."
Engar shrugged. "I said most; I'm not sure it matters. What's important is
that everyone wakes up here in perfect health, and for most of us, that's a
change for the better."
Martin looked puzzled. "Did you say people have only been here eighteen
years? I've looked closely at the building and grounds and unless I miss my
guess some of these structures are much older than that."
"You're right. Native people lived here long before the first humans
arrived. Humans built little of what you see. By my reckoning there are fewer
than a hundred fifty people in the whole land. They arrive once a year in
groups of eight. You happen to be this year's complement."

"Natives!" Jason's eyes shone and he danced from foot to foot. "What are
they like? Are they the ones who kidnaped us?"
"They're much like us in many ways. I find them mostly a gentle and
pleasant people. If we were kidnaped, I doubt the natives did it. In fact, they
seem quite mystified by our presence."
"This isn't earth, is it?" Robert's narrow face, framed by his silver-white
hair was full of wonder, and though he spoke softly, excitement had brought a
flush to his cheeks. "This isn't some kind of trick. It's for real, isn't it?"
"It's for real," Engar said. "It isn't easy to believe, but we're definitely not
on earth."
"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!" Jason's energetic hops made him
breathless. "I could feel it. It's wonderful!"
Bertha raised a brow. "It doesn't look all that different to me. Besides, this
has to be some kind of screwy dream."
"When you see the night sky, you'll know," Engar told her. "There's no sky
like it on earth. Nonetheless, your doubt is understandable. This planet is
remarkably like the earth: too much so to be coincidence. Among us are some
former biologists who say the native life, though different from that with which
we're familiar, is too similar to be the result of chance. It's almost like the life
on this planet is here for our benefit. Even the natives have humanoid form and
match our intelligence. More remarkable, their language is a form of English
and that absolutely cannot be coincidental. The bottom line? We're not on earth,
but we're on a planet enough like it to be its twin."
"Why are we here?" Carol asked, a fierce frown forming on her face.
"Good question. I'm sorry I haven't a clue to the answer. Biologically we're
different, not grossly, but in very important ways. We don't get sick and we
don't age. Even those who were previously elderly have the strength and vigor
of people in their prime."
"Hallelujah!" John roared.
"I'll second that." Engar said. "I happen to be eighty-three myself." He
paused to enjoy the look of astonishment on the faces of his listeners. "In
general, we're all physically and mentally more capable than before. We don't
get colds, flu, infections, or anything else with which we used to be afflicted,
except maybe an occasional bout of indigestion from unwise eating."
Carol's brow knotted even more fiercely. "What are you getting at? You
think we've been refurbished to perform some sort of function?"
Engar chuckled. "Interesting choice of words, but it seems like a

reasonable possibility. Only problem is, some people have been here eighteen
years, as I just said, and they don't know any more about it than I do. And the
natives have no idea why we're here or how we got here."
"What kind of life do people have here? Do they raise families? Have
careers? What do they do here?"
"Adapt," Engar said. "And try to find a way to make their lives satisfying.
A few have married, but none have produced children: why, nobody knows."
"What about the natives?" Linda's dark eyes widened. "Don't they have
kids?"
"They do," Engar said. "In fact, natives age and die much as one would
expect, and they have children quite normally. It seems on this world we are a
race apart - a race of immortals as it were. Or, rather, semi-immortals, for
though we don't age or die of disease, we can be killed or die of hunger or
thirst. Incidentally, a few humans who have wanted children have bought slave
children to raise as their own."
"Slave children! You mean there are slaves here?"
Engar's face sobered, "I'm afraid slavery is one of the less than perfect
aspects of this place."
"If people raise children that implies they fit into the local society, at least
to some extent," Martin said. "How well do the natives accept us?"
"Quite well, actually. And that's my job: to show you how to fit in with the
locals in Faland. For the next thirty days I'll be your guide and training
coordinator."
"Training?" Bertha asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What kind
of training?"
"Why, on how to make a living," Engar replied, keeping his voice bland.
"You've asked what people do here? Well, during the next month, that's what
you're going to find out. Each of you will be taught a skill. Later you'll use that
skill to earn a living, just like back home."
John looked as suspicious as Bertha. "What skill?"
"It's quite simple," Engar said. "In Faland, humans are Warriors."
There was a moment of shocked silence. Carol was first to find her voice.
"I don't want to be a Warrior. I don't like fighting."
"What about the kids?" Bertha roared. "You can't expect these little ones to
be soldiers!"
"I'm afraid there isn't a choice," Engar said. "But not all Warriors are
fighters. Some learn support skills. If you do, you can avoid a lot of the

fighting."
"What happens if we don't know any support skills?" Susan's green eyes
had expanded into darkened pools and her freckles stood out like black chips
on a white sea.
"It's my job to see that you learn," Engar told her.
"I've never been good at school," she said with almost a whimper..
"You'll have to try," Engar said. "I'm afraid I must be blunt; if you don't
qualify as a Warrior, either as a fighter or in a support skill, you'll be sold into
slavery."
Bertha's face blanched and she reached out her huge arms to gather Linda
and Susan to her. "You mean these little kids could be slaves?" Her voice
sounded incredulous and a dangerous spark appeared in her dark eyes.
"No damn way," John said, raising his arm with his fist knotted like a ham
on the end of it.
"Actually," Engar said, "that possibility applies to all of you. This is
serious business, and you don't have the power to change it."
"Maybe you better tell us the rest," Martin said. "I rather thought this place
seemed too good to be true. It seems there may be a few thorns in paradise."
"Some roses too," Engar said. "I know from experience it's possible to
succeed here, even for the kids. I won't pretend it's easy, but I don't intend
anyone to end up a slave on my watch."
"What do we have to do?" Carol asked, her bluster and indignation gone.
"Just pay attention and work hard for the next thirty days. Keep a positive
attitude and you will succeed. Now I have something to show you." Engar took
off the brightly colored band he wore around his head and ran a finger over its
raised runes. "Nearly everyone wears one of these. It carries identification.
Red shows I'm a Warrior. Civilians wear green; you'll wear white while you're
training." Engar fished in a pouch on his belt and withdrew a handful of white
cloth loops. He handed one to each person. "Your headbands carry no
insignia," Engar went on, "but notice the symbol in the center of mine. It's
Faland rune-notation for my initials, NG, pronounced Engar. When you qualify
as a Warrior you'll choose your symbol and register it in your name. The small
gold and silver icons are called barcoms, the symbol for four. I'm a level four
Fighter and also a level four Weapon-master. Color indicates which skill,
shape indicates level." Engar returned the band to his head.
"So, how do you stack up in the local society?" John asked. "Is level four
good?"

"Rates go up to seven. Ones and twos are easy to earn; higher rates get
tougher. My dual level four puts me pretty well up in the hierarchy, but rank
isn't everything. You need to be known as an honorable person as well;
someone who fights fairly and courageously and works honestly."
"So, who do we work for? How do we get jobs?" John asked.
Engar turned to the giant. "You'll work for an agent - sort of a contract
manager. Most agents are Fighters, fifth level or above, or Mentats. Agents
control the jobs and hire the rest of us. It's a little complicated, but I'll fill in
the details as we go."
"What's a Mentat?"
"Mentat mastery is a special mental skill. I don't know much about it. Later
today, you'll all be tested for skill training and you'll learn more about it then.
Most agents are fighters and so far no human has ever trained as a Mentat, so it
probably won't be of much importance to you."
"Do Warriors get paid?" Susan asked.
"Yes. Gold and silver." Engar reached into a small belt pouch. "The gold
coin is a rall. It's the basic monetary unit, like a dollar back home. The other
coins are silver, worth less than a rall, like small change."
"Will you get paid for training us?"
"Of course. I'll get paid when you graduate at the end of the month."
"Is thirty days a month?" Martin asked. "Same as back on earth?"
"The year is twelve months and all months have exactly thirty days."
"Are you telling me this planet circles its sun in exactly three hundred sixty
days?"
Engar laughed. "I wondered if you'd pick up on that. Actually it takes quite
a bit longer. However, the calendar has evidently been adjusted to match ours."
"By someone with a mind for uniformity," Martin noted. "What about daylength? Does that match ours too?"
"Fairly closely, and that has to be genuine coincidence. The day is divided
into three eight hour periods rather than two of twelve hours, but the important
thing is the length of the hour. Our estimates suggest it's slightly longer than on
earth, but not much. Each hour is divided into sixty minutes, again apparently to
be consistent with our own system. In practice, most people don't use watches
or clocks; they just estimate time, and speaking of time," Engar glanced at the
sun, "it's getting late. I know you have more questions, but I expect you're
getting hungry and it's time for the morning meal."
No one dissented. Unaccustomed good health, fresh air and sunshine, and

the extraordinary excitement of the morning had combined to generate ravenous

appetites. Eagerly they followed as Engar led the way.
Martin paced alongside the Warrior leader. "As the sun rises, our shadows
get shorter but continue to point in the same direction. Are we near the
equator?"
"Good observation." Engar walked with long, smooth strides, the muscles
of his thighs rippling as he moved. "The equator runs through this location. Of
equal interest, however, there are no seasons - not just here, but even far from
the equator."
"That means zero inclination."
"And a nearly circular orbit. The planet is similar to Earth but there are
some major differences."
"What about gravity?"
"I've wondered about that. In the old life I was a physicist. I've tried a few
experiments: measuring rate of fall, periods of pendulums, things like that. A
problem is establishing standards for time and distance. Crude measures
suggest the gravitational field is slightly stronger than Earth's."
Engar led them into the building and down a flight of stairs into a modest
room containing a table and along one side a counter. Light streamed in through
a row of windows on the west, outside which the heavily foliaged tops of trees
were visible. Delicious smells emanated from a side room behind the counter.
"You'll eat here during the next month," Engar said, "twice daily: about this
time in the morning and again at sundown. You may eat all you want, and I
encourage you to take advantage of the opportunity. You'll need to build your
strength as rapidly as possible."
The newcomers studied the room with open curiosity. Floors, walls,
ceilings, and furnishings were all rough-hewn, continuing the motif they had
already noted. A smiling, rather matronly woman, bearing a large, steaming
pan, emerged from the back room behind the counter. She had fine, orangebrown hair, drawn up in a knot and tied on top. Her broad, dusky face crinkled
in a bright smile and a merry twinkle sparkled in her large, deep brown eyes.
She was obviously not human, and the small band of newcomers gawked
impolitely. In their eyes, her long ears, with pendulous lobes, and her oddly
pointed chin, gave her a decidedly alien, though not displeasing, appearance.
A shapeless drape hung around her neck and descended out of sight behind
the counter. Bare, softly muscular arms extended from either side of the drape
and ran to stubby hands that gripped the pan with two hot pads. A second

female, smaller and apparently younger, joined her. She had an appearance so
similar it suggested relationship. The younger native also carried a large pan
from which a cloud of steam arose.
"Come! Come! Eat!" The older woman spoke English with an agreeable
accent. "Plates." She gestured at a stack of flattened metal bowls that stood on
the end of the counter, then pointed at some forks next to the plates. "Food
handlers. Come! Fill. Eat!"
"Well, I'm not shy." Bertha grinned and tromped across the room with a
tread so heavy everyone felt the floor quiver. "Is that itty bitty plate all you've
got?" She scowled at the bowl, then laughed. "I could eat that whole darn panfull I'm so hungry!"
"Take! Take!" The merry woman behind the counter laughed with Bertha.
"Take all! Lots more!"
Bertha looked surprised, then her laugh deepened until her whole body
shook. "Honey, you and me are gonna get along just fine!" She snatched up one
of the two-pronged forks and grabbed the entire steaming pan. The contents
exuded a mouth-watering odor that set their empty stomachs growling.
The young servant girl, working with great rapidity, slid several more pans
onto the counter, and in a few minutes everyone had plates full, or like Bertha,
had moved entire pans to the central table. A large scoop, embedded in each,
made it easy to resupply the metal plates.
Soon platters heaped with raw vegetables or thick slices of an aromatic,
dark bread, joined the hot pans. The servants brought clear glass mugs
brimming with a light amber fluid. A thick, stew-like concoction containing
large slabs of meat and chunks of starchy vegetables, interlaced with fibrous
and leafy herbs, crammed the hot pans. The tastes were unfamiliar, but instantly
appealing.
Martin guided Jason and followed Engar's lead. From a wall dispenser,
they extracted sheets of soft brown paper, then collected bread, raw
vegetables, and mugs and took them to the table. On the napkins, they placed
the bread and vegetables, then ladled stew onto their plates. The double-tine
forks seemed awkward at first, but proved effective.
"This is delicious." Martin spoke to Jason, but the lad was too busy eating
to reply. "The bread is great." Martin took a long drink from the amber fluid. It
had an invigorating, slightly tart flavor, very refreshing. Between mouthfuls, he
stole a glance around the room and realized that already he was growing
accustomed to these people. "What is this food?" he asked Engar, who was

eating hugely and speaking little.

"The stew's kurduc," he said through a mouthful. "It's a common dish
throughout Faland although the ingredients differ from place to place. You're
privileged to be eating some of the best in the territory." He tore a chunk from a
brown, crusty loaf. "The bread's simply called bread and I'm not sure I could
name all the vegetables. This one," he held up a brown colored, globular root,
"is a carrot. Doesn't look like back home but tastes a lot like it."
"And the drink?"
"Drog, made from local herbs and like kurduc varies from place to place.
This is good but I've had better."
"Non-alcoholic, I notice."
"The natives don't know the art of brewing. Some people have tried, with
little success. I'm afraid the pleasures of alcohol are unavailable in Faland."
At length, hunger dissipated. With a chunk of the rich brown bread, Martin
sopped the last bits of kurduc from his plate, then pushed back from the table.
He glanced at his young friend and saw that he had also finished. "Well,
Jason," he said, "what do you suppose comes next?"

CHAPTER THREE

Following the morning meal, Engar gave each of his charges a schedule of
tests intended to determine which skills he or she would be best suited to
study. "Don't worry too much about how well you do," he told them. "These are
aptitude tests. You only have to qualify in one and they're not hard."
"What are the subjects?" Martin asked.
"Most are straight forward - cooking, first aid, scouting, weapon handling things like that. A few are unusual, but I think it best if you learn from the
tests."
***
"Come in. Come in. Don't just stand there!"
Susan gaped at a rather portly native man. Her heart was thumping wildly.
She was facing her first test and had not the slightest idea what to do.
"Come in, child. Don't be afraid. I'm Kefaln, Provo-master." He grasped
Susan's small arm in a pudgy fist and tugged her through the door. "These are
my assistants, Kro and Xayel."
Two youngsters, boy and girl, hardly older than she greeted her. They
smiled pleasantly, and some of the flutter left her breast. She saw, in the center
of the room, a low table bearing an animal carcass, some vegetables, a bowl of
brown flour, and an assortment of pots, pans, cups, and utensils. An iron stove,
already warmed by a wood fire, stood near the end of the table.
Cooking! That must be what a Provo does.
Kefaln waved at the table. "Prepare a meal - anything you want. Xayel will
assist with information but the work is up to you." He smiled so broadly his
eyes almost disappeared in the folds of his face. "Any questions?"
Susan studied the table with a critical eye. "I guess not."
"Then you may begin."
"What's the animal?" Susan asked Xayel, who was as slim as Kefaln was
chubby, as she gingerly lifted the carcass.
"Rabir from northeast of Or'gn." The girl's soft voice was pleasant, almost
musical, and Susan could not help liking the speaker of such melodious tones.
"Or'gn?"
"The village we live in."
"I never did a whole animal before. How do I do the rabir?"

"Skin it, gut it," Xayel said. "Not hard."

Susan found a knife ready to hand, finely honed, and easily parted the skin,
but digging out the entrails made her queasy. Still, once she started, the work
went smoothly. Xayel watched intently, but stayed out of the way, and offered
only an occasional comment pointing out where pots and pans and utensils
were store. Soon Susan had chunks of fresh rabir braising in a skillet.
Maybe I can make stew, or that dish they call kurduc, and there's flour
for biscuits. That ought to make a pretty good meal without much need for
anything else .
She began to feel happy. Into a kurduc pan Xayel directed her to, she
layered vegetables and braised rabir, then mixed a flour and water thickener
and poured it over the top. She added finely diced herbs until the flavor
seemed right, then slid the pan into the oven.
"How much time have I got?"
"Plenty. You work fast." Xayel pointed to a wooden frame holding a glass
tube with an hourglass neck at the center. "The sandslider tells how much time.
See, the top is still more than half full."
"Yes, I see," Susan said. "It's like an hourglass. I hadn't noticed it. Is that
the only clock you have?"
"Clock?"
"Never mind. It's a word we use for something that measures time."
Xayel's small face looked puzzled.
Susan grinned. "Sandslider is a good name for it."
While mixing biscuits, she got an idea and added a dash of finely chopped
herbs. While the stew and biscuits cooked, she prepared a table for serving.
When Kefaln announced the end of the test, her table was ready with a
bubbling pan of kurduc braced by platters of plump, aromatic biscuits. Xayel
and Kro set out four plates, napkins, and food handlers. Susan watched the
Provo-master's moon face as he sampled. She was too nervous to eat any
herself. After tasting, Kefaln leaned back and smiled broadly. "You've done
splendidly. Your kurduc is excellent and your biscuits delightful. You have a
touch with flavors. I do suggest, however, that you prepare a drink next time."
Susan blushed. "I . . . I didn't think of it."
Kefaln laughed. "That's okay. I find you well qualified should you elect
Provo training."
Susan's eyes lit.
***

In a small room, a woman sat on a high stool near the back wall. A fiber
mat covered the floor, and lemon yellow draperies hung from the walls. Jason
entered apprehensively, his earlier eagerness muted by a dismal showing on
his first test. It had been for Armorer and he had slashed his thumb while
cutting a piece of leather.
The woman, wearing a gold tunic, peered at him from a face narrower than
those of other natives Jason had seen. Except for the small stool on which she
sat, there was no furniture and no place for him to sit so he stood awkwardly,
shifting from foot to foot..
"Come, don't be frightened," the woman said. "I'm Marov, Song-master.
Have you sung before?"
"Yes." Music had, in fact, been his passion, and for a while he had been a
choirboy before going to the hospital.
"Listen!" Marov raised her head, and from barely parted lips, emitted a
series of short, clear notes. Jason marveled at the beauty of her voice.
"Now you try," she said.
Jason sang, tremulously at first, doing his best to duplicate the lovely,
haunting tones. When he finished, Marov sang again, this time a higher melody,
and Jason echoed her. For half an hour, Marov sang and Jason responded, the
songs becoming ever more complex. At first Jason followed easily, but as the
songs became longer and more intricate his voice began to falter. Finally he
lost the tune altogether.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Could you show me again?"
"No need," Marov said. "You've already sung more than is required. You
have a fine ear and a good voice."
Jason beamed. "I like singing."
"I hope that means you'll choose to study with me," she said.
Jason's face flushed. "I'd like that."
***
John felt irritated. He had just finished the healer's test and found his large
hands poorly suited to stitching wounds, and though he had qualified for Provo
training, he did not like cooking. "I hope this test is more interesting," he
grumbled as he descended to the first floor where his third evaluation was
scheduled.
He opened a heavy oak door and stepped into a large room lined with
racks containing knives, swords, axes, maces, and many other weapons. Other
racks contained helmets and body armor. At the far end, he saw rows of

targets, some stationary and others movable by levers, pulleys, and ropes.
"This is more like it," he said, grinning broadly as he saw Engar approach.
"I hoped you would like it. Meet Sardor and Thren." Engar introduced his
burly assistants, both native Warriors, both women. Sardor immediately began
pulling equipment from nearby racks.
"This is a test for Weapon-master," Engar said. "Most Warriors become
proficient in one or two weapons, but Weapon-masters must learn them all."
"I'm not familiar with all these," John said as he scanned the racks. "But
I've done my share of fighting and have had some training."
"Right now I'm looking for general aptitude," Engar said. "If you qualify
you can learn the unfamiliar weapons easily enough." He took down two bows,
strung one and handed the other to John. "Are you familiar with archery?"
"Yes," John said as he bent his bow and attached the string.
Engar flexed his. "Draw your bow fully, as I do. Don't release the string."
John drew the bow and felt his arm tremble.
"Good. Not many men, even in good condition, can pull a bow of that
weight. Now let's try a round or two." Engar dropped a handful of arrows into
a floor stand.
John's first arrow struck the target support, below and left of the circle. His
second was also low but in line, the third centered neatly. John released six
more arrows and did not miss again.
"Enough," Engar said. "You do well with the bow."
The Weapon-master took a long leather loop from a rack. "The kalard is a
sling," he instructed. "If you've never used one, it takes a while to master."
From a box, he took a smooth ceramic pellet, the size and shape of a hen's
egg, then swung kalard and pellet around his head. When he released, the
ceramic slug centered on target.
John struck his target only once in two dozen tries. "You're right, Engar,
this does take getting used to."
"Your accuracy will improve. You've got good form. It's a skill you can
master."
Next he asked John to make a few throws with a long spear then introduced
him to a small device called a hummer. It consisted of an arrow-shaped metal
wedge, four inches long and half that wide. It had a large hole on each side
about a third of the way back. Two half-inch flutes extended from the tip to the
midpoint. Roughened depressions near the base provided finger grips. Engar
handled the weapon much like a throwing knife. The hum, as it streaked

through the air, told John how it had acquired its name.
It proved easier to control than John at first feared. Within half a dozen
tosses, he mastered the trick of making it fly point forward, and had no
difficulty centering his throws. Engar then moved to another unusual device.
"The tagan is a mean weapon," he said. "It's well worth mastering. It's really
hardly more than a short whip made of thirteen three-inch, and nine one-inch
metal tubes strung on a brass cable. The spines on the small tubes make it
deadly. Watch!"
Engar swung the device against a wooden beam. Splinters sprayed
outward. John winced at the thought of what it would do to human flesh.
"That's enough play," Engar said. "Now let's see how good you are at
sparring."
Sardor quickly moved in and outfitted John with leather breast armor, thigh
pads, upper and lower arm pads, helmet, and face mask. Then Engar matched
him against Thren.
It was a rough go for John. No matter the weapon, Thren, though a woman
and half his size, easily outmaneuvered him. In spite of the padding, he
received several nasty bruises, and when he lowered his mace at the end of the
session, he was gasping and drenched with sweat and more than a little
embarrassed..
Engar was chuckling. "You'll need to improve your conditioning, but you'll
have no trouble rating as a Warrior. You're well suited to Weapon-mastery. I
hope you'll consider it."
John shook his head. "I can see I've a way to go to be good at this, but
anything's better than cooking."
***
When Bertha entered the work room, it was like going home. A wood
burning forge with bellows and water barrel occupied one wall; a work bench
stood opposite. Bins and racks held straps, bars, and sheets of black and
bronze metal, stacks of leather, and variously shaped and sized pieces of
roughly sawed wood. Hammers, chisels, awls, saws, pliers and other tools
hung on a board behind the work bench. Bertha recognized them all. She had
worked metal, wood, leather, and ceramics since she was a child and had her
own pottery business.
Two burly native males greeted her. The smaller introduced himself as,
Barol, Master Armorer. "Teg is my assistant," he said. "In this test, your task is
to make a copy of one of the objects displayed here." Barol pointed to a board

near the water barrel. "Use what you find on the table. You'll also need the
forge."
Bertha studied the examples and decided to make a brass saw. It was
simple, yet complex enough to demonstrate most of the equipment.
Using a metal shear, she cut a blank from a sheet of brass. With a hacksaw,
she notched teeth along one side, then located a setting-tool. It took only
minutes to lever each tooth into position, reversing the set on alternate teeth. A
rummage through the tools turned up a file, and she clamped the newly formed
saw blade in a vise and filed the teeth sharp. She cut and notched a length of
wood for the handle. With a brace and bit, she drilled two holes through one
end of the saw blade and through the matching wood handle. From a bin, she
selected a quarter-inch, black metal rod. A fire already burned at the forge, and
she worked the bellows to bring it to high heat. She fired the end of the rod
until it glowed white, then jammed the heated tip against an anvil to mushroom
it into a cap. With nippers, she cut a short length and quenched it in the water
barrel. She heated it again, this time to red heat, slipped the rivet through the
holes in the handle and saw blade, and pounded it in place. A quick dunk in the
water barrel halted charring of the wood, and a second rivet finished the job.
Crude, but effective, Bertha decided as she tested her saw on a length of
hardwood.
When the Test-master examined the finished saw, he said, "I can see you've
a feel for tools. This is not your first attempt."
"Honey," Bertha said, "I expect I've worked wood and metal since before
you were old enough to hold a hammer."
"Well, you're definitely qualified. It would be my pleasure to work with
you."
"Good," Bertha said. "I don't mind learning from anyone, and maybe I can
teach you a thing or two while we're at it."
***
"I'm Aibit," a chunky, energetic, native woman told Carol. "Therpen is my
assistant."
Carol nodded.
Aibit waved her toward a table on which a large dog-like animal was
stretched. "This dugo is a droid, a training tool without sensory awareness,
used as a test model for checking healing skills. This one has several injuries.
Find and treat them. On the stand next to the table are instruments and supplies.
You may begin immediately."

Carol warmed to the work at once. Before her illness, she had been a
trauma nurse and highly skilled. With deft fingers, she located a deep wound on
one thigh, a break in the right foreleg, and a penetration wound in the dugo's
chest. She applied cloth pads to the thigh wound, then checked the animal's
muzzle and found respiration stable.
Available implements included scissors, thread, forceps, straight and
curved suture needles, scalpels, a spool of silvery thread, straight sticks of
varying length and several cloth bandages. Everything looked spotlessly clean.
The thigh wound appeared worst. She clamped a bleeder above the
exposed femur, then began to stitch muscle and fascia. The femoral vein
streamed from a large tear. She worked the suture needles with precision and
closed the gap, then watched a moment for seepage.
When she finished closing, she moved to the foreleg and set the compound
break then immobilized the limb with sticks and cloth strips. She could do
nothing for the penetration wound except cover it. The entire process took only
a few minutes. She glanced at Aibit.
"If you're done, you can wash up at the basin by the window," the Trainingmaster told her.
As Carol dried her hands, Aibit said, "You seem already to know what to
do. If you choose this area, you can begin training at an advanced level."
"Thank you," Carol said. She still was not sure whether she was dreaming,
but it would be good to have a job again.
***
Linda stepped onto spongy earth that smelled of dampness. Drops of
moisture glistened on green leaves. The sun cast long, soft rays through tall
trees. She did not immediately see where to go so began to stroll among the
trees. A log palisade stretched north and a tangle of bushes spread eastward.
She discovered a path along the palisade and followed it to a small gazebo.
A gnarled native man, hardly larger than herself, was seated within.
"Hello, my name is Froven, Master Scout of Faland."
Before Linda could respond, he whistled shrilly. Two boys dressed in
sirkelns appeared out of the brush. Their skin was deep brown, their russet
hair hung to their shoulders, and their eyes were full of merriment.
"Petr and Fron," Froven said, "take our young pupil into the bush. See if
you can lose her."
Linda's heart jumped.
"Step lively girl," Froven said. "Don't lag. Petr and Fron will leave ten

markers. Remember the location of each."

Linda blinked and Petr and Fron were gone with only a stir of leaves to
mark their passage.
"Well, get on," Froven said again. "You'll be lost before you get started."
Linda stumbled into the green and glimpsed a brown back disappearing
ahead. Rounding a rock, she saw Petr hang a red ribbon on a gnarled tree. The
boys darted ahead like rabbits. Running, Linda splashed across a small creek,
plunged through deep mud, then crawled under a fallen log and sprinted up a
slope. Fron stood at the top, grinning. While Linda struggled toward him, she
saw Petr tie a second ribbon to a bush filled with red fruits. The boys vanished
down a thickly overgrown slope. Linda barely glimpsed one boy leaving a
marker near a large boulder while the second was leaving one in a clearing
near a dead tree. The boys dropped to their knees and scooted into a dense
thicket. Linda followed and felt her hide rip on coarse branches.
Fron left a ribbon at the edge of a grassy clearing, then crossed into
towering trees to leave another. Swift as deer, Petr and Fron darted through
dappled shade and past a small spring while Linda raced to keep up. A small
canyon cut through the hills. Petr fastened a marker to a thorn bush, then
followed Fron into the canyon. Only their mokad prints told Linda their
direction. Sprinting, she glimpsed Fron leaving a small cave. Moments later
the boys climbed into a cluster of flowering bushes and tied the last marker.
"Done!" Petr shouted. "Come! Follow us!"
A moment later, Linda caught sight of the gazebo. She sagged, gasping for
breath.
"I see you had a nice run," Froven said, mischief in his eyes. "Quickly now.
Go and fetch the markers back!"
"You've gotta be kidding," Linda groaned.
"Better hurry; minutes count!"
Linda glanced at the bush; the boys were gone. She trotted slowly while
she regained her breath. In a moment, she recognized the creek where she had
stepped in the mud, and using her footprints as a guide, back-tracked to the first
ribbon. She took it, then returned to the creek and located her tracks under the
fallen log. After climbing the ridge beyond the log, she spotted the red-fruited
bush, then went directly to the boulder where the third ribbon had been left.
This is easy.
But beyond the boulder, she could not remember the clue for the next
marker. She thrashed around for long minutes before she spotted a familiar

dead tree. With the fourth marker in hand, she closed her eyes and
concentrated, recalling a thicket. She turned into the heaviest growth and felt
thorns whip her face. She backed out. An easier path led to a grassy area
where she found another ribbon, then darted through open forest to the spring.
Thirst was too much to ignore, and she sank down and took a long drink.
She had found seven markers and had a pretty good idea where the others
were, but when she reached the small gorge, Petr and Fron popped from
behind a tree and called, "Time's up! We'll show you a short way back."
Froven was still lounging in the gazebo. "Well, you didn't get lost, I see.
How many ribbons did you find?"
"Only seven. I was too slow."
Froven's brow rose. "Well done, little lady! You're the best today!"
Linda's face brightened. "I am?"
"By a large margin. You must like the bush."
Linda forgot her fatigue. "Well, I thought it was hard at first, but it was fun
once I got warmed up."
***
Robert was feeling sour as he prepared to begin his seventh test. He had
gotten sick sewing wounds, hammered his thumb making a miter box, got lost
hunting for ribbons, could not even string the bow in the weapon test, and had
sat like a ninny twiddling his thumbs during the Mentat test. Now he was
seated at a desk facing a thin woman dressed in a dark blue ankle-length robe.
Her angular, almost skeletal face looked like it might never have smiled.
"I'm Thiel," the icy woman said, "Rune-master. You'll find a wooden tablet,
some paper, and a pen on your desk. The markings on the tablet are runes.
Write down what you think they mean. When you finish, bring me the tablet and
I'll give you another. Do you have any questions?"
"How much time do I have?"
"As much as you need. It's better to be accurate and do less than to do much
that's wrong. Anything else?"
Robert shook his head and looked at the tablet. Scribed on its surface were
small pictures: people, plants, animals, and objects that might be the sun,
moon, rivers, and mountains. Some people held bows or spears. As Robert
scanned the symbols, the story of a hunt unfolded. His pulse notched up. This
was more interesting than he had expected. Quickly, he scribbled down what
he thought the runes were saying and asked for another tablet.
By the third tablet, the pictures no longer looked like natural objects. Still,

their meaning seemed clear, and Robert continued to decode their story. When
Thiel called time, he looked up in great surprise. It seemed as if he had only
begun. When he carried the work to her desk, he asked, "Could I read the rest
of it, just for fun?"
Thiel glanced at his writing. "You like runes, do you?"
"I've always liked to read. The runes are just another language."
"Your work is superior. If you decide to study runes, you'll have a chance
to read all you like." Then her thin lips lifted in a faint smile that softened the
severity in her expression. "You are an exceptional candidate."
***
Martin studied his schedule. It had been a long day. "Ah, here it is." He had
arrived at the door to his last test and would be glad when it was over.
Inside, he saw an elderly man, bent with years and sitting cross-legged on a
cushion. His hair was white, his face as gray as dusk. When he looked up,
Martin shivered. The old man's eyes seemed to glow.
"I am Horath, Master Mentat, and you, my friend, are Martin. Come, this is
a simple test. Go into the small room." He gestured toward a circular
enclosure. "Look, listen, touch, smell, taste; do what seems right."
When Martin entered the room, the door slid shut, and he was in total
darkness. He listened and waited for his eyes to adjust. After a moment, he
began to feel along the wall but could not even find a crack to mark the exit.
I smell something. Metallic? Or is it my imagination?
He drew air over his tongue and detected a brassy taste.
Am I hearing a faint hum? There! Above my head I see a spherical object.
No, two objects.
Martin leaped and clutched a sphere. It's smooth surface felt hard and cold,
like frozen silk; it slipped from his grasp.
Something lay on the floor behind him. He turned smoothly, swept his
outstretched hand downward, and sensed the object move. A long rod slid
rapidly across the surface, and he seized it. Sudden blinding light forced him to
shut his eyes. The rod flowed through his fingers.
Through slotted eyes, Martin saw a figure outlined in the light and realized
the door to the enclosure had opened. He was looking at Horath, and the old
man's eyes were locked on his.
"Come tomorrow, friend Martin," Horath said. The glow in his eyes grew
stronger.
Martin felt his heart begin to pound and almost stumbled in his haste to

leave the room.

CHAPTER FOUR

Laughter, loud talk, and good cheer filled the dining hall. The sun had long
since set, and oil lamps provided illumination. Platters of rabir, devon, sturk,
and steaming casseroles of unknown composition crowded the table. Bowls of
raw and cooked vegetables, delicate sauces, and pitchers of drog were
scattered over the surface. Piles of dark brown rolls and mounds of a thick,
oily spread surrounded each plate. The eight trainees and their trainer ate
hugely. In the pleasure of the meal and the warmth of one another's presence
they forgot how they had come to be there and seized upon the moment as
though it were the measure of all time. Their talk was about the recently
completed tests and what the future might hold.
"I'll study Weapon-mastery," said John. "It suits me well, much more than
the other options."
Bertha said, "I chose Armorer. I'm a potter when I'm awake, and Armorer
is the closest thing I can find in this crazy dream. Besides I like Barol." Bertha
laughed so hard her bulk shook the table. She turned to Carol. "What about you,
honey? Have you made a choice?"
"Well," Carol said slowly. "I don't know if I'm dreaming, but I used to be a
nurse. I'd rather patch wounds than make wounds so I guess I'll be a Healer."
"Kefaln said I made fine kurduc," Susan said. "He thinks I'll be a good
Provo."
"At least you didn't burn the rabir like I did," Carol said.
"Runes are for me!" Robert piped. "At least it's fun to do."
"Fun!" John snorted. "Playing with those silly little pictures?"
"Leave the boy alone," Bertha said. "You're just jealous because you don't
have the brains for it."
John laughed and put his big hand on Robert's shoulder. "You're right. I
expect Robert can run rings around me when it comes to brains."
Robert blushed.
"I'm going to be a Scout," Linda said. "The test was hard, but it was like
going on a treasure hunt. I found seven markers. Bertha got lost." She giggled.
"Watch it, honey. I was just a little confused. I found three of those
ridiculous markers and Froven said that's enough to qualify if I want to take the
training."

"How about you, Martin?" Engar asked. "You and Jason have been pretty
quiet. Have you made your choices?"
Martin was only half listening. He could not get the look in Horath's eyes
out of his head. "Come tomorrow", the old master had said. Martin had told no
one he had passed Mentat but suspected Engar knew.
When Martin did not answer, Jason whispered, "I'm going to sing." He was
afraid the others would laugh.
A smile flickered around Engar's mouth. "Song-masters are prized in
Faland, but I warn you Marov has a fearsome reputation. She'll make you
work."
"So, Martin, what have you chosen?" John asked.
"I've been invited to study Mentat-mastery," Martin admitted, "and I'm
considering it."
Engar raised a brow. "That so? You know you can study anything you want.
You qualified in every skill - a rather remarkable accomplishment. Are you
seriously considering Mentat? No one else could make sense of the test."
"I'm still thinking about it," Martin said. "Things happened when I was in
the test room - odd things - and I'd like to know more. It's all rather confusing."
"Well, there's little doubt you can rate as a fighter," Engar said, "so you can
afford the risk in case you don't make it. A lot of people, human and other,
would be much interested in the outcome should you decide to try it."
"What did you do that the rest of us didn't?" John growled. "I stood in that
dingy little cubbyhole for half an hour waiting for something to jump me.
Absolutely nothing happened."
"I think the room was a trick," Martin said. "Horath tried to tell us that,
though not in so many words."
"I hate to break this up," Engar said. "But if you think today was tough, wait
until tomorrow. It's time you people head back to your rooms. On the third
floor you'll find a laundry and shower room. You have a little time now to
clean up and relax before turning in. There's no formal lights-out, but your day
will start an hour before sunup so you don't want to stay up late. Take a snack
with you when you leave the dining hall. It's a long stretch until morning meal.
Oh, and one other thing, you have pretty much the run of the training building
and the compound. However, you're not to leave the palisade. Don't take this
warning lightly. Any questions?"
"Why can't we go outside the palisade?" Linda asked. "I'd like to see what
the rest of Or'gn looks like."

"There'll be time for that later. For the next thirty days your job is to learn
how to survive in Faland. Time spent running around the village or wandering
through the countryside is time not spent training. Look at it this way: this rule
makes it easier to maintain the necessary discipline." Engar grinned. "Anyway,
I promise you'll be too tired to do any extra exploring."
"How about a cheer for our cooks?" Martin suggested.
"Good idea." Engar summoned Mithral and Tisha who blushed and nodded
shyly while the newcomers complimented them on the bounty of their table.
*****
In the room with Jason, Martin found a flint and lit the lamp over the table.
In the cupboard he found a bottle of lamp-oil and needles and thread for cloth
and leather repairs. Alongside them he stowed the food he had brought from
the dining hall, then went with Jason downstairs to the courtyard.
Others were already strolling in the darkened yard where they had met only
that morning. A small pale orb, riding low on the eastern horizon, had replaced
the sun.
"Look at the moon! It's so small!" Jason cried.
"Engar was right," Martin said, his voice quavering. "I've never seen this
sky before and never that moon."
"The stars!" Jason's eyes were wide with wonder. "There are so many!"
Even the brightness of the small moon could not hide the enormous swirls
of stars that formed luminous streamers and smoky clouds in the clear night
sky.
"It's the core," Martin said, "the center of the galaxy! Thousands of light
years! We're thousands of light years from home!"
A whirl of white wings engulfed them, and Jason raised his hands to shield
his face.
"Oh, they make me dizzy! What are they?"
Frail winged creatures swept around them, like leaves blown on the wind.
They fluttered wildly for a few moments, then vanished into the night.
"Moths," Martin said. "Hundreds and hundreds."
"It's magic here," Jason said, his face slack with wonder.
"Thousands of light years," Martin repeated softly. "Thousands and
thousands - it's awesome."
"Maybe we're not even in our own galaxy."
Martin closed his eyes. His mind did not want to grapple with the
implications of what his senses were telling him.

"Will we ever go back?" Jason asked

Martin said. "Maybe there's no place to which we can return."
"What do you mean?"
"Theory tells us travel over such great distance requires aeons of time. If
we're near the heart of the galaxy, then our home is not only far away, but also
long ago."
"Does that mean we're here forever?" Jason asked. "I hope so. I don't want
to go back, not ever. At home I was always sick and the only thing I wanted to
do was die."
Martin put his arm around the boy's shoulders and drew him near.
Carol and Robert drifted toward them looking ghostly in the pale light.
Jason pulled away from Martin and joined hands with Robert.
Martin watched Carol come nearer and saw her hair, a darker dark against
her olive skin, fall in coils over her bare shoulders. His pulse quickened.
"This is a good place," Carol said softly. "It's a miracle, isn't it?"
Martin noticed how thin her shoulders were, with the exaggerated boniness
that Jason showed. He wanted to touch her.
Carol said, "We've been given a new life here, haven't we? Where did it
come from? How did we get here?"
"Jason thinks aliens beamed us."
"Bertha still says she's dreaming."
"And you?"
"I just think it's strange," Carol said.
"Yes," Martin said. "It is odd. It looks primitive, but if Jason is right, the
technology that brought us here is beyond our imagination."
"Do you know what droids are?" Carol asked.
"I didn't give them much thought."
"They're not what they seem."
"Aibit said they have no independent existence. I did wonder what that
means."
"I think droids are artificial, sort of practice dummies. The dugos were
designed for medical practice."
"They're flesh and blood and their bodies are warm."
"I know, but the one assigned to me started to revive while I worked on it.
Before Aibit sprayed it with something to knock it out I had the impression it
didn't feel what I was doing."
"You're worried, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes. You've got doubts

about this place."

"You feel it, too," Carol said. "Isn't that why you chose Mentat training?"
"I suppose so. I've always been pretty pragmatic, but I'm not sure I can trust
my senses since waking here. The Mentat test was strange. I want to find out
what's going on."
"Is Bertha right? Are we dreaming?"
"Part of the time I think so, but it isn't like any dream I can remember. I feel
as alive and awake as I ever have. Besides," Martin smiled, "if I'm dreaming,
then you don't exist and your question is meaningless." He put his hand on the
small of Carol's back and she did not pull away. They moved to the courtyard
wall.
The moon cast tenuous illumination over the vast land, creating a mosaic of
light and dark as far as the eye could see. As they studied, trying to fit
themselves into the vastness, voices sounded in the dark behind them. Jason
and Robert came out of the shadows.
"It's Engar," Robert said.
A tall figure was moving across the courtyard.
"Everything's set for tomorrow," Engar told them. "I've posted schedules at
your rooms. A servant will wake you an hour before sunrise. Eat, but not too
much. We'll meet here for morning exercises, and we'll work together until
morning meal. After that you'll go to your individual classes. I suggest you turn
in soon. Wake-up call will come before you know it."
The group divided into pairs and headed toward their rooms where they
left their sirkelns and mokads. They kept on their ukelns, the soft garments
worn under their sirkelns, and took soap and towels and headed toward the
shower room. A laundry, comprised of brass-lined, wooden tubs equipped
with scrub boards, occupied the south end of the facility. A balcony, extending
south onto the roof, served as a drying yard. North of the laundry, a dozen
unenclosed spray outlets mounted above a wood-slat floor made up the shower
facility. A shelf, out of range of the spray, provided a place to set soap and
towels, and underneath was a row of pegs on which to hang their ukelns.
Some were already showering when Jason and Martin arrived. Jason
blushed when he saw the naked women, but Martin slipped off his ukeln. The
women had chosen the far end of the shower, and. Robert was at the near end.
Martin took the nozzle next to him. The water, sun-warmed in a roof catchment,
was pleasantly tepid.
"Great shower," Martin said as he lathered.

Carol laughed nervously. "Not very private."

"Who cares? I've been and seen naked before," Robert said.
Martin chortled.
Laughter eased the tension and even Jason relaxed and stepped into the
shower.
Martin was not sleepy when he got back to the room, but he was tired.
Jason slumped on the edge of his bed with a somber expression in his dark
eyes.
"Something wrong?" Martin asked.
"I don't want to go to sleep."
"I know," Martin said. "You're worried this isn't real after all."
"I'm afraid I'll wake up back in the hospital," Jason said. "I like not being
sick. I don't want it to be the way it was."
"Why the sudden doubts? Aren't you the one who insisted all day that this is
for real?"
"I think I was just hoping," Jason said. "Now it's dark and the day is gone. I
wish it were just starting."
"Every day ends. Tomorrow will bring what it will, but now it's time for
sleep."
Martin blew out the lamp and slid under the cover on his bed. As his eyes
adjusted to the moonlight coming through the east window, he saw Jason still
seated on the edge of his bed.
Probably won't either of us sleep much tonight.
Martin yawned, then fell promptly asleep.

CHAPTER FIVE

Loud knocks echoed in the darkness. Martin groped for his bedside alarm
and felt his hand swing through empty air.
Where am I?
Something soft hit the floor and the knocks turned into muffled yells. "Rise
and shine! Everybody up!"
Out of the darkness a figure appeared above Martin. "Wake up! I think it's
time to get up!"
"Jason?" Martin sounded groggy.
"It's time to get up," Jason shook Martin's shoulder. "It's not a dream! We're
still in Faland. Isn't it wonderful?"
Martin struggled to an elbow and saw Jason, shadowy in the weak light
coming through the window, climb onto a chair next to the table. He heard the
sharp sound of steel on flint and a tongue of light grew in the lantern.
As Martin's brain came awake, memory of the day before came too.
Jason's right, it isn't a dream. It's impossible to go to sleep in a dream
and wake up still dreaming . . . isn't it?
He swung his feet out of bed as the lamp sputtered into full life.
"Did you sleep at all?" Martin asked Jason.
"Yeah, but I woke up when I had to use the bathroom, and someone
knocked on the door before I could get back to sleep."
Through the window faint light showed on the eastern horizon. Martin went
into the bathroom and lit its lamp. "Do you want to wash up first? It'll take me
a few minutes to shave."
"There's room for both of us." Jason pushed past Martin. "I'll get some
water."
They soaped their faces and arms and splashed each other and laughed.
Martin lathered and applied the pearl-bladed razor to the stubble on his jaw
while Jason brushed his teeth.
"You're in a good mood," Martin said.
"Uh-huh." Jason gurgled around the toothbrush.
"Are you brushing with soap?"
"Couldn't find toothpaste. Besides, it tastes okay."
They pulled on their sirkelns and mokads, then made breakfast from the

leftovers Martin brought from the dining hall the evening before.
"Wow, I'm hungry," Jason said, stuffing his mouth.
"I thought I took too much last night. Now I'm not sure there's enough."
After eating they headed to the courtyard. Others were gathered there,
talking excitedly as they watched the bright aura where the sun would soon
rise.
"Martin," Carol called from the railing. "How was your night?"
"I slept like a log. Jason was up first."
Carol's grin showed white teeth against olive. She looked happy, and her
face had a youthful look Martin had not seen the day before. He watched the
sun's first rays catch her hair and build ruby overtones in the soft, black
strands.
"It's wonderful to wake and feel so good," Carol said. "Susan and I even
sang a duet this morning."
"You ready to go to school?" Martin asked.
"I think it's exciting. I haven't worked since I got sick. It'll be fun having
something to do again."
"Even learning to fight?"
"I'm not going to fight. I'm going to be a Healer, like before."
Engar arrived, attired only in his sirkeln and mokads and without the
weaponry he had worn the day before. "Good! Everyone's here. This may seem
a bit onerous, but conditioning is important. We'll warm up with calisthenics,
then run in the compound."
The group soon learned what Engar meant by onerous. Warm-up took an
hour, after which they jogged downstairs to the compound where Engar set a
brisk pace along the trail to the gazebo, then north a mile before angling over a
low ridge.
Martin felt pleasantly surprised when he discovered a measure of his old
stamina. "How big is the compound?" he asked Engar.
"Better than a legon square, and a legon is close to a mile. Our path covers
about five legons."
"Good run first time out."
"This is still warm-up. After the run, the real work begins." Engar sprinted
ahead and was back at the training building several minutes before the others
arrived. Martin struggled for breath as he slowed.
Linda, her face glistening with sweat, drew abreast. "This is fun!" she
yelled. "I love to run!"

Moments later Jason, with Robert and Susan, sputtered into view and
Bertha hauled up blowing like a wounded elephant. John was not much better
off.
Engar gave them a few minutes, then took them into the training hall.
Weights rested on benches, a double rope climb hung from the ceiling, and dip
bars were in place. Assisted by Sardor and Thren, Engar guided each trainee
in a series of strength and agility exercises. These he followed with rope
climbing, one-leg sprint relays, shuttle relays, and peg-climb races. When
everyone felt they could not lift an arm or take another step, Engar called a
break.
"Time for morning meal," he said.
With their wind recovered, they launched into the kurduc, bread, drog, and
assorted side dishes with enthusiasm.
"Skill training begins next," Engar announced.
***
Horath was waiting when Martin arrived. He sat cross-legged as before
and motioned Martin to sit. Martin faced the Master Mentat and looked again
into his eyes.
"You will learn concentration," Horath said.
Martin felt himself fall into a plum-colored vortex. Strange sensations
disturbed his mind and made his stomach queasy. Horath seemed to surround
him, yet was nowhere evident.
What am I to do?
Martin concentrated, but discovered nothing. When the session ended, he
felt drained and frustrated, yet Horath dismissed him with a mere wave of his
hand and would answer no questions. Martin slipped into the compound and
dropped gratefully to the grass under a large tree. He ate bread and meat saved
from breakfast and savored the minutes remaining before he would begin
learning the art of war.
Jason emerged from the training hall and saw Martin. "I wondered where
you had gone," he said.
"Just resting a minute. How was Marov?"
Jason's face glowed. "She's great. I really like her."
"And the singing?"
"It's fun. I love it."
"I'm glad." Martin clapped Jason on the back.
"How about Horath?" Jason asked.

"Confusing, but otherwise okay," Martin said. "Horath, I think, will be a

real challenge."
Jason sensed his doubt and looked troubled.
"Not to worry," Martin reassured him. "I think we better get inside before
Engar wonders where we are."
Afternoon combat training included John, Martin, Jason, Carol, and Linda.
The others, Bertha, Susan, and Robert, had attended combat training earlier
and were now with their skill instructors.
"You kids may wonder why you must learn combat when you'll not likely
get skilled or strong enough to earn a fighter's rating," Engar began as he led
them to the armor racks.
"Goes for me too," Carol said. "If we qualify in our skill you said we don't
need to fight. Shouldn't we spend all our time on skill training?"
"Sorry," Engar said. "It doesn't work that way. You are assigned to Faland's
Warrior caste. You don't have a choice. Once you put on the red headband of a
Warrior, you'll have to fight if challenged."
"Challenged?" Martin asked.
"Warriors compete for standing. When you leave training, other Warriors
will challenge you, hoping to increase their standing by defeating you. You can
avoid challenging other Warriors, but sometimes you must accept their
challenges."
"You didn't say that yesterday. I don't want to fight," Carol said. "I thought
you told us if we learn a skill we don't have to fight."
"I only said you could avoid most combat. I know it'll be hard, but it'll be
even harder if you lack the skill. It's to your advantage to learn as much about
Faland combat as you can and to become as skilled as possible."
"I heard John mention something about tribute," Martin said. "What's that
all about?"
Engar motioned Sardor to begin fitting protective gear. "I'll explain. An
ethical code governs challenge duels. Honorable Warriors fight by the rules.
Such fights rarely result in serious injury, but losers must pay tribute to the
winner. The amount depends on fighting level. Unrated fighters pay one rall, all
others pay three ralls per level."
"You saying this is some kind of game? Are we gladiators expected to fight
for someone's amusement?"
"Perhaps that's partly true, but I haven't told you everything yet. There are
places in Faland where honor rules don't apply, and there the game is deadly

serious."
Engar saw the looks on their faces. "I'm not trying to scare you. I just want
you to take combat training seriously. It's important. I've lived here a year, and
I know. Now, I think you better get started."
While Engar was telling his cautionary tale, John had been practicing handto-hand combat with Thren. Two other, remarkably ugly, individuals now
joined the staff.
"I'd like you to meet Tu and Fru," Engar said. "You'll become well
acquainted with these Warrior droids."
"Droids?" Martin asked. "You mean like the dugo droids in the med tests?
Just what are droids, anyway?"
"I thought you might be curious." Engar smiled. "Did any of you see the
Terminator movies?"
"Are these Terminators?" Jason asked, his eyes suddenly wide.
"There are similarities," Engar said. "They're engineered life forms, a
combination of flesh and machine, like the first Terminator. They're
programmed fighters and that's all they do. You'll find sparring with them
interesting."
"Malevolent looking creatures, " Martin said. "Must weigh close to two
hundred pounds each."
"My God, what's going on?" Carol cried. "If droids are made to fight, why
are we training to be Warriors?"
"Good question," Engar said. "It appears droids are not very intelligent.
Human and native Warriors supply the leadership in military operations.
Droids accompany expeditions but rarely carry the full burden of battle. Also,
though they're impressive in battle, humans can defeat them. In fact, to qualify
as a fighter that's exactly what you have to do."
"Are they sentient?" Martin asked.
"They're machines, robots made of flesh," Engar answered. "I doubt they're
sentient, but there are lots of surprises in Faland. In my year here I've barely
scratched the surface. But cheer up, you'll get used to it and likely find it not
half bad."
"Does that make it half good?" Jason asked.
Engar shrugged. "It's all a matter of perspective. Now, let's get started." He
selected two training swords. "I'll start with Martin. The rest of you watch."
He gave a sword to Martin, the other to Fru, and ushered them into a roped
off area, a bit like a boxing ring.

"Test Martin," he commanded.

Fru immediately attacked and Martin backpedaled against the ropes. The
training swords, designed to have the weight and feel of combat weapons,
were made of brass, their edges dulled and sheathed in leather so they did not
cut. Fru, passionless, methodical, and brutally effective, rained blows on
Martin. In spite of padding, Martin winced with each stroke. After several
minutes, during which he concentrated mostly on avoiding punishment, Martin
began to see Fru's attack pattern. He countered and felt a pleasurable jolt as he
landed his first blow. His joy was short lived, however, for Fru changed
strategy and easily penetrated Martin's defense.
Engar called a halt. "Excellent! Good beginning. I think the sword will be
right for you."
Martin crawled through the ropes, gasping, his body a mass of aches. "If
that was good I sure don't want to see bad!"
"Linda, you're next," Engar turned to the pixie with the black eyes.
"Me?" she squeaked.
Carol looked from Linda to the huge droid. "You're kidding, I hope."
"She won't get hurt," Engar said. "She's too small and light to handle a
sword. I have something else in mind."
Sardor guided Linda into the ring.
Engar turned to the child. "You and Tu are going to play a little game. Tu
will run after you and try to grab you. All you have to do is stay out of the way.
I want you to kick, scream and claw with all your strength if Tu catches you.
Escape if you can. Any questions?"
Linda's eyes brightened. "Is that all? I just have to play keep-away?"
Engar nodded.
"That's easy! I've done this lots of times."
Tu was in the ring opposite her.
"Say when you're ready," Engar called to Linda.
"Now!" Linda shouted.
Engar commanded Tu, "Capture Linda!"
Tu charged and Linda giggled as she ran along the ropes. The massive
droid caught her before she took two steps. Its huge hand gripped her ankle.
She rolled and kicked with her free foot. A meaty arm crossed her chest and
she felt her back slam against the stone floor. Pinned and helpless, she
struggled to breathe. She was no longer giggling.
Engar nodded and Tu released the girl. Engar saw tears in her eyes. "It's

rough," he said. "Are you willing to try again?"

Linda choked back a sob, but there was a flicker of defiance in her eyes.
She nodded yes.
This time, when things were set, she poised on the balls of her feet, knees
flexed, arms slightly out from her sides. "Now," she whispered.
She watched Tu's huge thigh muscles bunch, and she raced along the ropes
as before. When Tu's outstretched leg blocked her way, she slammed her small
foot against his, twisted sideways, and rolled between his legs. Instantly she
was on her feet, running. At the ropes, she reversed and saw Tu's grappling
arms reach for her. A fast right turn cleared his leg. She reversed again and
slipped by as his hand brushed her shoulder. Something grabbed her right arm
below the shoulder. She rotated and raked Tu's forearm with her nails. The
droid snarled, shook her, and flipped her onto her back like a rag doll. Linda
sucked air and stared into soulless black eyes.
"Better! Much better!" Engar lifted Linda over the ropes. "A good Warrior
knows how to escape as well as fight. In time, I think, the droid will not catch
you."
Linda nodded.
Engar turned to Carol. "Your turn; I'm going to try you with the sword."
In spite of her misgivings, after witnessing Linda's pluck, Carol did not see
how she could refuse. She entered the ring with her heart in her throat and an
unpleasant churning in her stomach. When Fru attacked, she raised her sword
and felt it tear from her grip. Slack-jawed, she stared as the droid thrust its
sword against her armor and drove her to the ropes.
Engar stepped in. "That's okay. Try it again, but never relax your grip on
your sword."
To her surprise, Carol found herself angry. When Fru attacked, she swung
savagely and felt her sword connect with the droid's blade. A second later, Fru
penetrated her defense and slapped her shoulder with the flat of its blade, hard
enough to throw her off balance. She swung hard, then again, harder and faster.
Fru backed and she exulted. But the droid halted its tactical retreat, got inside
her wild swings, and pummeled her savagely.
"Good! Good," Engar called as he stopped the fight. "The sword is your
weapon. You show great spirit."
"Good?" Carol cried. "That thing beat the crap out of me!"
Engar grinned. "But I noticed you had no qualms about defending yourself.
In time you'll learn to avoid the punishment."

"I guess I'm next," Jason said.

"Indeed you are," Engar said as he turned to the boy. "But your training will
be a little different. Before I put you in the ring, you'll need some preparation."
From the weapon rack, he chose a tagan and flexed it in his hands. "This'll be
your weapon, Jason, but it's tricky to use. Pay attention all of you; you must
understand this weapon whether you use it or not."
Engar moved to a thick wooden beam, supported on four legs, a bit like an
oversize sawhorse. In a lightning move, he brought the tagan up and over,
letting the thin whip extend to full length. It flashed across the wooden horse
and a fountain of splinters sprayed outward from the torn beam. Everyone
jumped.
"Two things you must never forget when you use this weapon," Engar said
as he coiled it again in his hand. "Powerful as it is, a strong blade can cut its
cabling, leaving you defenseless against a skilled swordsman, and the tagan
can bite the hand that holds it. Notice how it curls when swung in empty air?
The free end, if not carefully controlled, can lash back and strike you: in the
face, in the eye, on the hand, almost anyplace. Of all Faland's weapons, the
tagan is the most dangerous to the unskilled user. Yet, it is also the most
effective for a smaller, lighter Warrior. Speed and technique are much more
important than strength."
Engar then put his hand on Jason's shoulder and peered into his eyes. "My
young friend, you have the potential to defeat a droid with this weapon. Do you
believe me?"
Jason looked at the huge droid, then back at the tagan. He swallowed and
shook his head from side to side. "I don't see how."
"Watch!"
Engar exchanged the Warrior's tagan for a training weapon with the spines
removed and the tip wrapped in leather. He climbed into the ring and nodded
to Tu and Fru. Both droids took positions outside the opposing corner and
Sardor moved to instruct them.
"Attack!" Sardor hissed, and the droids, armed with training swords,
danced forward. They moved with almost balletic precision, yet with great
circumspection. Engar stepped from his corner, the tagan trailing lightly in his
right hand.
The droids charged and Engar sidestepped toward Tu's swing. Faster even
than the stroke he had driven against the wooden horse, he brought the tagan
overhead in a sharp, diagonal sweep. The tip contacted Tu's sword hand with a

sound like rifle shot; the droid grunted and its sword spun aside. Engar
squatted as Fru's blade whistled overhead. At the end of his stroke, Engar
backhanded horizontally. The tip of his tagan slapped Fru's right thigh and the
droid backed. Engar followed with a blinding vertical that curled over Fru's
left shoulder. The droid tried to get under Engar's extended right arm, but the
Weapon-master dodged and flipped the tagan to his left hand. Twisting right, he
drove a straight vertical to the droid's sword hand. The match ended with Fru's
sword lying alongside Tu's on the stone floor.
"Wow!" Jason's eyes were wide. It had taken scarcely a dozen heartbeats
for the Weapon-master to disarm the two hulking droids.
"You see," Engar handed the training tagan to Jason. "In skilled hands this
is a remarkably powerful weapon."
"Show me how to do that!"
When Engar finished his evaluations, he divided the pupils between
himself and his assistants and set everyone to practice. All afternoon he rotated
assignments so that he could work personally with each pupil.
During the last hour, Engar took them to the practice range to introduce
them to projectile weapons. "Your Warrior rating depends on your skill with
close combat weapons," he told them, "and your training will concentrate most
heavily on those. However, you should also become skilled in at least one
weapon that will strike an enemy at a distance. Eventually your skill with these
weapons will be as important as your skill with sword or tagan. The hummer
is a weapon even a small Warrior like Linda can learn."
Engar started Martin with a bow, but Carol found Faland war bows beyond
her strength. Engar introduced her to the kalard, then showed Linda and Jason
how to throw a hummer. By dismissal, drenched with sweat, exhausted and
bruised, the trainees wondered if their original assessment of Faland as heaven
might have been mistaken.
Everyone revived at the evening meal. Jason did not sit with Martin, but
sought the company of Robert and the two girls; the children joked merrily
across the table, accepting one another and their new life with the easy
adaptability of the young. Martin found a place next to Carol, marveling at how
quickly he and the others recovered from their grueling workouts.
Carol seemed subdued.
"What are you thinking?" Martin asked.
When she did not reply, he said, "It's been a rough two days. Our lives
have changed so fast. Do you miss what you had?"

"No," Carol said. "I was dying. I guess I'm dead. It's just . . . well . . . not
what I expected. I don't know if this is God's idea of a joke, or what. I don't
like fighting. I don't think women should fight."
"I heard that," Bertha broke in. "Honey, speak for yourself. As for me. I
don't mind learning to handle myself. Man or woman, a body's got a right to
defend herself."
"I suppose," Carol said. "But I hoped being dead would be nicer. There
was enough fighting where we came from."
"Honey, from what I hear, you mixed it up pretty good today," Bertha said.
"Maybe you're here because you like it better than you admit."
Carol flushed.

CHAPTER SIX

During the next days, Engar's students had little time to think about anything
except work and learning. Memory of their past lives faded with astonishing
rapidity. Friendships grew. Even Engar was drawn in though he remained
always the Training-master.
Everyone enjoyed skill training and all felt they were making progress
except Martin. Each day he sat in front of Horath and felt himself fall into a
spinning, multi-colored vortex that made no sense. As his frustration increased,
he sensed that Horath, too, was frustrated.
What am I supposed to do?
Orbs, cylinders, splashes of color, squares, triangles, spikes of light, all
flashed in front of his eyes. They looked like cubistic art, scattered, unrelated,
waxing and waning with no recognizable pattern.
Then Martin had an insight.
What does Horath keep telling me? Quit using my eyes?
Of course! The images have no meaning! Meaning is in the source of the
images!
He wanted to laugh, cry, shout, jump, anything to celebrate his discovery.
For the first time, he saw a smile on Horath's face, and the fierce light in his
eyes was replaced with warmth. The Master Mentat placed a withered hand on
Martin's shoulder. "Tomorrow we will truly begin," he said.
As days rolled by, bodies fleshed out, stamina improved, and strength
increased. Even Carol muted her protests and ceased to rebel against the
sword.
"Did you hear how severed arms and legs can be sewed back and the
wounds will heal?" Jason asked. He was sitting with Martin on the courtyard
wall, admiring the moonlit landscape.
"Carol told me."
"She said she's already done it on a dugo and it takes only about a week
and they're good as new. You think it's true?"
"I've no reason to doubt Carol. We've already seen how fast smaller
injuries heal, like the cut on your thumb when you were testing for Armorer. It
took only a day. By two days you couldn't tell you'd been cut."
"You think they could cure Aids here?"

Martin looked at the boy and saw strong, wiry muscles along his arms,
sinewy calves and thighs, and a face glowing with health. "I'd say they already
have, Lad; they already have."
Jason grinned. "You're right."
"Faland is definitely not like back home."
"Martin, can I ask you something?"
"Of course." Martin turned to the boy.
"Do you like Carol?"
Martin looked surprised. "Why do you ask?"
"You do, don't you? I mean, you see her a lot . . . I mean we all see her a lot
but . . . well . . . you and her seem pretty friendly."
"I like Carol, true enough. I think you rather like Linda, too."
Jason's face warmed.
"By the way, where is Linda tonight, and Robert and Susan?"
"Practicing. Linda's on a night hike with Froven."
"We're all busy these days. We're half way through training."
"Seems like I've been doing this all my life," Jason said. "It's like I wasn't
born until I came here. I--"
Running feet sounded in the passageway to the courtyard. A shouted voice
came through the darkness, "Martin! There's been an accident in the training
hall!"
It was Susan's voice. Martin ran across the courtyard and followed her
downstairs, Jason at his heels. They found a small crowd gathered around
someone lying on the floor.
"Robert!" Jason cried. Carol was at the boy's side, her hands wrapped
around one leg. She had blood up to her elbows. Linda skidded up with a
medical pouch and dumped its contents.
"Poma?" she asked Carol and fumbled a small canister open before
receiving a reply.
"Good!" Carol slid over to make room for Linda. "When I let go, dump the
powder directly on the wound."
Crouching at Robert's feet, Jason gagged as a bone-deep gash from knee to
ankle sagged open. Linda dumped yellow powder into the raw wound..
"Enough," Carol said, her voice cool. "I'll tie it closed." Linda moved her
small hands between Carol's and helped hold and wrap the bandages as Carol
tied.
"This will hold until the bleeding stops," Carol said. "Then I'll stitch it."

Flustered and puffing, Bertha shoved through the door with Healer Aibit
following. "Excellent, Carol," Aibit said when she saw what her pupil had
done."John, carry the boy up to the lab. We'll stitch the wound there."
John raised Robert from the floor, cradling his head, and started up the
stairs.
"Has anyone told Engar?" Martin asked.
"He went for a walk," Bertha said. "Said he'd be gone half an hour. He
should be back shortly."
They trooped into the lab, and John laid Robert on a prep table. Therpen
had gone ahead and laid out an instrument pack and prepared hot water and
bandages. Aibit untied the strips of cloth that held Robert's leg together. Poma
had induced clots in even the largest severed vessels and the bleeding had
ceased. She swabbed the wound with green liquid.
"Frenwort," Carol explained, "from an herb that stops pain and speeds
healing."
Carol watched Aibit work. The wound had parted Robert's calf muscles
longitudinally and had severed his right peroneal artery. Fortunately, it had
spared the posterior tibial artery and its co-running nerve. The wound had
penetrated to the bone along three inches of its length.
Aibit turned to Carol. "He's your patient. Close the wound."
Carol hesitated.
"This is within your ability," Aibit said. "I'll help if necessary. Linda, you
can help too."
Robert was pale as ash, but with his pain numbed, he lay quietly.
"You're going to be fine," Jason told him, his face almost as white as
Robert's.
Bertha wiped the boy's forehead with a dampened cloth. "Jason's right.
You're in good hands."
Carol attached a small clamp to each end of the severed peroneal artery,
then used a small spatulate instrument to clear poma from the area. With
forceps, she removed a small sheet of translucent material from a tiny box and
instructed Linda to use the clamps to hold the ends of the artery together.
Carefully, she wrapped the translucent sheet around the union. Instantly, it
adhered, forming a leak tight coupling. When Linda removed the clamps, blood
began to flow through the repaired artery.
Aibit nodded. "Good job."
Next, Carol stitched together layers of fascia and muscle. Twice Aibit bent

to inspect and once to help. Martin watched and wondered. Carol was a nurse
in the old life. Did she develop these surgical skills then? How else could she
have learned so much in such a short time?
Engar, who had come in while the work was in progress, asked everyone
to assemble in the training hall. He requested that Robert be present, and when
Aibit offered no objection, John carried the boy downstairs.
"What happened?" Engar turned first to Robert.
John propped the boy on a training bench with his leg raised.
"Do we have to do this tonight?" Carol asked, anger in her voice. "The
boy's hurt."
Engar looked at her with eyes like flint. "We do it now."
Robert's eyes had tears in them. "I was practicing with the tagan," he said.
"Wearing protection?"
"No," Robert hung his head.
"Was a trainer with you?"
"You and Sardor were gone and Thren was helping John."
Engar's scowl deepened. "I don't recall you asking for extra help this
evening; is my memory faulty?"
Robert reddened. "I didn't ask."
"That wound wasn't caused by a training tagan. What did you use?"
"A war tagan," Robert admitted in an almost inaudible voice. "I was
practicing sweeps and wanted to see what it would do to the 'horse.'" He
looked at Engar with tears running down his cheeks. "It was my fault. I did it
wrong. No one else is to blame."
"Did anyone else see the accident?" Engar asked.
"I should've paid more attention," John said. "He was working alone, but I
was too busy with my own practice to give him heed."
"It was not your fault," Engar said. "We have staff to help, and Robert knew
to ask."
"I saw it," Linda volunteered. "I'd just got back from a night hike, and I
came in to see who was in the training hall. Robert was doing sweeps, like he
said, but he got too close to the overhead." She pointed to the pull-up bar. "The
tagan hit the bar and bounced down. It curled around and hit his leg."
"I was practicing with a sword," Carol admitted, "without supervision, like
Robert. I didn't see what happened, but I heard Robert scream and Linda
started yelling. I ran to Robert and put pressure on the wound while Linda got
the medical kit."

"Anyone else?" Engar asked. "Who got Aibit?"

"I was just outside the door," Susan answered. "I heard the noise, and when
I saw what was happening I ran to get everybody. Bertha got Aibit."
Robert was still crying. "What's going to happen to me?"
Engar's face softened. "Nothing. What was going to happen already has. I'm
pleased that you admit your fault. It means you've learned a lesson and won't
make the same mistake again." He turned to the group. "Rules have a purpose.
Failure to follow them increases your risk and sometimes that of others.
Robert's going to be all right; I've had worse wounds myself. There won't be
any infection; there won't be any complications. In a few days he'll have only a
fading scar where the tagan bit him; and perhaps, the memory of the harm
foolishness can cause. I didn't call this meeting to punish Robert. I called it so
we might all understand what happened and keep it from happening again.
Now, it's getting late and morning will soon be here."
John lifted Robert. "You'll be back in action in no time, Pal, thanks to Carol
and your friend, Linda."
"I was afraid Engar wouldn't want me any more," Robert said. "Will he let
me finish training?"
"Engar said he isn't going to punish you. You'll finish your training. This is
only a cut; it won't last long. Heck, I'm sure Warriors get hurt worse than this
all the time."
This observation did not reassure Robert, but next morning he hobbled
down to breakfast ready to resume his work. The tagan had, however,
intimidated him and he refused to practice with it. But when Engar told him
there was no time to switch to another weapon, and if he did not train with the
tagan he would have to learn to play dodgem with Linda and Susan, he took it
up again.
*****
After the breakthrough with Horath, Martin made rapid progress in Mentatmastery. He worked in the small cubicle, and when the metallic spheres, like
tiny moons, appeared as they had the first day, he discovered it was his mind
that must control them, not his hands. He learned to control the elusive,
transmutable rod, using only the power of his mind. It was not magic, he
decided, but a tangible connection between spheres, rod, and mind that made it
possible. He wondered how such a connection could be engineered.
Horath rarely answered questions. Only during the final week of training
did Martin realize that when he thought he was in control of the spheres and

rod, it was Horath who supplied most of the guidance. When, near the end, he
gained actual control, he discovered how hard he must concentrate and how
easily Horath could usurp control.
Martin learned the spheres were vision aids, extended eyes, that allowed a
Mentat to see as though the spheres were light receptors connected directly to
the mind. The rod was more confusing. He could readily configure it into many
forms, but it easily lost its shape. It seemed to channel energy, though it was not
clear what use it was. Martin concentrated on manipulating the device and
assumed eventually its purpose would become clear.
On the evening of the twenty-eighth day of training, at supper when
everyone was talking and laughing and making merry, John suddenly shouted,
"Hey! We have a Song-master growing among us? What about a song Jason?
We have yet to hear you sing, and rumor says you have a fine voice." John had
grown increasingly gregarious as his huge body strengthened. His hair was still
snow white and he wore a full, white beard, yet his general appearance greatly
belied his elderly status. At six foot nine, he towered over everyone at the
table, and when he spoke, all listened.
Jason blushed and stared at his plate.
"Yes! A song! Jason, sing us a song!" A chorus of voices joined John's call.
"I haven't practiced any real songs," Jason said. "I mean songs with words.
I only know Marov's songs, and they don't have words."
"Then sing us Marov's songs!" John bellowed. "We'll not fault the lack of
words."
"Say, Martin," Bertha shouted. "You must know some songs? Can't you
teach Jason a song or two? I might know a few myself." Then she added, half
to herself, "If I can remember the words and get the music right."
"Let him sing Marov's songs now," Susan said. "He can learn others later."
"How about it, Jason?" Martin asked. "Are you ready for your public
debut?"
"Well," Jason began uncertainly, "I guess I could."
A general shout and clapping brought Jason to his feet.
"Quiet now! Everybody quiet!" Bertha thundered.
Jason stood at his place, suddenly surrounded by silence, and saw the faces
turned expectantly toward him. He felt his heart pound as it had the first time
he performed for Marov. He began to sing, tremulously at first, but as the song
took hold, with growing power. It was not merely sound that came from his
throat, but joy as well - joy that elicited an answering joy in the hearts of his

listeners. His notes hung in the air like live things, rose then dropped to a low
that seemed impossible for so young a boy, then rose again. Slowly his voice
wove a musical tapestry of wondrous complexity and beauty. All had heard
Marov during their tests, but this song went far beyond. When at last Jason
finished, they all knew what it meant when someone was called Song-master.
The applause was long and hard and Jason beamed as they shouted,
"Encore! Encore!"
Later, after shower and laundry chores, when it was time to put out the
lantern, Jason sat on the edge of his bed and remembered the dining hall and
the song and the way the others had enjoyed it. It made him shiver with
pleasure, but darkness had come also into his thoughts and he grew anxious.
Martin finished in the bathroom and blew out the lantern.
"Tomorrow is our last day," Jason said, a plaintive note in his voice.
"I know," Martin dropped to his bed.
"I like it here."
"Me, too."
"I mean, I like it here, in the training building, with everyone."
Martin looked at the boy, silhouetted in the darkness on the edge of his bed.
Jason's hands fidgeted with the tie that held his ukeln around his lean hips.
Faint light accented the movement of his fingers.
"When the training is over, where will we go?" Jason's voice was husky.
"I don't know; I've thought about it too. I suspect everyone's thinking about
it."
"Do you think . . . ?" Jason's voice trailed off. He lifted his head and
Martin could see starlight in his eyes. "Maybe . . . do you think we might stay
together?"
Martin got up and crossed to Jason and drew the boy to him. Small, hard
arms, circled his neck and squeezed.
"I don't know what's going to happen," Martin said. "But I promise I'll stay
with you. I don't know how the system works in Faland, but from what Engar
says, it should be possible for us to get jobs with the same agent."
Jason eased into his bed. "I hope so."
Martin rose and brushed the boy's forehead with his lips. He crossed to his
bed and slipped under the covers, wondering if there were any chance at all
that he could keep the promise he had just made.

CHAPTER SEVEN

On the eve of final exams, everyone gathered in the dining hall as usual.
The mood was subdued, the talk low and casual, of incidentals with little
mention of the coming tests. No one talked about the approaching moment when
they would go separately into an ill-defined future. A month before, they had
awakened strangers in an alien world. Now they were a closely knit cadre
with strong emotional ties that each dreaded to break.
"Might we have a song tonight, Jason?" Carol asked.
All day Jason had thought he might be asked and had decided he would
refuse. For the first time since beginning his studies, he did not feel like
singing. But now that the request had come, he changed his mind. A
composition that, at first, he had not liked now suited his mood so well he
wanted to give it voice.
It was simpler than what he sang the night before and had none of its
liveliness. It had no words, yet when he began to sing, Jason finally understood
it. It was a song of ending and beginning, of past pleasure and future joy, of
sorrow and hope; it was, in short, a song of the training hall, of graduation, and
of the need to go on.
When Jason finished, no one clapped. Yet, from their faces, he knew they
also understood. He began to realize the power of the songs.
After Jason's song, Engar rose. "A toast," he held aloft a mug of drog, "to
the finest group of trainees I've had the pleasure to work with."
"I thought you said this is the first time you worked as a Training-master?"
John laughed.
"Well, then what I say must be true!" Engar added his laugh to John's. "I've
enjoyed working with you, and I've enjoyed your friendship. I've listened to the
reports of your trainers, and I've seen you in action in the Warrior hall. You
will qualify tomorrow and with better results than anyone before you. When I
took this job, I didn't think its conclusion would be so hard; I'll miss you."
Cups clinked, drog drained, and Engar sat down.
After the meal, no one returned to the training hall nor went to the trainers
for additional work. The hours spent with Engar, Sardor, Thren, and their
individual trainers was now past. It was time to move on. All day an idea had
grown in Martin's head, based on a statement Engar made the day they met.

Martin caught up with Carol outside the dining hall. She seemed in a hurry, and
he called to her. When she turned, he saw that she was distressed.
"Walk with me in the compound?" he asked.
She hesitated, then nodded. Rain had fallen and the air was fresh and cool.
The night was brightened by milky clouds of stars scattered like diamond dust
across the heavens. Water drops glimmered on the tips of leaves, and stems
gently swayed in the breeze. Martin had grown comfortable with Carol and
loved the look of her olive skin, shining in the soft starlight, and her hair, black
as a raven's breast.
Carol said, "It's all going to change, isn't it?"
"Yes." Martin touched Carol's shoulder and turned her to face him. "That's
why I asked you to walk with me. I want to put an idea to you."
"There's a log here," Carol said. "Let's sit."
Martin dropped to a sitting position. Carol faced him.
"Jason and I talked last night," Martin said, "about what comes next."
"Susan and I too," Carol said. "Susan cried. She's afraid of being alone in
this place, and she's right." Tears glistened in Carol's eyes. "I have no power
here. I can't protect her."
"That may not be true," Martin said. "That's what I want to talk about. I
have a plan.."
"For you and Jason?"
"Maybe you and Susan too," Martin said. "Until recently I doubted I'd
qualify as a Mentat, but now I think I have a real chance. Horath says little, but
I sense he's pleased with my progress."
"I'm glad," Carol said. "But what does that change? After the tests, we all
have to get jobs where we can. Engar says there's little chance we can stay
together."
"Maybe there is," Martin said. "Do you remember what Engar said about
agents - that first day?"
"Not really. Just that everyone works for an agent."
"There was more - about the qualifications of agents. He said they're
usually high level Warriors, but not always."
Carol's brow furrowed. "I don't remember the details."
"He said Mentats can be agents," Martin said.
Carol looked blank a moment, then her eyes widened. "You mean you?"
"I double-checked with Engar. He said if I qualify as a Mentat I can serve
as an agent. All I have to do is get a contract, then I can hire Warriors to carry

it out."
"Get a contract? How would you do that?"
"There's someone called the Faland Master -sort of the head honcho here who posts the contracts. Agents apply for them, and Engar says many contracts
go unfilled so it should be easy to get one. Contracts also carry an advance for
supplies and personnel. The agent pays back the advance when the contract is
completed. Sounds pretty straight-forward."
A furrow appeared between Carol's eyes. "It sounds too good. Don't you
need experience?"
"Engar said even inexperienced agents can get low-demand contracts."
"Low-demand? What does that mean."
"Low-demand contracts don't pay much and are a lot of hard work, but that
shouldn't matter for what I'm thinking. I don't mind hard work, and I don't care
about the pay. I only plan to hire Jason - and you and Susan if you feel the
same. It's a way we could stay together."
"I don't know," Carol said slowly. "Is Engar sure? Is it always possible to
get a contract? What happens if you don't get one?"
"Engar didn't have all the answers," Martin admitted. "No human has ever
done this before. But Engar said we'll each get twenty ralls on graduation, and
he said that's enough to live on for a couple of months. If I can't get a contract
in a few weeks we'd have time to get other jobs before we run out of money.
This seems like our best shot at staying together. I've already talked to Jason,
and we've agreed to try it, even if it's just the two of us."
"I'll have to talk to Susan," Carol said, "before I can let you know."
"Of course. Our skill tests are scheduled before morning meal tomorrow.
When we meet in the dining hall, we can decide. If I fail the Mentat test none of
this'll matter anyway."
***
Jason and Martin took a last look around. They had packed their toilet
articles - combs, toothbrushes, the pearl-bladed razor, soap, tissue - as Engar
had advised. All was in order; fresh blankets were on the beds and clean
towels in the bathroom. They descended to the courtyard as the gray light
preceding sunrise spread across the eastern sky. By the time the first rays
appeared everyone had assembled.
"Good luck!" Martin gripped Jason's hand as they followed Engar into the
training hall for the last time..
"You, too," Jason said, a quaver in his voice.

***
Martin faced Horath nervously, but the old master was surprisingly genial.
"Are you well rested?"
Martin nodded.
"Good! Now, clear your mind."
The familiar command came as Martin entered the cubicle. The door
closed, and he became instantly aware of the spheres.
Where's the rod?
He concentrated on the spheres and mentally drove them upward. Great
pressure resisted his efforts - stronger than he had felt before.
What's happening?
The spheres dashed to the floor before he could stop them with his mind.
It's a contest, mind against mind. Horath is driving the spheres against
my will.
Martin shoved the spheres upward, but abruptly they separated and fled to
opposite walls. He lost control of them entirely, and one thudded sharply
against his forehead nearly knocking him to the floor.
Are the spheres weapons as well as eyes?
He deflected the second sphere before it, too, could land a blow. An instant
later the first sphere rapped the back of his head.
Got to look both ways at once.
For several minutes, Martin tracked the spheres and deflected them from
his body as they zoomed about the room. Finally he attempted to seize them and
felt excited when he succeeded. But the spheres vanished, and an arrow sped
toward his breast. He turned it aside, but not before it nicked his shoulder.
The arrow is more dangerous than the spheres.
He knew the arrow was the rod, and with only one to track, easier to
follow than the spheres. But harder to deflect He tried to seize it with his hand
and failed. It caught him on the forearm, then he remembered a trick called
transmutation. When the arrow came again, he cleared everything from his
head but its image. He visualized it as a liquid, and an explosion of droplets
showered him.
Blinding light flooded the cubicle. Horath grinned at the opening. "Neat,
trick, with the liquid," he said.
Martin had passed.
Horath was more loquacious than usual, but the hard brightness was back
in his eyes. "You've learned a lot, friend Martin, but you've only touched the

surface. Your mind is fast; you detected my opposition quicker than many more
experienced Mentats. But your control is undisciplined; you must work on that.
The spheres are not usually projectiles, but the rod is, and it has other secrets
as well. Someday you may find yourself opposed by stronger Mentats than I,
and you'll need much more work to be ready for them."
"How can I prepare?" Martin asked.
Horath took a small pouch from his belt. He bid Martin hold out his cupped
hand, and into it he poured two small, metallic brass spheres, no more than a
quarter inch in diameter. Along with the spheres was a larger lump of silvery
metal.
Rod and spheres, but the spheres are so small.
Horath sensed Martin's surprise. "The spheres expand. Think of them as
metal nubbins which can be inflated like balloons." He laughed. "Sometimes
there is less than meets the eye!"
Martin smiled, "And, also more."
"Well said! As for the rod, it takes many shapes, and this small lump is
only a beginning. You may have occasion to add to it in the future. With these
things you will practice; explore them, learn about them, learn to manipulate
them. The more you use them, the greater will become your power. But, I warn
you, do not treat this power lightly. A skillful Mentat can turn your own
strength against you."
Horath rummaged in his belt and pulled out a headband. In the center was a
red stripe surrounded by purple. "The first of its kind," Horath said. "You're
the first Warrior to be also a Mentat."
Martin's heart fluttered. He had not known Mentats were not also Warriors.
When he took the headband, his hand trembled. Centered in the red stripe, he
saw two purple bars, the debs that meant he was a level two Mentat. A month
before, when he began training, he could not guess with what pride he would
complete it.
"Go in peace," Horath said, his right hand raised in salute.
To Martin's surprise, no one was in the compound when he arrived.
I must be first through the test.
In a moment, John's huge form shoved through the door. His white hair was
bound by a scarlet band., and his sun burnished cheeks above his beard
wrinkled in a grin matched by the happiness shining in his gray eyes.
"Level two," Martin called when he saw the silver debs at John's temples.
"You too!" John's grin broadened. "But what is that color? I thought

Warriors wore red crests."

"It's something new," Martin said. "Mentats wear purple and Warriors red.
I guess the two-tone job covers both."
"Impressive!"
As they spoke, Engar arrived with Sardor and Thren. Engar's face broke
into a grin. "Congratulations, Martin! A Mentat Warrior, first of kind, so I'm
told."
"Horath told me," Martin said. "But I remind you, I haven't made my rate as
a Warrior yet."
"You will. I trained you." Engar laughed. "I'd hate to think I couldn't
properly prepare so able a student."
"You did well with John, I see, so perhaps I can take encouragement from
that."
"Yes," Engar's voice dropped to a whisper. "John, I think, is destined to
become one of the great Warriors of Faland. Don't tell him I said so, but with
brodsrds I'd be pressed to hold my own against him."
Martin and Engar strolled among the trees while John talked with Thren
and Sardor, fellow Weapon-masters now. "So, Martin," Engar said. "Do you
intend to go ahead with your plan to be an agent?"
"I feel I must," Martin answered. "I promised Jason, and I've asked Carol
and Susan to join us."
Engar hesitated. "I've given some thought to this subject since we talked
yesterday."
"So?" Martin's eyebrows rose.
"You've little experience and no reputation," Engar said. "The only
contracts you're likely to get will call for talents Jason, Susan, and Carol don't
have. That means you'll have to hire others, and if you pay competitive wages,
your profits will be too thin to support yourself and the children, even with
Carol's help. And you know, don't you, that if you can't deliver on a contract
you have to make it good? With no reserves, that would be impossible."
"What's the point, Engar? We went over this yesterday. I'm prepared to take
the risk. If I go under, Carol and the kids can still get jobs and be little the
worse off."
"Putting aside that I don't share your optimism on the latter point, I hardly
think Carol or Jason would find your reduction to slavery an acceptable price
to pay for this venture." Engar raised his hands, palms out. "But, hey, I'm not
trying to talk you out of your decision. I already know your stubbornness too

well for that. On the contrary, I want to join you."

Martin stopped, astonished, and blurted, "You've gotta be kidding!"
"It makes sense," Engar said. "I'd bring experience to your group and
abilities you need to get decent contracts. Besides, I need a change. I'm not just
asking for a job; I want to be a partner."
"But you could make more money elsewhere."
"I'm not worried about money; all a man needs is enough. And, not to be
bragging, but with me in your group you'd have a chance of making it. Without
me, your chances are slim to none."
"It's a generous offer," Martin said. "I'd love to have you with us. But are
you sure you want to commit to something with such an uncertain outcome?"
"It's done then," Engar said. "It only takes a handshake."
Martin took the offered hand. "I'll insist on one thing."
"What would that be?"
"If you and I are partners, then the others must be partners as well."
Engar thought a moment. "It could work, as long as someone is in charge.
I've been in the field enough to know the dangers of a split command."
"One of us can serve as chief executive but each partner will have a voice
in operations."
"As agent, the task of chief necessarily falls to you. None of the rest of us
can negotiate contracts."
While Martin and Engar talked, Bertha arrived. She, too, had exchanged
her white headband for a Warrior's crest, adorned with the black debs of a
level two Armorer. One by one, all the graduates came into the compound.
Jason danced with excitement. "Martin! Martin! I made level two!"
Martin swept him into his arms. "Wonderful!"
Jason's eyes widened, and he touched Martin's headband. "It's beautiful."
Then he realized what it meant. "You passed! You passed! I want to tell
Robert!" He was off.
Carol arrived last and made it a clean sweep. Engar had delivered on his
most important promise; none would be a slave.
"When I told Susan about your proposition," Carol told Martin, "she made
it impossible for me to refuse, even had I wanted to. You've a champion in
Susan. Are you still determined to try this?"
"More than ever," Martin said, "it's a done deal. What's more," his voice
could not conceal his excitement, "Engar is going to join us!"
"You're not joking?"

"We're going to be partners. We're all going to be partners. Engar says it'll
be something new in Faland. I'll serve as agent, but everyone will have a say in
what we do."
On the way to the dining hall for morning meal, John overtook Martin on
the stairs. "I heard about your partnership," he said. "You are planning to invite
the rest of us, aren't you?"
Carol, a step ahead, said, "Of course," as though it were something already
decided upon. "Martin will make an announcement at morning meal."
When they entered the dining room they paused, astonished. It was decked
with flowers and green boughs and the tables were already set. Spirals of
steam, laden with delicious aromas, rose above platters of meat and
vegetables, while salad, bread, drog, and plates of fruit surrounded each
setting.
"Your last meal here," Engar said. "The cooks want it to be special."
"Bring out the cooks!" John roared. "Let them eat with us!"
"Yes! Yes!" A chorus of support sounded.
Engar went into the kitchen, and over their shy protests, brought Mithral
and Tisha into the dining room with extra plates, mugs, and food handlers.
They ate with hearty appetites, much noise, and friendly jostling, and many
congratulations and well dones to the cooks. As the meal ended, Faland's
newest Song-master acquitted himself with a ballad that brought a boisterous
ovation.
"Now," John banged his mug on the table, "Martin has something to say!"
As Martin got to his feet he saw that everyone knew the gist of his topic.
"Most of you have heard, I think, about the partnership some of us propose. We
want that partnership to include all here who wish to join."
Immediate uproar followed, but Martin raised his hands for silence.
"Before you decide, you should know what's involved."
Briefly, he outlined the proposal including details of his conversations with
Engar. "Some of you could do better on your own," he concluded. "But I've
come to think of all of you as my family. This is a way we can stay together, for
those who feel the same."
"I'll drink to that," said John, holding aloft his cup.
"I too," seconded Bertha.
A chorus of affirmations followed, then Carol proposed a toast. "To our
new chief!"
Martin took up his mug. "To our new partnership!"

PART TWO: THE PARTNERSHIP

CHAPTER EIGHT

After morning meal, Engar led his charges out of the training complex for
the first time. "We won't return," he told them. "After the Warrior rating
matches, which will begin shortly, your training will be complete, and it'll be
time for our partnership to start earning its way."
With great curiosity, Engar's eight pupils, who had only glimpsed Or'gn
beyond the palisade, stepped into a dusty street lined with tall broad-leaved
trees. A cart rumbled by, driven by a chubby native in a soiled brown tunic and
pulled by what looked like a large, shaggy gray horse.
"It's a horven," Engar told Linda as the little girl reached excitedly and
brushed the creature's massive flank. Quickly, they spotted four more of the
rugged animals, two brown, two mottled gray, pulling a heavily laden freight
wagon through an intersection two blocks away.
"I didn't know there were horses here!" Linda's eyes were shining. "Will
we get to ride?"
"Horven are expensive. I've ridden, but only on borrowed animals."
"Can people - I mean humans - own horven?"
"Sure, if you have enough money. After we fill a few contracts, maybe
we'll be able to afford some."
"I'd like that. I rode at the children's home. It was one thing I liked best."
Engar guided them south into a residential area of small log houses where
bright flower beds and neatly trimmed shrubs bordered compact yards of earth,
gravel, or flagstone. Native children, remarkably human except for their orange
hair and oversize, dark eyes, played, sometimes boisterously, along the street.
The youngest wore nothing, while the older wore only ukelns. Most were
barefoot. Many adults wore vests or tunics over their sirkelns and occasionally
more elaborate garb.
As they approached an open area, a tall black man emerged from a crowd.
Dressed like Engar, he was the first human other than themselves they had seen.
"Brom!" Engar called and the man veered in their direction. The two

clasped arms and the dark-skinned stranger swept his gaze over the eight
curious bystanders. At six-foot two, Brom stood a couple of inches taller than
Engar but was leaner. A red Warrior's band, bearing fifth-level debbels,
encircled his close-cropped hair. Brown barcoms showed he was a fourth
level Scout.
"Will you sign on with me this go?" he asked Engar.
"Sorry, Brom, I've already made plans. But, come, let me introduce my
friends."
"This one I know." Brom was looking at Martin. "The Mentat Warrior."
Martin looked surprised.
Engar noted the look. "You'll get used to recognition, Martin. Humans are
important in Faland, and your skill ratings were posted as soon as you finished
your tests. Your headband is an eye-catcher too."
"You bet it is," Brom said. "There'll be many at your rating match to judge
your prowess. A Mentat Warrior is something new, and not too many new
things happen here." Brom turned to John and Bertha. "You are the giants I've
heard about, male and female, and a lovely pair, no offense to you, but your
reputations have also preceded you. You're a big one," he said, looking at the
glowering John. "And already a level two Weapon-master, and the lady an
Armorer! I assure you, the two of you will be as closely watched at the ratings
as your Mentat friend."
Brom fell in beside as they continued toward the arena. "Are you planning
to attend the festival?" he asked John. "But of course you are. Engar no doubt
wants you to take part in the games to prove your ability with bow and kalard,
spear and hummer and thus enhance your employability."
"That's right," Engar said when he saw the blank look on John's face.
"We'll all attend the festival. I haven't explained yet, but after the rating
matches Or'gn will host a festival including a tournament where Warriors
compete and wager. I expect everyone to take part. Skill with projectile
weapons, though not formally rated, is highly valued. The competitions are a
chance to show what you can do. You might also win some prize money."
They arrived at an enclosed area, very like a large corral, with three roped
off squares set between raised bleachers. Two natives sat on top of a tower at
one end. The place looked like a dusty western rodeo, and a crowd had
already gathered.
"Is this where we take our tests?" Jason whispered. "In front of all these
people?"

"It would seem so," Martin said, then added, "I guess Engar was saving
this as a surprise."
"Listen up," Engar called. "Your matches will be in the koms - those roped
off squares between the bleachers. You'll fight one at a time, but you'll be
called to your kom before the match ahead of you ends so stay alert; the judges
don't like to waste time. Under the east bleacher is a preps room where you'll
draw armor and weapons. You'll use dueling weapons. They aren't as lethal as
war weapons but are more dangerous than the training weapons you're used to.
Healers will stand by, but don't take chances. Yield if you get in trouble.
Remember, you've already earned skill ratings. You don't have anything to
prove out there, so don't push it. Keep in mind you'll fight droids, much like Tu
and Fru. Don't personalize them; they're built to take punishment and are
programmed to yield before taking serious damage."
"Just don't turn your back on them," Brom cut in. "They're also programmed
to take advantage of weakness."
"What will you be doing?" Carol asked Engar.
"I'll help with your equipment. Otherwise I'm just a spectator. However,
after your qualification matches, two days of open contests begin. I'll take part
in those along with you. Now we better get started; it's almost time for the first
call."
Engar led to the preps building at the east end of the bleachers where they
found a schedule of matches posted.
"Oh, great," muttered Susan. "I'm first up."
"And just in time," Engar said. "The announcer is calling your name right
now."
"Oh, my," Susan's faced drained of color. "I'm not sure I want to do this."
Engar leaned close. "You can handle it, Kid. You're well prepared. Just
stay away from the droid for one or two passes, then yield. Come on, I'll walk
you out."
Susan glanced anxiously at Carol.
"I don't like it, either," Carol said, trying to stay calm though her face was
almost as white as Susan's. "I'll be right behind you, and Bertha is third."
"I'll damn sure step in if things get out of hand," Bertha said, raising her fist
menacingly.
"That wouldn't be wise," Engar said as he guided Susan, who was without
weapon or armor, toward the ready area outside the equipment building. From
her position in the wings, the bleachers were not visible, but Susan could see

the judges atop the tower at the far end of the compound, and she could see the
empty koms lined out in a row in front of her.
"You'll be in the near kom," Engar said. "Good luck!"
As the announcer finished his introduction, Susan shifted her weight from
foot to foot and wiped sweat from the palms of her hands. She stepped forward
and glimpsed the crowd. Small children, milling at the foot of the bleachers,
quieted and settled into nearby seats.
Carol moved up beside Susan. "Don't take any chances when you get out
there." She flexed her sword and peered at the crowd. "It looks like everyone
in Or'gn is here, and maybe a good deal more."
Bertha, carrying a massive battle mace, came into the ready area behind
them. She brandished the mace and winked at Susan. "Give 'em hell, honey."
On the judge's signal, Engar motioned the contestants forward. "Don't let
yourselves get hurt," he said. "Fight well."
Susan stepped from the shelter of the ready area. The sun felt hot, but the
sweat on her brow was cold. Carol followed, and a few steps behind,
swinging her battle mace, Bertha sauntered into the open. The crowd hushed
when they spotted the tiny, red-haired girl, without weapons or armor, leading
the pack. They were used to children in the koms, but not so small, and usually
they came armed with a sword and wearing light body armor. Had Engar
trained this frail child to go hand-to-hand with a huge, brutish droid?
Then a collective gasp rose from the assemblage as their eyes fell on
Bertha. Few had seen a woman so wide of shoulder or of such great bulk. Yet,
even in heavy battle armor, she moved with an almost feline grace, and she
held aloft the great battle mace as easily as though it were a twig in her meaty
fist.
Susan's heart was pounding. She'd done this a hundred times, but that was
practice and this was for real. She climbed into her kom and saw an aide lean
next to the droid's ear. Hardly was she set when she heard the familiar
command to begin. Legs shaking, she raced along the ropes. The droid
approached with frightening speed.
At the last second, Susan reversed direction, concentrating all her effort
into her thighs and knees. Ducking sideways, she brushed the droid's leg, then
rolled into the center of the kom. The droid spun, kicking gravel, and charged
again.
Stay away from the corners, Susan told herself as she raced along the
ropes. A huge foot swung to block her way. With all her weight, she stamped

hard on the droid's foot, then twisted to the side and escaped through the
droid's legs.
Twice more she dodged the droid, but on the last dodge it had grown wiser.
It faded back and was on her before she could cross the kom. Massive fingers
closed on her shoulder, and she felt pain as her arm bent and the droid flipped
her onto her back.
"Taga! Taga!" she cried.
It was the yield signal and the droid stopped instantly. She lay sucking air,
her body vibrating with the force of her pulse.
When she rose, the crowd came to its feet, cheering wildly. Susan flushed
to the roots of her hair, then turned and bowed elegantly.
***
Carol had watched, with her heart in her mouth, as Susan dodged the droid.
Now it was her turn, and her body had grown taut as a spring. At the signal,
she did not wait for the droid's charge but leaped to meet it. Ducking the
droid's first swing, she parried steel on steel. The droid lunged and Carol
drove her riposte to the attacker's right shoulder. The brutish creature lurched
and nearly lost its sword.
Carol moved in for the kill. The droid, however, deflected her too hasty
lunge, and she felt the sting of its blade on her thigh. The stroke angered her.
She twisted and caught the droid's blade with her own. It faltered and tried to
switch the sword to its left hand. Carol swung hard. The tip of her blade
contacted the droid's weapon, and she flipped it into the dirt. The droid
resigned at once.
Carol stood uncertainly. "I beat it? You mean I really beat it?" She gaped at
the retreating droid, then realized the crowd was cheering. Everyone was
standing, as they had for Susan. In a daze, she climbed through the kom ropes.
She did not feel the blood running from the wound on her thigh.
***
"Well, old friend," Brom said to Engar as Susan approached the bleachers.
"You've done a remarkable job. This little one is amazing, and the woman is as
cool a Warrior as I've seen."
"You haven't seen anything yet," Engar bragged, his grin showing his
pleasure. "You did good," he told Susan as he swept her into his arms.
Martin met Carol as she followed Susan into the preps room. He had a
slightly amused expression on his face. "I thought you were against fighting?
Maybe it's your opponents who ought to wonder about the merits of fighting."

He pointed at the blood on her leg. "What's that? A bee sting, perhaps?"
Carol looked at her leg in surprise, then remembered the slap of the droid's
blade. She glimpsed John on the way out, wearing battle armor and
brandishing an enormous brodsrd. He flashed her a smile and a victory sign.
She fished a cloth strip from her sirkeln and tied it around her wound. She
looked at Martin and grinned sheepishly.
***
Bertha, as stolid and menacing as a battle tank, faced the droid in the
opposite corner of her kom. Her massive thighs supported a straight, solid
column of stone-hard muscle that ended in powerful shoulders. She could not
be said to possess a feminine figure, but that did not bother her. She was a
natural fighter. And, though she could have trained effectively with any weapon
in the Faland arsenal, her style was best suited to the mace. The feel of the
great weight in her hand pleased her, and when the droid, seeming almost
diminutive, received the start signal she grinned in anticipation.
Her strokes appeared effortless as she countered the droid, and the crack of
mace on mace echoed for several minutes. Then, as though tiring of the
nonsense, Bertha blocked the droid's latest swing and, with her free hand,
snatched the weapon from its grip. The crowd howled as she pounded the
droid to the ground and stood over it clucking, "Honey, maybe this is the wrong
profession for you."
When Bertha passed John at kom one, she raised her mace and clattered it
against his brodsrd. "Don't go too hard on that itty-bitty droid, they're only
babies."
John roared his laughter, then readied himself in his kom. While Bertha
might be considered merely big, John was a giant. At six foot nine and three
hundred fifty pounds, he dwarfed the droid. As his weapon, he chose the great
brodsrd and hefted the largest made. Its blade was six inches wide, five feet
long, and tapered to an inch of thickness at its spine. Made of a shining metal, a
type that Bertha thought was an alloy of steel, it weighed fifty pounds. John,
perhaps alone in Faland, could wield the great weapon with a single hand,
though he held it now with two, its blade extended before him with the tip
resting lightly on the ground.
On signal, the droid lifted its own brodsrd and charged. John met the
charge in the center of the kom, his brodsrd in motion before contact. With the
flat of the blade, he met the droid's swing in mid-stroke. The power of his
blow swept the brodsrd out of the droid's hand and carried it in a looping arc

across the kom and over the ropes.

The droid, defenseless and not programmed for self-destruction,
immediately yielded. The crowd sat silent, uncomprehending. Many did not
realize the droid had been disarmed and were puzzled by its sudden surrender.
One or two alert observers pointed to the brodsrd lying in the dust thirty feet
outside the kom and shook their heads in disbelief.
John shrugged. A three second match, he thought disgustedly, and climbed
out of the kom. Belatedly the crowd clapped though some were still confused
about what had happened.
Engar was not one of them. He grinned at Brom. "How many Warriors in
Faland do you think could take Big John with a brodsrd?"
Brom shook his head. "I'd not welcome a challenge from him, that's for
sure."
***
Robert followed John. He stood uncertainly in his kom, a tagan dangling
loosely from his hand. He was still leery of the weapon after his accident, and
the time lost while his wound healed made it impossible for him to match the
others' skill. When the start signal came, he jumped like he had been shot. The
droid charged, and he dodged aside.
Using his speed, he stayed well clear of the droid's vicious swings. But
that meant his own sweeps, though hard and fast, were not close to hits. Three
times he faced the droid's charge and three times escaped. Was it enough to
show his courage?
Enough or not, Robert yielded, grateful to escape unscathed. But when he
left the kom, a glance at the crowd unnerved him. No one booed, but there
were no cheers either.
***
Linda took her turn, as Susan had, without armor or weapon. The audience
leaned forward expectantly. They had loved Susan and clearly wondered if this
small child would repeat her performance.
When the droid charged, Linda became a tiny brown blur. Over the weeks
she had developed astonishing agility and, to the relatively clumsy droids, was
virtually uncatchable. She liked the sport and could not resist the temptation to
put on a show. For ten minutes she drove the droid to distraction. She
duplicated every maneuver Susan had used and added a dozen others. The
audience screamed encouragement and Linda played to their cheers. She
became bolder and bolder. Carelessness was her undoing.

She taunted the droid, ducking near and slapping its thigh, then dancing
away. She forgot to pay attention to the corners. The wily droid, unaffected by
Linda's taunts, slowly worked her away from the center. Then, when Linda
slapped it and spun away she suddenly found herself against the ropes. The
droid's great paw, striking like a snake's head, grabbed her ankle and lifted her
small body overhead. With a sweeping stroke, it hurled her across the kom.
The crowd gasped as the child struck, bounced, and slammed into a corner
post. She lay still, a crumpled mote in the dust. The droid stood, triumphant.
The kom Healer was at Linda's side in an instant, Engar not far behind. The
Healer worked quickly with pungent herbs.
The little girl sat up. "What happened?" she mumbled, shaking her head.
"Sit a moment," Engar said. "Get your bearings."
Expertly the Healer went over Linda's body, then pronounced her free of
broken bones.
When Linda's breathing returned to normal, Engar helped her to her feet.
"Can you walk?"
"I think so." Linda wobbled toward the kom ropes. "I think maybe I
should've taken your advice." As she climbed through the ropes she saw Jason,
white-faced, at the second kom. She grinned shakily and raised a hand to wave.
***
Jason tried to still his racing pulse.
I'll do what Robert did.
He had been shaken by Linda's close call and felt giddy as he walked by
the bleachers on the way to his kom. He was barely through the ropes when the
attack command came and was nearly trapped against the ropes by the droid's
swift charge. Lurching, he felt the wind of the droid's stroke whine past his ear.
He darted toward the center of the kom. When he turned, the droid had already
swung to face him, its arm rising. As the tagan slashed downward, Jason
stepped back, outside the sweeping arc, and saw the droid's muscles bunch for
a follow-up back-hand. Continuing back, he felt the droid's return stroke brush
his breastplate. His answering sweep caught the droid's tagan near the handle,
coiled briefly round it, and he jerked. The droid was ready and used its great
strength to snatch its tagan free, but the vicious recoil of its weapon nipped its
own right shoulder.
Emboldened, Jason crouched, tagan trailing to the side, and warily circled.
The droid stepped in, its swing low, aimed for his legs, and Jason leaped over
the whipping tagan. He saw the tip rise at the end of the sweep and knew his

opponent meant to catch him in the head or neck as he recovered from his leap.
But he folded his legs, landing in a deep crouch, and heard the tagan scream
overhead.
The missed swing left the droid open, and Jason snapped a short vertical to
its left shoulder. He saw the tip of his tagan split skin. The droid countered
toward Jason's flank, but he slipped inside the swing and head-butted the huge
humanoid in the chest.
Taken by surprise, the droid toppled backward. Leaping, Jason brought his
tagan down sharply across the creature's right arm. He raised the tagan for
another strike, but the droid grunted surrender.
His chest heaving, Jason looked at the stunned droid. Then he was yelling,
"I won! I won! I won!" He heard the crowd yelling for him, and when he
climbed out of the kom, he felt like he was floating.
***
The audience hushed as it sized up the last candidate. They were staring at
the purple and red band that circled his head. This was the Mentat Warrior,
first of his kind, and they had no idea what to expect.
Martin was as uncertain as the crowd. He had a plan, but it was untested.
His heart was hammering in his chest. He took deep breaths to steady himself,
then reached into a pouch on his belt. No one had instructed him in how to
combine Mentat training with Warrior training, but he had no doubt that it was
meant to be so. From his pouch, he withdrew a tiny metallic nubbin. It
expanded in his hand and he released it. The nearly invisible sphere, less than
an inch in diameter, rose a dozen feet as he squared himself to face the droid.
When the aide moved to give the droid its command, Martin motioned an
official to approach. He leaned close, and whispered a few words. The
official nodded and Martin handed him a strip of soft leather he had acquired
from Engar. The official held it toward the sun, peered intently a moment, then
fastened the strip over Martin's eyes.
Unable to see, Martin took up his sword. With his mind focused, he
visualized the sphere above him. In its clear surface he sensed a diminutive
replica of the arena. Within the image he saw the droid charge, and estimated
his own position relative to the droid. He stepped to meet the charge. The
audience came to its feet, straining to follow the movements as the combatants
closed.
Moving surely and swiftly, Martin pivoted in full turns and never rested in
one spot. Blindfolded, the Mentat Warrior seemed to shift, parry, and dodge

more cleverly than most Warriors with eyes unshuttered. Then Martin turned
and deliberately placed his back to the droid. The creature leaped for the kill.
With infinitesimal margin, Martin spun. The tip of his sword crossed the
droid's wrist. Its weapon bucked upward. Before the flying sword could strike
the ground, Martin's blade was at the droid's throat, poised for the fatal thrust.
"Taga!" the droid grunted.
Martin stood quietly a moment, listening to the roar of the crowd. He
nodded with satisfaction, then removed his blindfold. The crowd's ovation did
not end until he had left the field.

CHAPTER NINE

Completion of the Warrior rating matches brought an end to the qualifying

tests, and though two days of optional games and festivities would shortly
begin, training was now truly over. The partners left the arena and followed
one of Or'gn's dusty streets toward a small, nondescript log building. Brom
left, saying he had to prepare for a challenge match that afternoon.
The small building, as unimpressive up close as at a distance, housed the
Hall-of-Records. They entered and a native clerk recorded their newly earned
status. They also chose and registered their identifiers, but the whole process
seemed anticlimactic. Unlike Engar, who had used his initials, everyone else
chose to use their full names. Susan, Linda, and Robert, the children who had
not defeated droids in combat, did not qualify for combat icons. Jason and
Carol received single gold bars while Martin, Bertha, and John, by winning
their matches so impressively, had qualified for the gold debs of level two
fighters.
"A few more things you need to know," Engar said as he guided the group
to a small, shaded plaza near the hall of records. "Later we'll go to the agent's
hall to collect your stake - twenty ralls per - and I'll pick up my pay. But you
must remember, from now on those of you who earned ratings are fair game for
challengers. You may be challenged by any Warrior at your level, or one rate
below, and you may challenge anyone at your level or one rate higher. Honor
requires you to accept challenges from lower rated Warriors, but you may
freely refuse the others. Of course, those of you who are not rated may refuse
all challenges.
"Challenge matches are fought in koms, like those in the arena, although
sometimes they are fenced with wooden boards rather than ropes. All Faland
settlements have koms, and koms may be improvised on the spot in the field.
"A reporting system lets Game-masters know your status always. You earn
points for victories and lose points for defeats. The system is simple; you get
one point if you beat an equally rated Warrior, none if your opponent is of a
lower rating, and two if you defeat someone with a higher rating. If you are
defeated you lose the number of points your opponent wins. When you
accumulate seven points, you advance to the next rating. Any questions?"
"Gosh, we don't have any points now," Jason said. "What happens if we

lose our first challenge?"

"You can't lose points if you have none, and you never lose an earned
rating."
"How does the reporting system work?" John asked. "Who does the
reporting?"
"Good question," Engar said. "I don't know. It's something we humans
haven't figured out. There's obviously a communication system to which we're
not privy. Information travels quickly and widely in Faland. I suspect there's a
broadcast link between Faland settlements, possibly using radio or microwave
technology. This is speculation, I admit, because I've never spotted any
transmitters or antennae but there has to be something a lot faster than couriers.
There's probably also a spy network because information gets around that's
clearly not available to casual observers."
"What you say doesn't surprise me," Martin said. "On the surface, this
looks like a primitive society, but that's obviously deceptive. There's more
going on here than meets the eye."
"For sure," Engar said. "Unfortunately, we humans are kept pretty much in
the dark."
"Medical technology is highly advanced," Carol said. "Some techniques
are superior to those I learned back home, and some instruments are more
sophisticated."
Engar nodded. "That's true, and medical instruments aren't the only
advanced devices. I know of a navaid that works like a compass, only with no
obvious mode of operation. It has a north seeking arrow, but no magnetic
components."
"Froven didn't say anything about a compass in Scout training," Linda said.
"Aren't we allowed to have one?"
"Your brief training didn't cover everything. I learned about the navaid in
the field. We can have one if we can acquire it. There are a couple of other
high-tech tools as well."
"How can we get them?"
"Some can be bought. They're expensive, and I've always relied on my
employer to provide special equipment if I needed it."
"Great," Martin muttered. "We plan to be our own employer. What do we
do until we earn enough to buy these special devices?"
"We'll limit our bids to contracts we can fill with the resources we have."
"About challenges," Bertha broke in. "Won't they interfere with our work?"

"They could," Engar replied. "But a Warrior under contract doesn't have to
accept challenges and never has to make them. Most agents prefer their
contract Warriors don't fight gratuitous duels. An injured Warrior isn't much
good, and, by the way, people employed together rarely challenge each other. It
causes too many problems."
"Sounds like a good policy for our partnership," said Martin.
"Speaking of challenges," Engar said, glancing at the sun, "I have a match
this afternoon and it's time I head to the arena."
"A match?" Martin's brows rose.
"I accepted a challenge."
"Who from?"
"A fourth level fighter named Surfyr. I've fought him before. He's good; I
expect to get a work out."
"This is a match I'd not like to miss," John said with a grin. "It'll give me a
chance to see how our Training-master does against someone of his own
level."
"Perhaps I have something to prove?" Engar asked.
"Perhaps." Bertha laughed. "I think we'd all like to see how good our
trainer is."
***
In the afternoon, fewer people were in the bleachers than during the
qualifying matches. Fights were underway in all the koms when the partners
arrived. They found seats while Engar went to the ready area to check the
schedule and look for Surfyr.
In one kom, a chunky native man was knife-dueling with a small, thin
woman. It was hard not to laugh as the man turned slowly in the kom center,
while the woman circled and jabbed. Neither was skilled nor very aggressive
and they were doing little damage to each other.
Engar, accompanied by a Warrior, walked onto the field as the clumsy
duelists declared a draw and withdrew. Engar's companion was stocky,
orange-haired, a native man with powerful build and a headband bearing level
four barcoms. A noticeable increase in interest occurred among the spectators.
"Must be Surfyr," John said. "He looks strong."
Martin and Robert moved to find a better vantage. As Jason rose to join
them, something hard rapped his back. Startled, he turned and looked into a
pudgy face, topped with orange hair that straggled around its bearer's beefy
shoulders. Mean, close set eyes stared from the face. A mouth, bordered with

fleshy brown lips, curled into a sneer.

"Challenge, shuket!" a gravelly voice snarled. The last word, which Jason
did not recognize, was spit at him like an epithet.
The challenger, a very heavy native boy of perhaps sixteen years, held in
his right hand a short leather baton. Jason surmised the baton had delivered the
blow that attracted his attention. As he recovered from his surprise, he became
acutely aware of a foul odor emanating from the unclean wall of flesh that
stood before him. A filthy red Warrior's crest, with no rating insignia, adorned
the boy's head. Jason grimaced. Since his challenger was not rated, he had no
choice but to accept.
"Very well." He tried to edge away from the unpleasant presence while
keeping his voice as calm as possible. "We'll fight with tagans."
A grotesque rumble, apparently meant to be laughter, issued from the
challenger's throat. "Okay, shuket. Meet half hour. I reserve kom."
"My name's Jason. What's yours?"
"Fukar," the fat boy growled. "Be there, shuket!" He stabbed a pudgy finger
against Jason's chest, then moved away along the bleacher.
Linda and Susan, who had watched the encounter, moved to intercept
Jason. "What was that all about?"
"I've been challenged," Jason replied.
"You have? Are you gonna fight?"
"I don't have a choice."
"But, he's three times your size!" Linda protested.
Carol shouted, "Engar and Surfyr are about to begin!"
The children turned and saw Surfyr charge from his corner. They saw
Engar step to meet him. It quickly became apparent that these were seasoned
fighters. They moved agilely, with none of the clumsiness seen in the match
between the man and woman. Surfyr fought with confidence, but Engar took the
offensive, pressing relentlessly with precise sword strokes.
For several minutes, the match went evenly and might have gone to a draw
had not Surfyr faltered when a hard parry slightly loosened his sword grip.
Engar moved with startling speed and slipped his sword inside his opponent's
defense. The tip of his blade opened a cut on Surfyr's left shoulder. The wound
bled profusely, and Surfyr began to visibly tire. Engar attacked relentlessly,
forcing his opponent toward the corner of the kom. Trapped against the ropes,
nearly exhausted, Surfyr finally yielded.
As Engar helped Surfyr bandage his shoulder, the partners came down to

the kom. "Great fight," John said. "You both know what you're doing. I see I've
still got a lot to learn."
"Let me look at that wound," Carol told Surfyr. "I'm a Healer."
"No need," Surfyr said. "Its superficial. I lost some blood but I already put
poma on it. I'll be fine tomorrow."
"The match could've gone either way. I got lucky," Engar said.
"It wasn't luck," Surfyr contradicted. "You've improved since our last
fight." He counted out twelve ralls and placed them in Engar's hand. "Good
luck in the games tomorrow."
"I'd like you to meet some friends." Engar turned to the group. "Surfyr is a
good duelist. We've fought before. Three months ago the outcome was
reversed."
Everyone clasped arms and introduced themselves.
Surfyr said, "Perhaps we'll meet again," then took his leave.
When Surfyr was gone, Engar said, "Let's head over to the agent's hall and
pick up our pay."
"Not just yet," Martin said. "Jason has a challenge to attend to."
Engar looked surprised. "Who challenged him?"
"Fukar," Jason said. "Engar, what's a shuket?"
Engar laughed. "I'll bet Fukar called you that."
Jason nodded.
"Don't worry about Fukar; he's a sluggard. He's got power, but he loves
food and drink and hates exercise. Shuket is a vulgarism he uses to rattle his
opponents. A shuket is actually a small animal, a bit like a mouse. They're
rather timid and have a reputation for running from danger. Fukar was trying to
insult you; he wanted to make you mad to improve his own chances."
"Jason's no shuket," Robert said indignantly. "Didn't that Fukar character
see him this morning?"
"Oh, I expect he saw. He'd pick on you, or better still, Linda, but he knows
you aren't rated and would refuse the match. Jason, on the other hand, being
level one can't refuse. He singled out Jason because he's the smallest, and in
Fukar's twisted mind, the weakest." Engar turned to Jason. "If you stay away
from him for the first couple of minutes, he'll get tired and you'll have no
trouble taking him. He has little experience with the tagan though he likes to
brag that he's an apprentice Weapon-master."
Martin went with Jason to the equipment room and helped him with his
gear. He could see Jason's nervousness. "You're a strong fighter." Martin put a

hand on the boy's shoulder. "But you heard Engar: luck sometimes has a role to
play. If you get hit, don't wait to yield. I watched Surfyr after he lost, and he
didn't let defeat embarrass him. Don't let yourself get hurt."
Jason took his weapon and stepped into the ready area. Sweat started in his
palms when he saw Fukar coming from the opposite end of the field. A moment
later, he heard the Game-master announce the match, and he climbed into the
kom. Fukar, a head taller and a hundred pounds heavier, dominated.
As the ready signal came, Jason rocked onto the balls of his feet,
wondering why a Song-master must also be a fighter. Thought of singing made
him remember a song exercise taught him by Marov. Song can be a weapon as
well as a key, she had said.
I wonder, can I use song as a weapon?
"Ready for a whipping, shuket?" Fukar taunted.
Jason centered his attention on Fukar. He readied his tagan, handle
forward, tip trailing slightly to his right. The Game-master gave the start
signal.
Fukar charged like an elephant, yelling, "Run, shuket! Run!"
Jason moved far enough from his corner to be clear of the ropes, then
crouched and watched for the sweep of his opponent's tagan. When Fukar saw
what he took to be Jason's hesitancy, a look of savage triumph crossed his face.
His arm rose to deliver a murderous stroke, but Jason was much too fast. He
leaped aside, then did something entirely unexpected. His mouth shaped
peculiarly, and from between his lips came an ear-splitting wail.
Fukar checked, eyes widening. He did not comprehend that the small boy in
front of him was the source of the deafening shriek. The note rose, sounding as
though torn from hell, and echoed from the bleachers. It brought a gasp from the
audience, for they, like Fukar, had never before heard this terrifying sound.
Before his voice died, Jason's tagan swept down and caught Fukar's
faltering weapon short of the handle, curled briefly round, and drew taught. A
jerk ripped the tagan from Fukar's hand. It landed in the dust near the ropes,
and Fukar stood, incredulous, sweat beading his forehead. Jason brought his
arm to ready and stood a moment. His opponent looked around, wild-eyed, and
seemed not to know what to do.
"What's the matter, shuket? No place to hide?" Jason said softly.
Fukar's eyes strayed to his tagan lying in the dust. Jason brought his
weapon around in a sharp diagonal that snapped a scrap of flesh from Fukar's
ear.

The fat boy ducked, hiding his head under his arms, "Taga! Taga!" he
screamed and scuttled toward the kom ropes.
"Stop!" Jason commanded.
As though jerked by a string, Fukar stopped.
"You owe me a rall," Jason said mildly.
Fukar fumbled at his belt and tossed a rall at Jason's feet. Jason did not
pick it up until Fukar had retrieved his tagan and climbed through the kom
ropes.
As Jason followed Fukar from the kom, Linda came running and threw her
arms around his neck. "You were wonderful!" Her impetuous kiss landed full
on his lips.
Jason blushed. "Not out here. Wait until we get inside!"
"Where did you learn that unearthly yell?" Carol asked as they walked
toward the agent's hall.
Jason grinned and looked at Martin. "We Song-masters have a few tricks of
our own."
"It's enough to freeze a berven in its tracks," Engar declared.
Jason smiled with pleasure.
***
The agent's hall was a small log building, like the Hall-of-Records, set
well back from the dusty street. A flagstone walk, lined with red-flowering
bushes, led to a flight of steps and a small porch outside the entrance. Inside,
one wall held a large bulletin board pinned with notices. A hallway led to a
series of small rooms, one with a placard over the door that read:
'DISBURSEMENTS'.
"Hello, Bina. What have you got for us?" Engar greeted a compact, tidylooking native woman seated at a desk behind a counter.
"Engar, I've been expecting you," she said, and produced a tray containing
a dozen small leather pouches. "These folks must be your proteges. I've heard a
lot about them." She handed each partner a leather pouch, heavy with gold.
Everyone hefted their pay, and some fingered the gold pieces and counted
their worth. The children swelled with pride, knowing they had received as
much as the adults. Then Bina set four stacks, a dozen coins each, on the
counter. Engar opened his own leather pouch and slipped the coins inside. On
the way out, he showed Martin the room where agents applied for contracts.
"It'll be closed until after the festival," he said.
Outside, Martin gathered everyone for a meeting. "Now that we have our

pay," he began. "It's time to discuss how to handle our money. We'll need to
share our earnings to make this partnership work. Any ideas how best to do
that?"
"Split everything fifty-fifty," Bertha suggested.
"What exactly do you mean?"
"Simple," Bertha said. "We give half of our personal earnings to the
partnership, and any thing the partnership earns on contracts is divided in half one half is retained, the other divided equally among the partners."
"I'll go along with that," John said. "Our skills are all different, but I
wouldn't want to quarrel over whose is the most important."
"Any objections?" Martin asked.
"What about challenge money?" asked Jason.
"Maybe that should belong to the individual," Bertha said. "Including
responsibility for losses."
"Agreed," John said.
"Any other comments?" Martin asked.
There were none, so the group agreed to share all receipts and liabilities,
half to a general fund and half to individuals, except gains or losses from
personal combat. Susan, as Provisioner, was appointed treasurer.
"It's getting late," Engar said. "We have no place to stay tonight since we
can't return to the training hall. We could rent rooms at an inn, but that's
expensive. I suggest we camp at the village green. It's free and has water,
restrooms, and firewood available."
"Don't we need food and blankets and tents or something?"
"Yes, and that means we'd better get to the market before sundown. It
closes after dark."
At the market, a native man greeted the newcomers and directed them to a
price list. The business was cash and carry, and the clerk informed them the
market buys as well as sells merchandise.
Engar advised everyone to buy a canteen, blanket, and mess kit for
personal use. "It doesn't get cold, but it does rain and the blankets are waterresistant. They also provide ground insulation. You won't need anything else
right away. The toiletries you received this morning will last for several weeks
if you're careful."
Using group funds, Susan purchased eighty pounds of food, an oil lamp,
extra oil, a flint, pots, kettles, and pans for kitchen use, a medical kit, and a
dozen sacks in which to carry their supplies. Backpacks were too expensive,

so they made do with the one pack Engar already owned.

"We can stow our supplies at camp while we're at the games tomorrow,"
Engar explained. "There's no thievery in Or'gn."
"I assume you've told the newcomers about felven," the clerk remarked to
Engar as they paid their bill.
"Felven?" Robert asked. "What're felven?"
"I was saving that for the campfire tonight, but, with the subject broached, I
suppose I ought to fill you in."
"Why do I get the feeling we're about to learn something I don't want to
know?" Carol said.
"Felven are animals, a bit on the nasty side," Engar said.
"Nasty animals? I might have known," Carol said.
"Not to worry," Engar said. "Felven are just big kitty-cats. They have a
fondness for eating people, but they only hunt at night."
Robert's face paled. "Do they get into settlements?"
"Actually, for all their size and power, felven are easy to avoid. They hate
light. Even a small lamp will keep them at bay, and they don't hunt on moonlit
nights. You needn't worry about them in settlements because there's always
light around. Only on moonless nights in the outback is there any real danger,
and that can be taken care of by keeping a fire burning or by setting out lighted
lamps."
"What do they look like?"
"I've never seen one, but I'd guess they look a bit like saber-tooth tigers."
"Those are the ones with really big canines," Robert said.
"I've seen their footprints," Engar said. "And I found the remains of three
Warriors killed not far from this settlement about nine months ago. There
wasn't much left."
Bertha shuddered. "How many more secrets are you keeping from us?"
"Why, Bertha," John teased. "Are you telling us you're afraid of a big old
kitty-cat?"
"Darned right I am," Bertha said. "I hate cats and I've no desire to be a
meal for one."
"Oh, come on," John quipped. "You'd make a meal for at least two."
"Watch it, Honey, before I pound that grin down to your heels!"
When they left the market, sunlight had vanished and stars dusted the
heavens. On their way to the village green, they stayed as near street lights as
possible, but they forgot their worries when they reached the green. The

festival had brought to Or'gn many campers, and the green proved a merry
place, with camp fires, cooking, and tall tales to listen to. They settled in and
found their first night as free agents in Faland a pleasant one.

CHAPTER TEN

At first light, the campers rolled out of their blankets. They stoked fires and
soon filled the air with cooking smells. Susan dished up fried potans and rabir,
pots of drog, and sliced melon.
Carol grumbled, "The ground sure is hard; I miss my bed in the training
hall."
"You ought to put some meat on your bones," Bertha said. "I slept like a
log."
The first rays of sun touched nearby treetops; the air smelled of flowers,
and a dozen red-crested birds chattered noisily as they darted around the
campground. Linda and Susan coaxed them with crumbs while the others
finished their meals. Each cleaned his or her personal gear, and Susan pressed
Jason and Robert into service putting the make-shift kitchen in order.
"Get ready to move out," Engar ordered. "Sign-up for the contests begins in
half an hour. Registration fee is two ralls, but there's a good chance to win it
back in prize money. Even if you don't, it's worth it for the experience. Take
your canteens; there won't be any water in the field."
The contests were held on special courses beginning half a legon north of
Or'gn. Sign-up booths were nearby. All courses had a series of targets
arranged along trails between shooting or throwing stations. Distance to, and
size, of each target varied, and some were rigged with pulleys and ropes so
they could be set in motion. Judges monitored and timed the participants.
Five events ran simultaneously all day. Those who chose to participate in
more than one had to arrange their schedules to avoid conflicts. Engar and
John, as Weapon-masters, planned to compete in all events, so they left early to
get good time slots. Bertha went with them, but the others left Or'gn a little
later, when early sunlight first spread misty light across the open fields.
Struck by the beauty of the countryside, Carol turned to Susan. "Would you
sign me up for the hummer contest when you sign up yourself? Here are my two
ralls. I'd like to take a walk."
Susan looked puzzled.
"I'll be back for the competition. It's nice out here, and I'd like to get a
better look at the country before I have to play any more silly war games."
Susan took the money, and Carol ambled north along the packed-earth road

from Or'gn. She felt young and free, like a little girl again, and images of her
youth in the Carolina hills filled her with nostalgia. She relaxed in the warm
sunshine and did not think about how she had come to awaken in such a strange
place, or what was likely to come in the days ahead.
She had gone only a short distance when she saw a horven-drawn cart,
driven by an elderly man, wobble over a low hill. Seated precariously on a
heap of bulging sacks, the driver looked so comical Carol could not help
laughing. She called to him.
The ancient driver tugged on the reins and nearly toppled when the horven
skidded to a stop. He jammed his foot on the brake, but not before his
dilapidated cart ran up on the horven's tails with a clatter.
"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I didn't mean to startle you!"
"What, ho? No startle." The old gentleman seemed unconcerned about the
near upset and smiled pleasantly.
"I'm Carol. I didn't really mean to stop you. Do you live nearby?"
"Twenty legon; I Fremel; sell grain Or'gn." His smile broadened as he
patted the gorged sacks. "Good crop . . . this!"
"You're a farmer, then; what kind of grain?"
"No," the old man shook his head. "Not farmer; merchant; buy at farm . . .
got contract." He patted his coat pocket proudly. "Grain florn. Much raised . . .
near."
"You have a contract? Are you an agent?"
"Yes," the man nodded vigorously, grinning widely. "Agent. Got contract."
"I thought only Mentats and fighters could be agents."
"True you, not me. You Warrior, I not." The man pointed at his green
headband. "Long time agent."
"Where'd you get the horven?"
"Buy . . . cost much. I work hard." The old man noticed the canteen Carol
was carrying.
"I thirsty; water gone." He upended his open canteen. "Drink maybe?"
Carol hesitated, then smiled. "Sure, you're welcome." She handed Fremel
the canteen.
He drank thirstily, then handed down the container and wiped his mouth on
the back of his sun-weathered hand. "Thank friend. Must go." He flicked the
reins and his cart lumbered into motion.
After encountering the grain merchant, Carol left the road and wandered
into knee-deep grass interspersed with bright flowers. Insects buzzed or

fluttered among the blossoms. Bees, flies, gnats, and butterflies, Carol noted,
much like those flying over earthly fields. Scattered trees cast shadows in the
open prairie, while near the competition grounds, copses of trees dotted the
hollows between low hills. Or'gn's walls, visible to the south, guided Carol as
she wandered toward the game-site.
***
Robert arrived late at the games. He felt prepared for the hummer
competition, the only thing he planned to participate in, yet approached with a
mixture of anxiety and reluctance. Alone among the men, he had failed to rate
as a fighter. He had excused himself because of his accident with the tagan, but
deep down was not sure that was the full explanation. Engar had told him his
quick surrender had been wise and did not compromise his courage, but after
watching Jason, he had felt ashamed. The younger boy had shown courage,
daring, and confidence, and it had earned him a challenge, successfully
defended as well.
Am I a shuket? A mouse? A coward? He flinched inwardly.
The hummer was not a test of courage, but it did require skill. It was a skill
he had put much effort into developing. It was important he do well, and that
made him nervous. The nervousness caused him to dawdle. When Robert
arrived, Jason, Martin, and Linda had already started the contest and were out
of sight on the course. He took the last slot in a starting block with Susan,
Carol, and seven other contestants.
"I hope I get back my two ralls," Susan said. "Two gold pieces seems a lot
just to enter a dumb old throwing contest."
Robert was not thinking about money or how dumb the contest was; he was
thinking about whether he could do it well. A loud crack made him flinch, and
it took him a moment to discover the source. An official had clapped two
boards together, apparently the start signal, but by the time he realized it the
other contestants had already surged forward. He was last out of the starting
block.
Blundering ahead with frantic haste, he caught his foot on a rock and hit the
ground so hard it knocked his wind outs. Struggling to breathe, he watched
Susan's back disappear into a copse of trees. Blood beaded in a ragged
abrasion on his left knee. Wobbling to his feet, he limped along the path. When
he reached the first station, he saw ten rows of five knockdown targets, each at
a different distance. Five hummers lay on a small stand in front of each row.
The first contestants had already begun to throw.

Robert took position at the last row and tried to settle himself. He glimpsed
Susan begin her throws but did not look to see how she was doing. Picking up
his hummers, he forced himself to move slowly while his breathing evened. He
shifted four hummers to his left hand, and balanced the fifth in his throwing
hand. For a moment, he closed his eyes, then opened them and swung his arm
forward. He watched his first hummer strike dead center. It was as though the
hummer had flown of its own and suddenly he was alone. He began to swing
with an easy, methodical rhythm and watched his targets fall like wheat before
the scythe.
Only when he was done did he glance at Susan. She had dropped three
targets but had not yet finished throwing. Carol, a line beyond Susan, had
dropped all her targets and was also watching Susan.
"Congratulations," Robert told Susan as her last target toppled.
"You too," Susan said. "You were fast!"
"We're off to a good start." Carol held up her right thumb.
The second target group was at greater distance. Robert toppled his with
perfect throws and again watched Susan drop the last of hers. Carol flashed
her thumbs up.
On the third set of targets, at extreme distance, Susan left two standing and
Carol missed one. Robert took down all his and grinned happily. He noticed he
was the only contestant among the ten who still had a perfect score.
Next, they faced a single circular target, at fixed distance, marked with a
bull's-eye. Each contestant had five hummers. Hits scored from one to three
depending on closeness to center. Robert scored a perfect fifteen. Susan scored
twelve, Carol fourteen. Robert began to think throwing hummers was a skill at
which he was more than adequate.
The next targets, bull's-eye types like the last, were in increasingly difficult
locations: in a small ravine, behind brush, and at the top of a slope. Robert's
excitement increased with each success. When he saw his fellow competitors
begin to watch him, his heart beat harder.
Midway, a new level of difficulty appeared. Ten targets, distributed along
a short path, had to be taken on the run, in twenty seconds or less. Each
contestant had five hummers at the start; five more were in a box at mid-point.
One official timed while another set up fallen targets for the next competitor.
Robert's nervousness increased, but it served only to enhance his
confidence. "When you're up, take your time," he told Susan as they watched a
runner miss repeatedly with hasty throws. "This is going to be fun!"

"This is going to be hard," Susan said.

Carol was up, sprinting toward the first target. She toppled four, then
missed the fifth. Reaching for the second five hummers, she dropped two and
scrambled to retrieve them.
"Don't pick them up!" Robert yelled. "You don't have enough time!"
He was right. After retrieving the hummers, Carol barely had time to drop
one more target before time was called.
"Good luck!" Robert called as Linda darted away.
She took off hard, rushed her first shot and missed, then slowed and got the
next three. She fumbled the last of her first five hummers, then managed to pick
up only three replacements. She ran wildly and threw away two hummers
before dropping a fourth target an instant before time was called.
While watching the others, learning from their mistakes, Robert devised a
strategy. In complete control when the signal came, he held one hummer in his
right hand, the other four in his left. As he began his run, he brought his arm
back and timed his throw so that his right leg followed the motion of his
throwing arm. He scarcely noticed the target topple for his eye was already on
the next. Without breaking stride, he adjusted his gait so that his left leg would
be extended just ahead of the next target and he could follow through on his
right step. With perfect rhythm, he scored the first five targets, then came to a
complete stop at the resupply box. He reached with both hands, securing four
hummers in the left, one in the right and made his first throw as he straightened.
Again, he timed his steps, throwing on the left step, following through on the
right. The tenth target fell and Robert heard cheering as he crossed the finish,
seconds ahead of the clock.
"Wow!" Susan cried. "Engar didn't teach us that!"
"That was beautiful!" Carol said. "You must've spent extra time practicing
with your hummers."
Robert's face glowed.
The next targets were in two rows of five each, on opposite sides of the
track, requiring half the throws be to the right and half to the left. Carol
maintained better discipline and improved her score, though most competitors
did more poorly. Susan, too, had learned from her earlier mistakes and threw
with greater care. She managed seven throws and hit five targets.
Robert sized up the targets and decided against the obvious strategy, that of
throwing first to one side then to the other, as all the other contestants had
done. Instead, he used his timed-stride technique to drop three targets on the

left in quick succession, then swivelled at full stop, and took out the two lead
targets on the right with long throws. He knelt, retrieved the five resupply
hummers, and threw smoothly from the kneeling position to take down the right
center target. With quick strides he dropped the remaining two targets on the
right, then swung for an easy shot at the fifth target on the left. A long throw
toppled the last target. Once more, he was across the finish with time to spare.
"Neatly done, Robert," Carol said. "You've got to be one of the best
throwers out here. Engar said you were good , but I had no idea how good he
meant."
"I had extra practice," Robert said, looking modestly down, "when I was
hurt and couldn't practice with the tagan."
Carol laughed. "You couldn't run then, either. I think this is something you
really enjoy."
The next targets brought new complications. An official tugged a line,
setting suspended bull's-eye targets in motion. All targets were at the same
distance, but suspension lines were progressively shortened to make them
swing faster. Size also progressively decreased. To further complicate matters,
some targets were made to swing behind six-inch posts set a foot apart. To hit
these, the contestant had to throw between the posts and catch the targets as
they passed.
Most scores fell, but Carol and Susan did well because Engar had made
them practice hard with moving targets. He always said, "Enemies rarely stand
still and wait to be hit."
Robert had spent especially long hours with the swinging target in the
training hall. Hitting it was his pride, and he was better than anyone else in the
partnership, except possibly Engar. He approached the new targets with
confidence and began centering each hummer as accurately as if the targets
were stationary. But on the first target behind the poles, his confidence became
cockiness. He knew instantly that his first throw was off. With sinking heart, he
watched his hummer thud into a post - no score. For a long moment he stared in
disbelief and felt his face flame. His perfect score was broken.
When he threw again, he was shaky and the hummer nicked a post as it
sped into the target. At first he thought it, too, was a miss and his heart nearly
stopped, then he saw that it had centered accurately and he began to breath
again. He threw his last three hummers with great care, and all flew true. He
was relieved, but could not dismiss the disappointment that had almost
unnerved him..

The last station was in open country, with the target area obscured by a
palisade. The targets consisted of animal figures pulled by cables through tall
prairie grass. Susan was at the starting line, looking anxiously in his direction,
when Robert approached.
"Hurry," she called. "You're after me. Everyone else has already run."
There was a loud crack and Susan took off sprinting.
Robert trotted up. He had been so busy feeling sorry about the last set, he
had almost missed his starting time. He was barely in place when his signal
came. He began with a pounding sprint to the palisade, then right along the
wall. Hummers were stuck in the logs at intervals of about a dozen feet.
Movement in the grass caught Robert's eye, and he saw a tan object slip along
about forty feet away. He snatched the first hummer and threw in a singled
motion. A second target leaped like a rabbit. Robert snatched a hummer and
pegged it in mid-flight, but missed the next two. He ignored this new failure
and clipped the next three in a row.
When he snatched the eighth hummer, he saw no target but grabbed the ninth
hummer anyway. Then he saw two targets at once - one darting nearby, the
other hopping at a greater distance. He took the far one, then nailed the near
one and saw the final target leap into the air. He raced for the last hummer,
grabbed it in mid-stride, and made a snap throw. It centered.
Someone shouted and he saw Susan waving from a hillock. Other people
were around her and he picked out Carol, then Jason and Linda. "Terrific!"
Jason cried, as Robert jogged up. "I only hit three on the last run! You got
eight!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After finishing their own competitions, the children tired of watching

others and decided to explore Or'gn and its surroundings. In an alley off the
main plaza, they found a tool-and-weapon shop, and Jason and Robert eagerly
studied the prices of armor, weapons, and a variety of tools. They quickly
discovered how meager their resources were. Hummers cost six ralls, swords
30, tagans 17, and an armored breast plate with helmet cost 45 ralls. The shop
had no bows, kalards, or brodsrds, and they gasped when they saw that a tiny
little navaid cost more than 200 ralls.
The girls got bored looking at weapons and tools they could not afford and
decided to go separate ways to see what they could find. Wandering alone
down a small side street, Susan spotted a shop on the ground floor of a twostory building. A sign above the door said: "ICONS." Curious, she entered.
Her nose wrinkled at the cloying odor of sweet incense, and her mokads
thumped on bare wooden planks. She saw a polished wooden counter along
one side, behind which a woman was sitting at a cluttered desk. Standing
uncertainly, her eyes scanned walls lined with glass cabinets filled with
bizarrely shaped figurines made of stone, bronze, silver, or gold.
"Excuse me," Susan said, clearing her throat.
The woman looked up.
"What are those?" Susan pointed at the figurines.
The woman, a robustly built native, came to the counter. She smiled kindly.
"Icons, my dear; ancient religious images. People collect them. Are you
interested in religious history?"
"I don't think so. I just wondered. Why would anyone want to collect those
things; they're rather ugly don't you think?"
"I suppose it depends on your point of view. Many people think they bring
good luck, but mostly I think they just remind some of our ancient traditions."
"I didn't mean to be critical," Susan said.
The woman laughed. "Everyone is entitled to their opinion."
"Where do they come from?"
"Oh, they're found in lots of places. Mostly where the ancients hid them: in
caves, ruins, castles, and so on."
"Castles? You have castles here?"

"Goodness, yes."
"You mean like King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable?"
"King Arthur? I haven't heard of him, but I know about King Mordat of the
Ancients."
"Is there treasure in the castles?" Susan asked.
"Yes. But if you're thinking of treasure hunting you must take great care.
Most old castles are unoccupied and are quite dangerous."
"Are there any nearby?" Susan's voice sounded eager.
"Well," the woman's brow furrowed. "There is a large ruin in Slavhos,
south of here. Some say it was a castle, but I don't think anyone has ever found
any treasure there."
"Oh," Susan said, disappointed. Then she looked again at the icons. "How
much are those silly looking things worth, anyway?"
"The prices are posted," the shopkeeper said, pointing to a list on the wall
behind the counter. "I buy and sell. If you do happen to find any, I'm the only
dealer in Faland who buys them. Of course, if you want to collect I'll be happy
to sell any you like."
Susan's eyes widened when she saw that the little gold icons were worth
five hundred ralls and even the plain stone ones were worth eighteen. Excited,
she left to hunt up Jason and Robert, finally locating them outside the tool shop.
"Where's Linda?" Jason asked.
"I don't know. We went alone," Susan said, her face flushed. "But wait 'til
you hear what I found out."
Jason frowned, then said rather snappishly. "Don't you think you and Linda
should've stayed together?"
"Why? Nobody said we had to stay together."
"Don't worry," Robert broke in, "Linda's bound to be here somewhere.
Or'gn isn't very big."
"Don't you want to hear what I found?" Susan demanded.
"Sure," Robert said. "What did you find?"
"I'm going to look for Linda," Jason said.
"We'll all look," Robert said.
Susan explained about icons, castles, and ruins in Slavhos as the trio
wandered toward the plaza keeping an eye out for Linda.
"We can ask Engar about Slavhos after the games," Robert said. "He ought
to know if it has a ruin. Of course, I'd guess if it ever held a treasure it
would've been found by now."

"What's that?" Jason suddenly noticed a dark structure rising above the
trees south of the plaza.
"It's big," Robert said. "Funny, we didn't notice it before."
Susan said. "It looks like a stone building. Must be something special;
everything else is made of logs."
"Maybe that's where Linda went." The children moved toward the dark
structure, a monolithic mass of black granite that rose several stories.
"No windows, but there's a door," Robert said as they emerged from the
trees onto a flagstone courtyard.
"Chained shut."
"Wow! It looks big enough to fly an airliner through."
"Made of heavy wood."
"Bet it hasn't been open in a hundred years," Robert said as he knelt and
examined the threshold. "Dirt's blown against the door and wedged in at the
bottom."
"The chains form continuous loops," Jason said. "They wrap through these
huge levers and join without a break."
"Maybe the levers open the door," Susan said.
"If they do," Robert said, "the chains hold 'em shut."
"Look at this!" Susan squinted at a black metal plate attached to the door.
"There's some kind of writing here!"
"Where? Let me see!" Robert's face lighted. "Runes! Like the ones I've
been learning! Oh, I wish I had something to write them down with. I need to
study them to see if I can figure out what they mean."
"I saw pencils and paper at the market. I'll get some," Susan said. "Be back
in a minute!"
Robert traced the odd markings with his fingers, structuring them in his
mind, and tried to match them with what Thiel had taught him. His blue eyes
filled with happiness. In a few moments he began to read, "Opaline sword . . .
cut . . . lithan." He looked up triumphantly. "I know what it means! At least I
know what it says. These thick chains are made of lithan and they can only be
cut with an opaline sword!"
"What's an opaline sword?" Jason asked. "And what's lithan?"
"The runes don't explain, but I know what they say."
"It's crazy to lock something so you can't open it without cutting the chains,"
Jason grumbled.
Susan returned, breathless, clutching pencil and paper. Robert carefully

copied the runes and stowed the record in his belt pouch.
***
After leaving the others, Linda decided to explore outside Or'gn. She found
the countryside irresistible and began a circuit of the village palisade. As she
rounded a corner, she noticed a native youth sitting alone under a tree. She
hesitated, then decided to be friendly.
"Hi, my name is Linda." She strolled up to the boy. "Weren't you at the
competition this morning?"
Not much older than Jason, the youth wore a red headband with level one
Warrior bars. "Yes," he said, smiling. "I'm Abu'do."
"Mind if I sit down?"
"Please." The boy motioned to a place beside himself.
Linda settled in the grass and began to ask him about the country. He
explained eagerly, finishing by telling Linda, "The best hunting near here is a
dozen legons to the northeast: rabir and squal, mostly."
"I'll bet you're a good hunter," Linda said.
Abu'do smiled. "I do okay."
"Are you in any more contests?"
Abu'do's eyes widened. "Oh, my goodness, yes!" He glanced at the sun. "I
almost forgot. I must go!" He took off at a run, then stopped awkwardly.
"Goodbye. Happy to meet you."
Linda laughed. "Better hurry, and good luck!"
Linda began to think about squal and rabir. She wondered what a squal
was. A dozen legons, Abu'do had said. It was early, well ahead of noon, and
nobody would look for her until evening. She trotted to the Or'gn road and
headed north.
Jogging slowly, she let her eyes rove over the surroundings. Overhead, a
huge bird circled and she watched it begin its stoop. As it plummeted, Linda
felt wonder, then fear. Shining talons reached from a body nearly as large as
her own and the beak looked like it could tear through her small form in a
single stroke. By the time Linda sensed danger, it was too late to escape. She
dropped and curled into a ball. The giant predator struck, but it was not
interested in a human child. It snatched a large rodent from the field and
flapped noisily away.
Linda heard laughter and saw a slim native boy of perhaps ten years,
entirely naked, standing a short distance away, shaking with mirth. "Eagen not
hurt you. Eat gomer, not people."

The boy had a strong, wiry body, and red hair that came to his shoulders
and was held away from his eyes by a green headband. His skin was as brown
as the packed dirt road and his dark eyes laughed with good nature.
"Who are you?" Linda asked.
"Trenel."
"I'm Linda." She reached out her hand, wondering if natives shook hands.
Trenel took her hand happily.
"Do you always go in public without your clothes?" Linda had seen
younger naked kids in town but boys as old as Trenel usually wore ukelns.
"Live over there," Trenel pointed northwest. "Clothes not need. Run
faster."
"Are you alone?" Or'gn's walls were barely visible and there was nothing
else as far as the eye could see.
"Today alone. Sal'to live far." Trenel pointed east. "No come today."
"Where are your parents?"
"Home."
"Don't they mind you being out here by yourself."
Trenel looked blank. "Why mind? No work today."
Linda shook her head. "The eagen," she said, "are there many of those big
birds around?"
Trenel shrugged. "Maybe. Wild lands, kill people. Not farmland."
Linda shuddered. So they are dangerous, at least sometimes.
"Thirsty." Trenel pointed to Linda's canteen. "Drink?"
"Of course." Linda watched Trenel tilt the canteen to his mouth. Water
dribbled down his chest and the boy sighed gloriously when he finished a long
drink.
"You honor; me go."
Trenel darted into the field to the west and was out of sight almost
immediately. Linda looked after him a moment, then shrugged and continued
her jog north. Shortly, she arrived at a pathway that crossed the road from east
to west. Or'gn was no longer visible. The land stretched immensely around her,
silent in the brilliant light of morning.
I'd guess I'm about half way, and I have to go east as well as north.
She turned east and trotted along the path, rutted where cart wheels had
passed, but apparently little traveled. It wound, rising and falling, over small
hills that grew more frequent the farther Linda went. She ran almost
effortlessly.. Never in the Other World had she known such joy from the simple

act of moving. She let the scenery flow through her vision as smoothly as her
legs propelled her.
Thirst stopped her at a junction between two paths - the one she was
traveling and another that crossed it from north to south. A fenced field, newly
mowed, lay on the southeast corner and a gate led through the fence to a trail
that ended at a snug looking log cabin. Near the cabin was a larger structure
that looked like a barn. Linda took a long drink from her canteen and noted
how little water remained. The sun stood directly overhead and she guessed
she was now a dozen legons from Or'gn.
Maybe someone at the cabin can let me have some water and tell me
where to find a squal.
The house yard looked neat, with flower beds in pleasing patterns along
the walk. She saw a man working near the barn, then a small girl darted around
the corner of the barn and almost into her path. About the size and age of
Trenel, she also wore no clothes.
"What, ho?" The man lifted his weathered face to her.
"Hi, I'm Linda," she addressed both man and child.
The girl stared.
"Are you Sal'to?" Linda asked.
"How you know?"
"I met Trenel on the road," Linda said.
"Ah, my neighbor's boy," the farmer said. "I'm Mulro, how may I serve
you?"
Linda liked the warm greeting. She asked for water and Mulro pointed to
the well. "Take what you need. Are you new to Faland?"
"Does it show?" Linda worked the pump handle.
The farmer smiled. "You're headband tells me you're a Warrior, but not
rated as a fighter, and you are dressed as simply as a peasant with neither
armor nor weapons. You've not worked long at your Scout trade."
"Just finished training. Your fields look nice. What do you grow?"
"Florn mostly - for market - also some vegetables. I sell vegetables more
cheaply than you can buy them in Or'gn. I've grain for sale too - mostly to
merchants on contract to the Master."
"The Faland Master?"
"Yes. Some make money buying from farmers and hauling the florn to Or'gn
for resale."
"I've heard hunting is good near here," Linda said.

"For rabir and squal, yes. Beyond my gate, climb the slope to the northeast
and you can see the hill country where there is much game."
Linda finished filling her canteen and bought some vegetables, then thanked
Mulro. She waved to Sal'to, then climbed the hill Mulro had described. It
afforded a grand view of the surrounding farmland and of the wooded land to
the northeast. To the south, the farmer's fields stretched over many acres, all
securely fenced. Linda wondered about felven. At least in the light of day there
can be little danger, she reasoned, as she noticed Sal'to playing alone and
unprotected in some rocks near Mulro's gate.
Linda followed the trail north another legon, then turned east into the hill
country. She stopped under a large tree and was startled by the whir of wings
as a plump bird rocketed out of a nearby thicket.
A squal?
About the size of a pheasant, the brightly plumaged bird was large enough
to provide good meat. Linda was sure she could down such a bird had she a
hummer or even a stone. A glance at the sun told her she had stayed too long
and gone too far.
I'll be pressed to get back by dark.
***
Shadows were lengthening in the campground, and Susan lit the fire and put
kettles on to heat. Jason, unsuccessful at finding Linda, volunteered to help and
soon cooking smells filled the air. Fleecy clouds drifted overhead. One by one
the partners gathered, tired from competitions and explorations, each with
stories to relate.
"Anyone seen Linda?" Jason asked, a note of anxiety in his voice.
"Bring your plates," Susan called. "Food's ready."
"Hold on," Bertha interrupted. "Now that Jason mentions it, I haven't seen
Linda all day."
"We looked earlier but didn't find her," Robert said.
"Wasn't anyone with her?" Martin asked.
"I was at first," Susan said. "But we split up."
"I'm sure she'll turn up in a minute," John said. "She probably just lost track
of time."
"We all agreed to be here for supper," Bertha snapped. "She should know
better."
"I'll look for her," Jason said.
"Not a good idea." Engar put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "If Linda's in

town, she'll show up. If not, you've no idea where to look."

Martin took Engar aside. "What dangers would a kid face in the
countryside?"
"Aside from getting lost, not much," Engar said. "Felven aren't active this
time of the moon and no other dangerous animals live in the farmlands."
"What about people? Would anyone hurt a child?"
"Not in Faland," Engar said. "She'll be safe enough, and I doubt she could
be lost. She did too well with her scout--"
Engar was interrupted by Bertha's roar, "Where have you been, young
lady?"
Linda, flushed and covered with sweat, trotted into the circle of firelight.
"I'm sorry, it got later than I realized."
"Where were you? You don't just go off without telling someone."
Linda was taken aback. She had not seen Bertha angry and was not sure
how to respond.
"Ease up," Martin said softly. "Let Linda tell us what happened."
Bertha sputtered.
Linda told her story briefly and ended with, "I must've gone farther than I
thought, and it took longer to get back than I planned."
"You should've told us where you were going," Bertha insisted.
"Good point," Engar said. "We're a team now and should let one another
know what we're doing. What do you think, Martin? Should we agree to some
rules?"
"A buddy system might be a good idea," Martin said. "We're already paired
up, so it should be easy. But even when buddies leave together, they should
post a note to let the rest of us know where they are. That would save a lot of
worry."
"I didn't think of a note," Linda said.
"I guess it isn't really your fault," Bertha said. "I'm not your mama, and I
keep forgetting this is Faland. You kids are here as much on your own as we
adults."
"Doesn't hurt if we look out for one another, though," Jason said. "I don't
want to feel like I'm all alone."
"Let's eat," Engar said. "No harm done, and we're still learning."
***
After eating and full darkness had come, the partners walked to the training
hall where winning contest scores were posted. People were milling about,

studying columns of names that ran from ceiling to floor. The top three names
in each column, the top scorers, were written in bold lettering.
"Robert!" Susan squealed. "Look where you are!"
Robert's heart began to pound. He saw his name, third in the hummer
column! Everyone crowded around, pounding him on the back, pumping his
hand, and yelling congratulations in his ear.
"Did I win something?" he asked Engar.
"You better believe it, Lad! Go collect your money - at the prize tables near
the door!"
While Robert raced to get his prize, the others scanned the lists for their
names. Small prizes were paid even for a good showing, and to their delight,
they soon discovered all had won something, even Susan at sixtieth in the
hummer contest.
Being Weapon-masters, Engar and John had competed in all the contests
and had done well enough to place in each. With kalard, Engar was fifteenth,
John thirty-third; with atla Engar was seventh, John twenty-fourth; and with the
spear Engar was ninth, John tenth. Four members placed with the bow: Engar
fourth, Martin seventh, Bertha twenty-sixth, and John thirty-fourth. The partners
had done well, and their reputation grew among Faland's Warriors.
"Well, Lad, you've done something special," Engar told Robert as they
walked back to camp. "This was my third festival, and I've yet to crack the top
three in any event."
Robert fingered the 38 ralls in his pouch and hefted the great weight.
Graciously, he said, "You placed fourth in the bow; that's almost as good."
Engar smiled. "I suppose so." He gave the boy a clap on the back.
Robert blushed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

That night around the campfire, while toasting each partner's achievements,
Jason proposed a song. He began shyly, but his voice grew stronger as he
went. It was his first attempt at lyrics, and he knew it was rough.
When Robert stepped up to the line,
He threw his hummer true.
It soared across the space between,
And struck the target down.
From every throat, a lusty shout,
The score was at the top.
When Robert turned to see his friends,
Their joy in him shone bright.
He proudly went to get his prize,
And bowed with gratitude.
Friend Robert is a Warrior great,
A thrower without peer.
And everyone who knows him well,
Respects his mighty arm.
When Jason finished, Robert was blushing and everyone else was smiling.
People from other camps had gathered round and wanted more songs but Jason
declined; he had no more lyrics.
"Sing the songs of the Song-masters," Linda called, and others took up the
chorus. But Jason did not want to take away from Robert's glory. Others filled
in and talk and laughter lasted well into the night. The moon was high and its
silver light made lamps unnecessary by the time everyone rolled into their
blankets to get what sleep they could before sunrise.
Next morning a youth walked stalwartly into camp and straight up to
Martin. "I challenge you," he declared.
Startled, Martin looked up and saw a boy of perhaps sixteen or seventeen,
trim, neatly dressed in sirkeln and vest, with a sword at his side. He wore the
headband of a level one Warrior.
"And, who are you?" Martin asked, looking closely at the young man.
The boy bowed. "I am En'kal, Master."
"Why do you want to fight me?"

"You are the Mentat Warrior, Master. To fight you is to gain honor."
Martin's forehead knotted. He studied the youth closely and finally said,
"It's your right. The weapons will be swords."
En'kal smiled brightly. "Thank you. I'll arrange the kom right away." He left
on the run.
Moments later, a stocky level two fighter approached Martin and bowed.
"Master, I am Frogur. I request the honor of a match."
Martin winced. "I must decline, Frogur. I have a match pending."
Frogur looked disappointed but bowed again and withdrew.
"What's with the 'master' bit?" Martin asked Engar.
"I'm not sure." Engar looked puzzled. "Technically, many are masters, but
the term is rarely used except between students and their teachers."
"It must have something to do with my being a Mentat. I thought you said it
unlikely I would be challenged."
Engar shrugged. "So what do I know about Mentats?"
When breakfast cleanup was complete everyone headed to the arena to see
when Martin would fight. On the way, John and Bertha looked for suitable
Warriors to challenge since none had challenged them. Bertha challenged the
level two fighter, Ankriez, who accepted and chose pikes as weapon.
Every level two fighter whom John challenged declined a match on any
terms. Finally, John challenged the level three fighter, Ultor, a rather unusual
man, tall and uncommonly thin, who wore a shaggy brown coat that hung past
his knees. Ultor chose knives and John found out later that Ultor was a Forester
clansman famous for his ability in hand-to-hand knife fighting.
En'kal had gotten an early time slot and was ready when Martin arrived.
Bertha and John had to settle for afternoon matches. In spite of his youth, En'kal
did not seem at all nervous, and Martin approached him with caution. A few
strokes told him, however, that En'kal was not his equal. The youth fought
gamely, but Martin drove him rapidly against the ropes, then into a corner.
With his swings hampered, En'kal attempted to drive Martin back with a
series of lunges, but Martin side-stepped and delivered a hard stroke to
En'kal's sword arm. En'kal dropped his sword and clutched his wounded arm,
blood starting between his fingers.
Martin backed off, a little dismayed. En'kal promptly yielded, bowed, and
said, "Thank you, Master. You fight well."
"You are an honorable opponent," Martin returned in the formal manner
prescribed. "Here, let me help you with your arm."

En'kal's face brightened. He retrieved his sword, sheathed it, then dug a
bandage from his belt. Martin helped bind his arm.
"Could use a couple of stitches," Martin said as he finished tying the cloth
strips. "Do you know a Healer?"
"Yes, Master," En'kal said. "Thank you." He nodded and removed three
ralls from his belt and handed them to Martin. When he left the kom he walked
as proudly as if he were victor.
Martin scarcely reached the edge of the arena before another level one
fighter, a young woman named Shiro, challenged him. Again, he was forced
into a match.
"I'm glad Shiro couldn't get a kom until late this afternoon," Martin told
Engar. "I won't have to accept any more matches today. This could get to be a
nuisance. Besides I don't want to hurt anyone - some of these challengers are
just kids."
"I assure you these kids know what they're getting into," Engar said.
"Besides, you didn't seriously hurt En'kal and the experience will do him good.
Whether we like it or not, fighting is part of this culture, and we can't change
that."
"All the same I find it disturbing."
"You do seem to be in demand," Engar said. "I hadn't thought your status
would attract challengers. Once you get a contract, you can refuse them, but
you'll likely be kept busy at festivals. Maybe you should preempt the gloryseekers by making challenges of your own with more worthy opponents. Did
you know Robert has accepted a match?"
"Really? You think he can handle it?"
"It'll be good experience, and I think he is prudent enough to avoid serious
injury."
Martin frowned. "I didn't suspect Robert would be that eager to fight; he
seems a quiet boy and not very aggressive."
"That may be the point. I think Robert was embarrassed when he failed to
qualify in his ratings match, especially after he saw Jason do so well. He may
have doubts about his courage."
"That's ridiculous!" Martin said. "He has nothing to prove; besides he did
very well with the hummer."
"It may not be so ridiculous to Robert," Engar said. "His success with the
hummer boosted his self-esteem, but it wasn't a test of courage. It may even
have increased his desire to prove himself. I wouldn't worry about it; he's

more capable than he knows, and it might do well for him to find out."
"Who's the Warrior? Anybody good?"
"A girl. A young woman actually. Her name is Kaler. I've heard she's
aggressive and almost rated a couple of weeks ago. She'll give Robert a tussle,
I expect. She usually fights with a knife, but Robert insisted on the tagan. That's
a good sign; it shows he's getting over his fear of the weapon."
***
After Martin's fight with En'kal, most of the partners scattered into Or'gn or
went to explore the countryside. Martin and Engar separated and Linda caught
up with Martin. "Mind if I walk with you?" she asked.
"Not at all. I'm just going to look around and see if there's anyplace in town
I haven't been."
"It's a pretty small place," Linda said, wrinkling her nose. "Not much here,
but I want to know what you think about something."
Martin glanced at the girl. "I'm listening."
"Well, you know how I went exploring yesterday?"
"How could I forget?" Martin grinned.
Linda blushed. "I won't go by myself again. But while I was out there, I
found some really good hunting country. I also found out you can buy food at
farms cheaper than in town. I was wondering if we might go camping and
hunting? We could sell meat in town. I already checked at the market, and they
said some hunting contracts are still open. What do you think? Have you
decided what we're going to do?"
"Not yet, Linda. That's something we all have to decide. But your idea
seems worth considering. Bring it up after supper this evening when we have
our partnership meeting. Let's walk over to the agent's hall and see what other
contracts are listed. It won't hurt to have some idea of what's available."
"It'll be good to do something besides challenges," Linda said.
"I can't argue with that. This is an odd place. Fighting, exploring,
competing in games: these seem to be the main activities aside from work. I've
found no books, no television, no movies, no shopping malls." Martin turned to
Linda. "Do you miss those things?"
"A little, but I really haven't thought much about it. I've noticed there are no
churches or schools, though. Don't you think that's odd?"
"Does seem strange, especially the latter. I wonder how the natives teach
their children? I have many unanswered questions about Faland."
"Like: who is the Faland Master?"

"Yeah, that would be one."

"Here's the agent's hall!" Linda scampered up the steps.
The contract office was closed, but many job announcements were posted
on a bulletin board in the lobby. Among them were appeals for hunters to bring
in meat, as Linda had discovered. There were also openings for grain
transport, hide haulage, wood cutting, and one request for three fighters to
escort travelers to Rooden and protect them from hyen and renegades.
"Pickings look slim," Martin said. "Most of these contracts don't look
lucrative enough for our whole group. We might have to take more than one."
"What are hyens?"
"Good question. I don't recall hearing about renegades either."
After leaving the agent's hall, Linda took Martin to the black stone building
she and the other kids had found. "What do you think it is? Susan talked to
some natives yesterday who said it's always been here but nobody knows what
it's for or how to get into it. What's lithan?"
"Engar said lithan is a legendary metal made by the ancients before modern
Faland society existed. And opaline scimitars supposedly have blades stronger
than steel." Martin rummaged in his belt pouch, and removed his pearl-bladed
razor. Gently he stroked the cutting edge across a link of the heavy chain. "Not
a scratch," he said, grinning. "I guess my razor isn't opaline."
After leaving the monolith, Martin and Linda went through Or'gn's gate and
turned south along the road. At a crossroad they studied a sign with arrows
pointing south to Slavhos, 25 legons, north to Biclif, 250 legons, east to
Rooden, 135 legons, and west to Forod, 125 legons.
"It's a long way between places in Faland," Martin mused, rubbing his
chin. "If we're stuck walking it means a lot of time on the road to visit these
other communities."
"Wish we could get horven," Linda said.
"At three hundred ralls each, it'll be awhile before we can afford any."
"Maybe we can put all our prize money together and get one, and Bertha
can make us a cart."
"One horven could not pull a cart with all of us. Besides we don't have 300
ralls between us."
"Just a thought."
The sun was hot, and they looked around for shade. Tall, silky grass
brushed their legs as they walked toward a large tree in a field beside the road.
Near the trunk, the grass was thinner and packed down, with signs that children

had played there.

"How are you at tree climbing?" Martin eyed the branches.
"I always wanted to but never had the chance."
"Now's a good time." Martin caught a scrub limb a few feet up and hauled
himself into a fork where the trunk divided into three branches. He turned to
help Linda, and they climbed into the upper limbs.
"This tree seems made for climbing," Martin said as he pulled himself up.
The rough bark was smooth where many others had climbed. From the tree they
saw rolling hills to the east, and to the northwest, a tower. Below the tower,
diminished by distance, rose the palisade of a settlement.
"Wonder what that place is?"
"Wasn't on the road sign," Linda said. "It's too close to be one of the places
marked."
"Doesn't look like it's even on the road," Martin added. "It looks to be off
by itself in the field."
"Maybe it's a farm, like the one I visited yesterday."
"The palisade looks like the one around Or'gn."
"Uh, oh, we've got company," Linda said.
A party of young people was approaching from Or'gn. Martin and Linda
descended to meet them. An older youth introduced himself as Chuyak. "You're
the Mentat-master," he said to Martin. "Accept my challenge?" He wore the
headband of a level one fighter.
Martin shook his head. "You kids sure are eager to fight. Sorry to
disappoint you, but I have a match pending."
Chuyak grinned. "That's okay, I'll catch you later."
***
During the remainder of the afternoon, many of the partners gathered at the
arena, either answering challenges or watching their friend's matches.
When Bertha met Ankriez, the pikeman charged and attempted a leg thrust.
He wasn't prepared for Bertha's speed. She parried the thrust with her pike and
pinned Ankriez's weapon to the ground, then stepped around the grounded pike
and smashed Ankriez with a stiff right to the chin. Her opponent fell like a sack
of florn, and Bertha had to wait nearly half an hour for him to recover
sufficiently to pay her the six ralls he owed.
John approached his match almost with disdain. When Ultor took off his
hide-coat, his knobby body seemed more bone than flesh. Still, he faced John
coolly, apparently not intimidated by his opponent's much greater size.

When the start-signal was called, John ambled out of his corner, but Ultor
moved with lightning speed and was on him before the big man had taken two
steps. Ultor's knife flashed so fast, John could hardly follow the motion.
Feinting, the thin Warrior shifted to the right, and John felt the bite of his blade
on his left shoulder. Stumbling slightly, he got nipped again on the right wrist
as he failed to parry Ultor's sweep.
Sweating, no longer nonchalant, John crouched and back-pedaled. He
watched Ultor's eyes. He was not able to match the thin Warrior's speed but
managed to keep him from getting a solid strike, and slowly began to get the
hang of his quick jabs and lightning sweeps. A break came when Ultor moved
in to swipe at his left shoulder, and John stepped forward, not back as usual.
He took the blade on the inside of his breast plate, under his left arm, and
clamped his massive biceps on Ultor's forearm. He then dropped his own knife
and grabbed Ultor by the neck with his right hand, swinging the man off the
ground. Switching his left arm to a grip on Ultor's leg, he squatted and hoisted
him overhead. Like a bear shaking off a dog, he hurled the slim Warrior clear
of the kom. Ultor sprawled in the dust twenty feet beyond the kom ropes.
"Nasty," John muttered as he retrieved his knife, "like getting stung by a
bunch of hornets." He examined the bloody nicks and scratches that covered
both arms, then climbed out of the kom and helped Ultor to his feet.
"That's a first," Ultor said, rubbing his bruised neck. "I usually end my
fights in the kom."
"I'm sorry," John laughed. "I got a little irritated with that hunt-and-peck
style of yours. I must admit your skill with the knife was more than I bargained
for."
"I don't usually lose," Ultor admitted, as he counted out nine ralls. "You
move faster than a man your size has any right to."
Even before John's match ended, Martin had entered the kom with Shiro.
The match proved more a formality than a true fight, since Shiro did not
possess the skill to make more than a token show and only stayed with the fight
long enough to say she had dueled the Mentat Warrior. Late in the afternoon,
Engar fought a fourth-level fighter named Zak, a farmland native of great size
and strength. They used battle axes and made a long and fierce combat. When
everybody was convinced it would end in a draw, Engar found an opening. He
thrust, as though holding a sword, and rotated his axe slightly. With a quick
motion, he jerked his axe toward himself while stepping sharply to the side.
His axe-head caught that of his opponent and wrenched the weapon from Zak's

grip. The victory won Engar his fifth combat point, though neither Warrior had
landed a blow other than on their weapons.
"A thing of beauty," said Bertha, when Engar rejoined the audience.
"I'm up next," Robert announced nervously. "I better get my gear."
"Don't let yourself get hurt." Jason said. "I know you can do it."
"I hate this business," Carol said, twisting her hands. "Somebody's going to
get killed sooner or later."
"Not likely in challenge matches," Engar said. "No Warriors attempt a kill
in an honor match, and it sharpens the participants - makes them better able to
defend themselves in more dangerous circumstances."
"So I've heard," Carol grumbled. "I've got my kit ready anyway. Don't
forget, Robert already got bashed by a tagan once."
When the match began, Kaler did not charge, nor did Robert. They
approached warily, half-crouched, their tagans ready. Kaler struck first, with
explosive speed. Robert barely jumped aside. The tagan missed his right
shoulder, but nicked his elbow. He snapped an awkward response too late.
Kaler stepped in with a series of hard, fast, figure-eight swings, and Robert
back-pedaled, twisting sideways. He recovered from the surprising speed of
Kaler's attack and back-handed into her swing. The tagans coiled briefly, then
disengaged. The stroke broke Kaler's rhythm, and Robert took advantage to
seize the kom center. When Kaler swung again, Robert saw her diagonal
before the swing was well developed. It was a perfect set-up for the trick
Jason had taught him. He stepped in, almost too close, and Kaler's tagan grazed
his breast plate. He brought his own tagan down, aiming the tip toward Kaler's
streaking hand. The tagan hit beyond the handle on Kaler's tagan, and he pulled
hard. The weapon tore from the girl's grip and slapped through the kom ropes.
"Taga!" Kaler called.
Robert backed off, his face flushed and his heart hammering in his throat.
Kaler counted three ralls into Robert's hand. "Nice move," she said. "I
think I need more practice with the tagan before I try you again. Perhaps, you'll
accept a challenge with a knife sometime?"
Robert grinned. "Maybe."
Robert's was the final match of the day. The sun was low to the west, and
the partners returned to camp for supper, tired and glad that the festival was
finally over.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Since Martin was the only one authorized to negotiate contracts, he went
alone to the agent's hall. Though it was early, he found the black man, Brom,
already there.
"What, ho, Friend!" Brom reached out a hand and the two greeted formally.
Brom explained that he was seeking the contract to escort travelers to Rooden.
"I thought you already had a contract," Martin said.
"So did I," Brom said. "Unfortunately, I couldn't meet the terms and had to
relinquish it. I couldn't find enough Warriors. What are you after?"
"My partners and I have decided to try market hunting - a suggestion by our
Scout who knows where to find game."
Brom raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised Engar would agree to such a
pedestrian enterprise. He has fried bigger fish."
Martin said a little testily, "Perhaps Engar sees opportunity where others
do not."
Brom laughed. "I meant no disrespect, but I have traveled with Engar and
never found him an avid hunter."
"In truth," Martin said. "Our group is inexperienced and this partnership is
new. We want to move carefully until we see how it works out."
The door to the contracts office opened and they entered. "I'm surprised no
one else is here," Martin said.
"You shouldn't be," Brom said. "Most agents lined up contracts before the
festival. That's why so few openings remain. I feel lucky to have a chance at
the Rooden contract."
The process was simple. The agent merely took the notice from the board,
handed it to the clerk, and carried out negotiations verbally, on the spot. Martin
listened as Brom negotiated with the clerk, got the contract he sought, and left.
The clerk was more than a functionary; she had full power to set terms of the
contract. Martin introduced himself and laid the notice for a market hunter on
the counter.
"Ah, I see this is your first application. I've heard of you. My name is
Larun." The clerk held out her hand and Martin shook it. "Meat contracts carry
a piece-rate, four ems per pound for fresh, skinned, and sized; eight ems per
pound for dried or salted. This is an open-ended contract for rabir, squal, and

devon. Do you plan to provide all three?"

"I'm not sure," Martin said. "I only know of rabir and squal. Could I just go
with that?"
"It's your choice. The contract seeks a maximum of one hundred pounds
fresh per day mixed rabir and squal, and up to two thousand pounds salted per
month. We'll supply barrels and salt. You must deliver fresh meat the same day
it's killed. How much of the contract do you want and for how long?"
"I'll take the full contract for sixty days."
"That's a lot," Larun said, then warned, "This contract requires treble
damages if you default."
Martin hesitated, "I think nine of us can handle it. Our Scout said game is
abundant not far from here."
"Why don't you take the contract for fifteen days with an option to extend?
That isn't quite so big a commitment, and we guarantee an extension on five
days notice."
Martin brightened. "I didn't know that was an option. It sounds like the best
approach."
"Good," Larun smiled. "It's done, then. The market will expect your first
fresh meat by sundown tomorrow and each day thereafter. You can pick up the
salt and barrels from the storehouse behind the market. The storekeeper will
give you instructions on how to lay-up the salted meat. Any questions?"
"What about quality control?"
"Just be sure the fresh is same-day kill and follow the instructions for
salting. The market inspector will check the meat on delivery. If you're careful,
you won't have a problem."
"Good enough, thank you."
Martin was glad he had gone early for there was much to do and they had
to be in full operation by the following day. Engar expressed surprise at the
size of the contract. "You don't start on a small scale, do you?"
"We can do it can't we?" Martin sounded anxious.
"I'm sure we can, but it's not a lazy man's contract. Everyone's going to
have to work, and I must confess hunting is not my favorite activity."
"So Brom informed me. But we did all agree to this."
"Don't look so worried. I'll do my share. I expect we'll find more exciting
employment down the line."
They visited the market then the tool shop to purchase equipment. Engar
bought a burro for a hundred ralls, nearly all his personal funds. He donated

the burro to the partnership and gained the enormous gratitude of everyone.
Susan fell promptly in love with Pecos and became its official caretaker.
Bertha supervised the purchase of metal straps, sleeves, pins, and bolt plates
to use in building a cart. She also asked Susan to buy for the group an axe,
adze, scrapers, saw, hand drill with bits, hammers, and a small bellows. From
her own funds, she bought a half-inch thick black-iron plate to make an anvil
and finished her purchases with a mace. The group bought several large pieces
of heavy canvas to make shelters.
Robert, inspired by Engar's generosity, donated five hummers to the
partnership. Martin bought leather to make two breast plates and helmets, one
large and one small, to be shared by all. John purchased steel stays to complete
the armor. The only bow and sword the group had were those Engar already
owned and they could not afford others, but the hummers donated by Robert
were all they needed to bring down small game.
By the time they purchased incidental supplies and extra food, the
partnership had nearly exhausted its funds. But they were well equipped and
could stay in the field indefinitely, supplying their larder from hunting and by
gathering wild plants and by making an occasional purchase from Mulro's
farm.
"Is everybody ready?" Martin called.
"Yo," came a chorus of replies. Pecos carried the canvas and tools, and
everyone carried a sack slung over their shoulder or strapped on their back.
"Move out, Linda," Martin ordered.
As Scout, Linda proudly led the way. The sun stood exactly at the zenith;
they had made good time with their preparations. Clouds gathered in great
fleecy balls, as the group marched north along the Or'gn road.
Soon they reached a path that carried them east. Raindrops began to fall,
but the moisture served only to cool them. By mid-afternoon Linda spotted
Mulro's farm. The rain let up, and sun and wind rapidly dried the travelers.
Sal'to spotted the group before they reached the gate, and her brown body,
like that of a small wild animal, burst from the field.
"Yo, Sal'to," Linda called. Sal'to came running, and Linda introduced her to
the company. Sal'to laughed and cavorted among them.
"She's naked," Jason whispered to Martin.
"You're pretty observant," Martin said.
"It's okay," Linda told Jason. "Trenel said people our here have little need
for clothes."

"I suppose that's why we were given so little," Robert said.

Charmed by her friendliness, the children lost their shyness and welcomed
Sal'to. Mulro had also seen the visitors and came to the gate to greet them.
"Where are you bound?" he asked after Linda introduced him.
"Hunting," said Linda, "in the hills you told me about."
"Good game," said Mulro. "If you climb the ridge past the first hill you'll
find a spring and pond. The water's good, and you can easily set up a camp
nearby. My daughter can show you the way, if you like."
Everyone refilled their canteens at Mulro's well and thanked him, then
headed out under Sal'to's eager guidance.
"I'll trade vegetables for meat," Mulro shouted as they left. "It'll save me
the need to hunt for a while."
Quick as the rabir that scurried out of her way, Sal'to dashed along the
ridges and through the grass. She flushed several coveys of squal and squealed
with delight as they pounded the air in panicky flight.
In an hour she showed them the pond and the clean, bubbling spring that fed
it. The site, high on the ridge, commanded grand views in all directions, and in
a small draw, a copse of trees provided firewood and poles from which to
build the cart. Nearby was a great oaken tree from whose top they could see an
even wider panorama.
To be safe from lightning, Engar suggested they camp away from the tree
and below the crest of the ridge. After unloading Pecos, he showed Susan how
to hobble the little burro. Then Susan worked with Carol, Robert, and Jason to
build a cook's fireplace.
In the lee of a large boulder, Bertha began work on a forge. Engar and John
cut poles and set up A-frames to make tents. Linda climbed the oaken tree and
mapped the countryside.
With everyone engaged, Sal'to lost interest and headed home. Martin
walked part way with her so she could show him where the best game was,
then took advantage of the opportunity to hunt for supper. He had Engar's bow
with him and three arrows, one nocked and ready.
The sun's slant rays blinded him when he glanced west, so he moved
slowly east. A covey of squal flashed upward. His first arrow dropped one
before it had risen a dozen feet; his second caught another in full flight. He
flushed with satisfaction.
On the return, Martin bagged a rabir then spent half an hour searching for
an arrow that missed a squal. He reached camp as the first stars winked into

view. His take dressed out at seven pounds and had required little more than an
hour to get. With a half dozen hunters, he figured filling the daily hundred
pound quota would be easy.
"We'll hunt in pairs," Martin told the others, "not all at the same time.
Bertha must work on the cart and armor. Susan will collect wild plants to add
to our diet, and Carol will stay within shouting distance of camp in case of
emergency. We'll send two people into town every afternoon with the day's
fresh meat. We'll rotate that chore. I figure it'll take five or six hours to make
the round trip with Pecos hauling the meat."
"Who's going to skin out the animals?" Susan asked. "Do I have to do all
that?"
"I hardly think that would be fair," Martin said. "Everyone will dress their
own kill and pack the meat for hauling. We should easily fill our fresh meat
quota before midday, leaving plenty of time to get it to town. The afternoon
hunt will be for salt-meat. Bertha should have the cart ready by the time we
need to start hauling the salt-barrels to town."
"I'll have the cart together in two days, three at the most," Bertha said
"Making wheel-spokes will take the most time. Everyone can work on those in
the evening."
"That would also be a good time to prep the rabir skins," Carol said. "We
can use some to make vests and extra blankets, but we'll probably have more
than we need. Can we sell the extras?"
Martin said. "I'll check at the agent's hall and maybe ask Mulro as well."
While the talk went on, Susan supervised the roasting of rabir and squal.
She prepared vegetables and made drog to fill everyone's mugs. They ate
heartily, then set to work fashioning oaken wood staves into cart wheel spokes.
Bertha cut leather strips and made kalards for hunting. While they worked, they
talked, sang, and told jokes. Even the children did not complain about the
heavy work.
***
Early light had barely chased the stars when Jason and Robert descended a
northerly draw, working silently in the dawn cool, their mokad-clad feet
feeling the way in the high grass. They drew in lungfuls of morning air suffused
with the sweet scent of prairie flowers and rejoiced in being alive as they
searched the gray-green sea of silky stems for signs of game.
First light touched feathery grass plumes and turned the field to fire. Jason
glanced at Robert and watched the light gild his hair and bronze his body. He

saw his friend reach out a slim arm.

"There," Robert whispered.
Jason saw movement and tossed a rock. Squal catapulted upward, filling
the air with a shower of feathers. Streaks of light, one, then two in quick
succession, sped toward the straining birds. Three crumpled in flight.
The boys ran to their prizes and killed them quickly. Robert's hummers had
dropped two, Jason's one. The boys wiped blood from their weapons, cached
the birds, and continued. When they had a dozen, they headed back to camp.
By mid-morning the hunters had fourteen rabir and thirty squal, enough to
make the day's quota. They dressed and packed the meat, ready for transport to
Or'gn.
Bertha and John made the first trip. They went west along the ridge,
through mostly open country, then dropped to the path and followed it south to
Mulro's farm, then west again to the Or'gn road. At the road, they met an old
woman walking north from Or'gn.
"Kind strangers," she said when they drew abreast. "I am old and poor.
Could you spare a rall?"
John looked at Bertha.
"Sure, honey." Bertha dipped into her belt for the coin.
The old crone's face lighted. "You be of honor. Perhaps you can use this."
The old woman handed Bertha a small roll of paper.
"You needn't give me anything," Bertha said.
"Take it," the old woman insisted.
Bertha took the paper and thanked the woman.
"Where could she be going in this lonely land?" John wondered as the old
woman shuffled away. "It's a long way to the inn north of here."
Bertha unrolled the small paper. "What do you make of this?"
"Runes of some kind," John said.
"Maybe Robert can make sense of it." Bertha tucked the paper in her belt.
In Or'gn they went to the market warehouse, traded their meat for four ralls,
and picked up eight barrels, each with enough salt for the meat that would fill
it. They tied four of the forty pound barrels on Pecos, then hoisted two each to
their own shoulders, using yolks Bertha had fashioned, and set out immediately
on the return trip. The sun was still high when they labored into camp and
gratefully lowered their loads.
Dozens of rabir skins, stretched on frames, were drying in the sun. Split
carcasses were hanging in moistened sacks in the shade of the great tree. Some

partners had shaped spokes even in Bertha's absence, and she was pleased to
see half those needed already finished.
They had enough meat to fill a barrel. John lifted the packed and sealed
barrel, 150 pounds, to his shoulder. Balancing it in one hand, he boosted it
overhead and roared, "One down, seven to go!"
Everyone cheered.
"I say we take the rest of the afternoon off," Martin said pleased and
impressed by how well they had done.
"The pond looks great for swimming," Linda suggested.
"Wonderful idea," Bertha, who had worked up a sweat on the long haul
from Or'gn, seconded.
The children whooped and ran for the pond, shedding mokads and sirkelns
on the way. Enclosed in a small, rocky basin, the clear water felt as warm as a
bath.
"Can everyone swim?" Engar shouted as the kids plunged in.
Standing waist-deep, Robert admitted, "I've never been swimming before."
"Me neither," said Susan.
"I was on my school's swim team," Linda said. "I can teach them."
"I can help," Jason said. "I learned to swim as part of my therapy."
The afternoon passed pleasantly with Jason and Linda helping Susan and
Robert and the adults relaxing in the water nearby. While the sun was still high,
they climbed out and air-dried then began evening chores. After evening meal,
Bertha remembered the paper the old woman had given her. She unrolled it and
explained its origin.
"The writing is strange," she said. "Maybe a Rune-reader can make sense
of it."
Robert took the paper eagerly and held it close to the lamp.
"These are not merely writing," he said. "See how the symbols make
patterns? They show a place! And see this break? It must mean something
unusual." His face twisted in thought. "It looks like a building - with many
rooms. These little arrows point down. Maybe its underground." Robert's
finger traced the patterns. "This is a place symbol - here on the bottom of the
scroll. It shows a slave."
"Slave?" Engar said. "Let me see." He bent near the paper. "I don't see how
this shows a building and a slave."
"I can draw it," Robert said. "These are structural symbols; they code for
walls, rooms, doorways. The break shows it's not complete and the upper part

of the structure has collapsed into the lower."

"What about the slave?" Engar asked.
"It's here, at the bottom; it may be a place name."
"Slavhos, perhaps?"
"There is a ruin in Slavhos!" Susan cried. "The woman in the icon shop
told me about it."
"That's true," Engar said. "I've seen it, and legend says that beneath
Slavhos is a catacomb where slaves were quartered before the time of the
Kroll wars. Later, it's said, the ancients stored treasure there."
"This scroll must show the ruin in Slavhos," Robert cried. "And the
entrance to the catacomb is right here, where the arrows point down. We could
find it and get the treasure!"
"Hold on," Martin said. "Let's not get excited. This might not mean
anything."
"We could check it out," Jason pleaded.
"I wouldn't mind having a look," John said with a twinkle in his eye.
"Couldn't hurt."
"We've work to do here," Bertha said. "We've a contract to fill. Let's get
these spokes finished before we turn in."
"Bertha's right," Engar said. "We can worry about treasure later."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In the following days, the camp settled into a routine. The partners devoted
the morning hunt, before breakfast, to bringing in fresh meat for the day's quota.
At midday, two partners took Pecos and the newly completed cart, loaded with
fresh meat and a barrel of salt-meat, into Or'gn to exchange for fourteen ralls.
After breakfast, the hunt brought in meat enough to fill another salt-barrel and
enough for their own use. They occasionally exchanged meat for fresh
vegetables at Mulro's farm, and Susan became skilled at finding and preparing
edible wild plants.
By the third day, word had gotten around, and people from Or'gn dropped
by to visit the hunter's camp. Warriors came seeking challengers, and Martin
ordered a kom built. In the hour before evening meal, they sometimes held
matches. The partners rarely issued challenges but usually accepted those they
received. Engar said it was good experience, and he was confident they all
knew enough to yield prudently if the match went against them. Engar also
insisted on daily martial arts practice, and broadened its scope to include
techniques not covered in their original training.
When each day's hunt ended, they also had time for swimming. Sal'to often
joined them and sometimes Trenel, though he lived far away. Trenel became
especially fond of Robert, for the older boy paid him attention and showed him
how to throw a hummer.
On the daily trip into Or'gn, the partners sometimes met peasants.
Occasionally the peasants asked for food or water or money. It became policy
to grant all such requests. On the ninth day, John and Robert had cart duty, a
task everyone enjoyed because the trip into Or'gn provided a break from
routine. At the junction with the Or'gn road, they met a strangely garbed man, a
native of middle years. He wore a headband of gold, silver, and turquoise,
with no insignia, and a saffron robe that descended nearly to the ground and
was girded about the waist with a silver belt.
"Good travelers," the man greeted them. "I'm Korvu and my way has been
long and hot. Could you spare water and perhaps something to eat?"
"Of course," John answered, and handed the stranger his canteen. From a
small sack, Robert took meat and biscuits, the latter fresh baked that morning,
and all three sat in the grass alongside the road and ate.

"Where are you from?" John asked, as he munched a biscuit.

"From the northern desert, the oasis of Oasib, three hundred eighty legons
beyond Waydn on the great cliff."
"Great cliff?" Robert asked. "We saw a sign pointing to Biclif. Would that
be near the great cliff?"
"That's how Biclif got it's name. Waydn is a shorthand version of, 'the way
down,' a trail, built by King Mordat of the Ancients, some fifty legons west of
Biclif. It's the only route from the farmland into the northern desert."
"You've traveled a long way," said John. "Three hundred eighty legons
across the desert and what must be close to another three hundred from Waydn
to here."
"Yes, and I have more to go. I don't mean to eat and run, but I really must be
on my way." Korvu rose from the ground.
"You appear to be headed for Or'gn. Perhaps you'd like to walk with us?"
John invited.
"A kind offer, but I fear your burro would not keep my pace. Your
generosity does you honor. Here," Korvu extended his hand to Robert, "take
this amulet. You are a Rune-reader and can decipher its instructions. Wear it
next to your skin when you move in the shadows of darkness where the demons
of Faland dwell. I take my leave." Without waiting further comment, Korvu set
out toward Or'gn with long, purposeful strides.
Robert watched him go. "Looks like silver," he said, holding the amulet for
John to see.
"It's a prize all right. Korvu is an odd one."
"This belongs as much to you as me."
"Actually, I suspect it's for all of us," John said. "I think Korvu only handed
it to you because you are our Rune-reader and can tell us what its inscription
says."
"What did he mean by the demons of Faland?"
"I don't know. Maybe he was talking about felven."
"I'll have to study the runes," Robert said, with a puzzled frown. "I haven't
seen any like these before."
***
While John and Robert were carrying meat to Or'gn, a fifth level fighter
named Merdeln visited the hunter's camp.
"You're human but I haven't met you before," Engar said.
"I've been in the outback a long time," Merdeln replied. "Most recently in

Targ."
"I've heard of it," Engar said. "A forest settlement in the southern
mountains, if memory serves me."
"Yes. An exciting place," Merdeln said. "I'm used to action. I was hoping
to find an opponent here, but I see no fifth or sixth level fighters I can
challenge."
Engar smiled. "I'm getting close to fifth level. Perhaps I can offer you some
action?"
"Ah," Merdeln said. "Why not? I like an eager fighter. Would maces be
acceptable?"
Engar nodded and borrowed Bertha's mace. The two went to the kom
where a small collection of spectators took up positions.
Merdeln, taller and heavier than Engar and with greater reach, pressed his
advantage. But his weight made him slower, and he could not find an opening
in Engar's defense. As time stretched, the match became one of strength against
agility, stubbornness against endurance. Neither would yield and neither could
gain a decisive advantage. The sound of maces hammering against iron shields
echoed along the ridge. Dust rose around the struggling gladiators and coated
their sweaty bodies and hung in the still air. Clouds gathered and a brief rain
came. It settled the dust and slicked the straining bodies. Still they fought. No
words passed their lips, only the sharp grunts of great effort.
Finally a patch of mud formed near the center of the kom and Engar, noting
it, maneuvered Merdeln until the Warrior's foot slipped, so slightly it seemed
hardly a slip at all. Engar stepped quickly forward, and with his toe caught
Merdeln's ankle. The heavier Warrior staggered and Engar swung. Merdeln
fell backward, and Engar's left foot found his right wrist and pinned it.
Merdeln tried to twist aside, but the thud of Engar's mace on his helmet brought
an end to his efforts. He resigned.
Exhausted, Engar bent to help his opponent to his feet. Merdeln brushed
aside the offered hand, and the blaze in his eyes told all that he did not yield
graciously. After paying his fifteen ralls he left camp without further word.
"I don't think you made a friend," Martin told Engar as the latter sponged
away dirt and mud.
"I suspect you're right," Engar said, then added, "I think that was the
hardest duel I've ever fought."
"It was a fine victory. If I figure correctly, it means you now advance to
level five."

"You're right," Engar grinned. "That means I can apply for agent's status."
Martin's face fell. "I hadn't thought of that. Does that mean you might leave
our partnership?"
Engar shook his head. "No way. You'll not get rid of me so easily. It does
mean, however, that I can now negotiate contracts and take some of the
pressure off you."
Martin smiled. "I'm glad you plan to stay. I'd hate to lose your experience."
That evening at the campfire Jason told John and Robert about Engar's
battle, and they in turn told of meeting the mysterious Korvu. Robert showed
the silver amulet around, and began to decode its runes.
"It says something about dark," he said. "Darkest dark, then something
about demons dwelling, heat and light, and telling." Robert rubbed his chin,
wrinkled his nose, scratched his ear, and looked thoroughly confused. For
some time, he studied in silence while the others waited patiently. Then his
face cleared, and he raised his head. "I've got it! In darkest dark, demons
dwell. Heat and light, demons tell."
"What the heck's that supposed to mean?" Susan asked. "Are you sure
you're reading it right?"
Robert frowned. "The first part's clear enough. Demons dwell in really
dark places, probably caves and such. But how do demons tell about heat and
light?"
"Maybe it isn't the demons doing the telling," Jason suggested.
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Jason said. "Maybe 'Heat and light, demons tell,' means tell on the
demons instead of demons telling about heat and light."
"You're a genius!" Robert cried. "I think you're right! This must be a magic
device that gets hot and glows when demons are near. It warns the wearer
about demons."
"Don't get carried away," Carol said with a snort. "Demons are nonsense.
That amulet is probably nothing but a pretty bauble."
"May I have a look at it?" Engar asked.
Robert handed it over, and Engar studied it closely. "I know of many hightech devices in Faland. This could be one. It doesn't look like a simple casting.
It's intricately machined and appears to be made of more than one part, very
carefully joined."
"How could a technical device alert someone to demons?" Bertha growled.
"I agree with Carol. I don't buy this demon nonsense."

"Maybe it works like a Tri-corder," Jason volunteered. "Like on StarTrek."

"Well," Martin said. "I seem to recall Arthur C. Clarke once pointing out
that any sufficiently advanced technology would look like magic to someone
less sophisticated. Perhaps we should just hang on to this 'bauble' and reserve
judgement."
"I'm not sure what the word 'demon' means in Faland, anyway," Engar said.
"I've heard that vicious creatures inhabit caves and abandoned ruins. Maybe
that's what's meant by demons. I've heard stories about treasure seekers being
killed or injured by them."
"Have you done any treasure hunting?" Jason asked.
"No, but I've talked with some who have. They're pretty close-mouthed
about their finds, though. Mostly I've heard rumors and vague references.
Bertha's map is the clearest clue I've seen, but I've also heard there's treasure
in Blackwater Cave northwest of Odetn."
"Where's Odetn?" Robert broke in.
"Northwest of Or'gn. Odetn's a little village, mostly abandoned. Only a few
people still live there, but it has a tower that people like to climb. From it you
can see a large grass-covered mound near the presumed location of
Blackwater Cave. I went there once with Brom and found an entryway, but it
was sealed by a door we weren't able to open."
"Odetn must be the place we saw from the tree," Linda said to Martin.
"That day outside Or'gn, you remember?"
"I remember," Martin replied. "It looked like a settlement, but not indicated
on the road signs."
"Where else might there be treasure?" Robert asked.
Engar wrinkled his brow in thought. "Well, there's a cave in Forod I
explored once. I didn't find anything, and I'm not sure treasure is reported
there. There's also a place called Hole-in-the-Wall on the great cliff about 120
legons north of here. But I've not done much treasure seeking. I've worked
mostly on small contract jobs, like the one Brom is on now."
"When this contract is over, maybe we could look for treasure?" Susan
suggested.
"We talked about that before," Carol reminded her.
"I know. And we didn't decide anything."
"We have to renew this hunting contract tomorrow if we're going to keep
it," John pointed out.

"Do we want to?" Martin asked.

"We should consider it carefully," Bertha said. "It took quite a bit longer
yesterday to bring in the necessary meat."
"You're right. Game is getting scarce around here," Carol said "We'll have
to move camp if we continue the contract."
"I found good game about six or eight legons farther north this morning,"
Engar said. "But if we go that far it'll mean a much longer trip to Or'gn. We
might have trouble getting fresh meat to market on time."
"We could renew our contract only for salt meat," Martin suggested.
"Frankly, it doesn't sound like we have much enthusiasm for more hunting,"
Bertha said. "Maybe we ought to look for other work."
"Yeah, like treasure hunting!" Jason said.
"Yeah! Yeah! We could try it!"
"I wouldn't mind," John said. "Maybe we'd get a little more action and
have a chance to see more of Faland."
"Hold on. Before we start chasing wild geese, we ought to know what our
options are," Carol said.
"There aren't many," Engar said. "We can hunt, haul merchandise, serve as
escorts, or sign up to fight someplace. We can't own farms or businesses or
settle down and raise a family."
"I thought you said we could adopt children."
"Only if you're rich enough."
"We can't invest, can we?" Bertha said.
"Not in any real sense of the word. I've never heard of a bank, interestbearing loans, or any counterpart of Capitalism. Even if we remain market
hunters, we can't control the market for our meat. We have limited power to
negotiate contract terms, but the price is pretty well fixed. If a person
accumulates enough money, he can live for a time on savings, but when the
savings run out he's got to find a new source of income."
"Why don't we put it to a vote?" Carol suggested.
"What do you want to vote on?" Martin asked. "We haven't picked any
alternatives yet."
"Hunting animals or hunting treasure," Jason called.
"Those aren't the only choices," Martin said.
"I have a suggestion," Engar said. "Why don't we let the present contract
lapse, take a little time to look around, maybe give John and Bertha's scroll a
try, and think about what we want to do in the future. Contracts will always be

available, and we've accumulated enough supplies to live comfortably for

several weeks."
After brief further discussion, Engar's suggestion was accepted. The
children went to bed that night, happily dreaming of Bertha's map and
mountains of treasure.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Midmorning following the partner's decision to retire from hunting, Martin

and Jason took the meat-run into Or'gn. They arrived a bit ahead of noon, and
Martin went to notify Larun of their decision not to renew their hunter's
contract. Jason headed for the tool shop.
After leaving the agent's hall, Martin looked up a hide merchant and sold a
hundred rabir skins for fifteen ralls and agreed to deliver a hundred more at the
close of his meat contract. With business out of the way, he joined Jason at the
tool shop. The boy was transacting for a hummer.
"Couldn't wait to spend the money you won yesterday, I see," Martin said
with a wink as Jason tested his new hummer's blade with a finger.
"It's not the only thing I bought." Jason pulled a small packet from his belt.
"Bertha was griping the other day about not having enough pumice for
sharpening. I bought her some."
"Good, boy. Smart, too, getting on Bertha's better side."
"Yeah," Jason grinned. "I want her to make me a sheath for my hummer. I
got the leather for it."
"You have been spending."
"Are you gonna get anything?"
"Yeah, a sword and some leather and steel for Bertha." He laughed. "You
aren't the only one wants on that big lady's good side. Maybe she'll make me a
breast plate."
In good spirits, the two left the tool shop and went to the village green to
eat and rest and retrieve Pecos. An hour past noon, they started back to the
hunter's camp.
A few legons out of Or'gn, they met a boy about Jason's age coming from
the opposite direction. He wore only a ukeln, but around his neck was a golden
amulet that shone against his dark chest. He was sturdily built, with comely
face, and red-brown hair that descended to his shoulders and was bound by a
Warrior's headband.
The boy greeted them, "I'm Doynu, you?"
"Martin, and this is Jason. Have you come far?"
"Farm, thirty legons." Doynu pointed to the northwest.
"That's an unusual necklace." Jason's eye was taken by the shiny pendant.

"Where did you get it?"

Doynu took the pendant off and held it so Jason could look at it more
closely. Jason showed it to Martin and they both noticed that it, like the silver
amulet given Robert, bore an inscription in the rune-language of Faland.
"Wrestle?" Doynu pointed at Jason and then back to himself.
"You want to wrestle?" Jason asked. "With me?"
"Yes, yes. Wrestle. Amulet, three ralls." Doynu pointed at Jason's
headband.
Martin whispered to Jason, "I think he wants to put his amulet against three
ralls in a wrestling match with you."
"It's beautiful. And only three ralls? Maybe I can win it for Linda."
"Wrestle? Okay?" Doynu asked again.
Jason had watched the children wrestle in the koms in Or'gn and had seen
Trenel and Sal'to wrestle at the camp. He had even asked Trenel to explain the
rules and show him some of the moves. How hard could it be? Jason sized up
Doynu and decided the boy was likely no stronger than he.
"I'll wrestle," he told Doynu.
"Good!" Doynu unwrapped his ukeln and dropped it in the grass beside the
road. He waited while Jason frowned.
Martin laughed. "I think you wrestle in the nude here."
It dawned on Jason that none of the wrestlers he had watched had been
clothed, but since children in Faland so often wore nothing, he hadn't thought
much about it. He looked appealingly at Martin.
"Don't look at me," Martin said. "You accepted his challenge. I think you
have to honor it."
"Oh, brother," Jason muttered.
He sat down beside the road and removed his mokads, then took off his
sirkeln and ukeln. Standing naked beside the road made him feel uncomfortably
vulnerable.
"You signal?" Doynu motioned to Martin.
"All right, get ready." Martin clapped his hands.
Doynu moved in quickly, grasped Jason's shoulders and kicked his right
foot from under him. Jason sprawled on his back and Doynu lunged. Hours of
training with Engar paid off, and Jason rolled and was back on his feet in an
instant. The boys locked arms, straining. Doynu tried again to hook one of
Jason's feet, but Jason was ready and stepped out of the maneuver.
Doynu let go with his right hand and stepped quickly to the left, pulling

hard with his left hand so that Jason was jerked off balance. Swinging his right
arm under Jason's, Doynu twisted upward for a neck-lock. With his free arm,
Jason reached for a grip on Doynu's head and broke the lock, but Doynu
instantly rotated, caught Jason's right hand in a wrist-lock, then flipped him on
his back. Stepping over Jason's body, he put pressure on his arm. Jason
grimaced as pain shot from wrist to shoulder. He brought his left leg up, and
bore back across Doynu's torso. Doynu promptly switched his grip from
Jason's arm to his leg, swung to a reverse position and rolled Jason onto his
belly. He pulled Jason's leg back, dropped to a sitting position on his shoulders
and applied force to the helpless boy's ankle.
"Taga!" Jason grunted.
Doynu helped Jason to his feet, his eyes sparkling. Jason felt very much
humbled. He limped to his sirkeln, without looking in Martin's direction, knelt,
and pulled out three ralls. He mustered a smile as he handed the money to
Doynu. "Great moves," he murmured. "You handled me good."
Doynu's smile changed and Jason found himself looking into eyes that were
not those of a child. "You show honor and courage," Doynu said, speaking not
in simple peasant tones, but in a voice of authority. "The golden amulet cannot
be bought, nor can it be stolen, nor can it be taken in combat. One can be found
in the Castle of Mordat west of Targ, but it can only be won with great daring."
Doynu took up his ukeln and, with the lithesome speed of Faland's children,
vanished into the field.
Naked, bruised, and covered with dust, Jason watched him go. His brow
knotted; Doynu was not what he had seemed. He put on his sirkeln and laced
his mokads, flinching as he tightened the lashings on his strained ankle. "I
never really had a chance, did I?" he said to Martin.
"Actually," Martin said, a speculative frown on his face. "I think you did
quite well. In fact, you may have just passed a test. But why you were tested,
I'm not sure."
"What was the golden amulet? It was only a bauble, wasn't it?"
"Like the silver amulet?"
"Do you believe it? About the demons?"
"I don't know," Martin answered. "But I think the jewelry of Faland is more
than pretty baubles."
Jason took Pecos' lead and began to limp along the road. "The amulet
looked more valuable than three ralls," he said. "The Castle of Mordat is
another place to look for treasure."

"So it would seem."

It was nearly sundown when Martin and Jason reached camp. Jason rode in
on Pecos, for the ankle twisted by Doynu's strong hands, had swollen and
become painful.
"That's two of us," Bertha said ruefully. She had defeated a third level
fighter in an axe duel, but not before she took an injury to her left shoulder that
had required Carol's stitches to repair.
"It's a good thing we're ahead in our work," Martin said. "With two unable
to hunt, the work will go slowly tomorrow."
"Honey, don't you worry about me," Bertha barked. "I can still use my right
arm and that's all I need for the kalard."
"I'll be in the field, too, at first light," Jason insisted. "With the bandage
Carol tied around my ankle I can walk fine now." With those words he strode a
few steps, but could not entirely hide the limp.
"Stay off your foot for a while," Martin advised. "Tomorrow will tell its
own story."
During supper, Jason told of his wrestling match with Doynu. The partners
asked many questions that neither Jason nor Martin could answer.
Engar said, "Never a dull minute with this group. I lived in Faland more
than a year and did not collect so much unusual information."
"What do you know about the amulets?" Martin asked. "Surely you've
heard something from those who have lived here longer than you?"
"Not much," Engar said. "I've never seen a golden amulet though I had
heard about them. The amulets are all said to be magic but I never put much
stock in it."
"What's the gold one supposed to do?" Jason asked.
Engar thought a moment. "I think I remember someone saying it's supposed
to protect against evil spirits or something like that."
"Demons again!"
"How many amulets are there?" asked Robert.
"Three I believe: gold, silver, and bronze. The bronze amulet is said to
protect against cold when worn with lithan armor."
"Lithan armor?"
"Made from lithan metal," Engar explained. "The stuff of the chains that
bind the door to the black vault in Or'gn."
"Where does one get such armor?"
"My information is mostly hearsay. I'm not sure these things even exist, but

I've heard lithan armor is made in the weapon shops of Riven, far to the south
of the great river that flows through the Faland jungle."
"Have you been to Riven?" Robert asked.
"No. It lies in a dangerous land. I might've gone there as an escort someday,
had I stayed with that business. Even the best Warriors don't go there alone."
"Do you think we'll ever go there?" Susan asked, her eyes dark and plainly
more worried than eager.
"Relax. We'll not go there until we're a lot better equipped and more
experienced than we are now - assuming we go at all."
The conversation continued until fatigue finally overcame the partners, and
one by one, they rolled into their blankets.
In the morning, Jason's ankle was much improved and he was up before
first light as he had promised, ready to hunt with Robert. The boys wrapped
ukelns around their waists and padded silently through the sleeping camp. By
being early, they knew they would avoid morning kitchen duties. Jason kept the
bandage around his ankle, but otherwise went barefoot. The hike was longer
now, to reach areas where game was still plentiful.
"Did you really fight naked?" Robert asked.
"I had to."
"I wouldn't have."
"I might not have either, if I'd known about it when I accepted the
challenge. But I'm glad I did."
"You mean you're glad you got beat?"
"Well, no," Jason admitted. "I felt pretty embarrassed about that. But
sometimes I think you can learn more from losing than from winning."
"Now you sound like Engar."
"I don't think that's such a bad thing," Jason said.
"It would've been neat if you'd won the gold amulet."
"Doynu said it can't be won in combat; he knew before the match started
that he would win. Martin think's it was a test."
"A test? What kind of test?"
"I don't know. But I think if I hadn't wrestled Doynu, he never would have
told about Mordat's Castle. And there may be other things, too. I'm not sure, but
I know Doynu isn't a kid like you and me."
"Do you think there really are demons?" Robert asked with a slight tremble
in his voice.
Jason looked at him. "Yes," he said with certainty. "Here in Faland, there

are demons. I don't know how I know, but I know."

***
During the remaining days of their hunting contract the partners grew more
restless. Martin honed his fighting skills and became adept at using his Mentat
spheres to search out the increasingly scarce game. The partnership's
reputation grew, and many came to challenge them, for great prestige came to
those who dueled the Mentat Warrior or his companions. Over time, Martin
earned seven combat bars and gained third level Warrior status. John defeated
the Warrior, Katariv, whom he challenged and fought with pikes, and also rose
to level three. Even Robert, though still not rated, won three combat bars.
Under Bertha's direction, everyone made backpacks from wood, metal
pins, and canvas. They also made breast armor and helmets, and with their
winnings, purchased weapons of choice. In her spare time, Bertha labored with
meticulous care, almost from the first day of camp, to fashion a great brodsrd
for John. She presented it to him on the last evening at the campfire.
"So, this is why you kept me away from the forge so many afternoons,"
John said, with a catch in his voice, as he hefted the shining blade.
"Every Warrior needs a proper weapon," Bertha growled. "I hope it has
good balance."
"Oh, it does," John said, balancing the weapon in one hand. With sweeping
strokes, he made the blade sing as it cut great circles in the air. Then he walked
to a tree, eight inches in diameter, and felled it with a single blow.
As the evening drew to a close, Engar reminded everyone that the lunar
cycle had entered dark phase. "Remember," he cautioned, "felven strike
without warning. You must not leave the lighted area while stars are visible in
the sky."
"It's divvying up time," Susan said, and with a flourish brought out a heavy
purse. Her eyes were shining when she said, "We made a profit. Half goes to
our shares." Carefully, she counted a dozen ralls to each partner.
"We still have 68 ralls in the kitty," she said. "That's after buying enough
food and supplies for at least two weeks."
***
The sun had just risen, and the morning meal was ready when Sal'to and
Trenel showed up, minus their usual exuberance. They knew their friends were
leaving and they were sad.
"I want to go with you," Trenel begged when he and Robert were alone.
"We'll still be friends," Robert assured him. "But you're needed on your

father's farm, and I have a long way to go."

A tear slipped down Trenel's dusty cheek. "I won't see you again?"
Robert hugged the little boy. "I'll be back, I promise. And someday, when
you're older, you'll be a Warrior, too. Then we'll go on adventures together."
He unhooked one of his two personal hummers and handed it to Trenel. "Keep
this. Practice every day, and when I come back you'll be ready."
Trenel took the hummer, his tears drying. Robert rummaged in his pack and
took out a small leather belt and sheath and fitted it around Trenel's narrow
waist. He slipped the hummer into the sheath. "Now, you'll have it with you
when you need it."
At the farm gate, they said goodby to Sal'to and Mulro. Trenel
accompanied them to the Or'gn road, then darted into the field.
***
Two days later they arrived at Slavhos, just ahead of sundown. Though
smaller than Or'gn, it was similarly surrounded by a wooden palisade. They
located a village green and set up camp. The market was smaller and less well
supplied than the one at Or'gn, and they arrived so near closing they were the
only customers. Crowded inside, they made an amazing impression, with
John's great height, Bertha's massive rotundity, and the liveliness of the
children.
"Ah, the Mentat Warrior's partners," said the effusive storekeeper. "I'm
Kormax, at your service." He extended his hand. "So, you've decided to leave
Or'gn. I heard you were hunting up by Mulro's farm."
"Until yesterday," Martin said. "But now we want to learn more about
Faland."
"We Slavhosians are honored that you've chosen our poor village to begin
your exploration."
"What can you tell us about the ruins in the east quarter?" Engar asked.
"I've never seen much there but great heaps of rock."
The proprietor's eyes narrowed. "You seek the catacombs, perhaps?"
"Perhaps. Though I've heard they're only a rumor and don't really exist."
"Oh, they exist all right. Unfortunately there's no way in."
"How can you be sure?"
Kormax shrugged. "Who can be sure? All I know is no one has found an
entrance, and I've been among the searchers. But I will tell you this, if you do
find a way in, you'd best enter with care. The catacombs are the home of
demons."

"Demons!" Jason exclaimed. "I know they exist."

"Of course they exist, Boy!" Kormax cried. "Don't ever doubt it. Those
who do are those who die by the demons!"
"Demons, shmemons. What do I care about demons?" Bertha snorted. "If
the catacombs exist, we don't need an entrance; we can dig our way in."
Kormax roared, "Through fifty feet of solid rock? You must, indeed, be
powerful Warriors!" Then his eyes gleamed and he leaned close. "If you find
one of Faland's demons, my dear, you shall make a fine appetizer for them!"
"Watch it, honey, or you'll make an appetizer for me," Bertha growled.
After their visit to the store, the adventurers went to survey the ruins for
themselves. Piled heap on heap, great mounds of crumbled granite covered
nearly a quarter of the town's area. Passages had been cleared among the
rubble, but none led to anything interesting.
"It's too late to search tonight," Robert said, his voice plaintive. "It doesn't
look promising. Our map shows only a small part, and I've no idea where to
begin."
With that gloomy assessment, the party headed back to camp to begin
preparations for the evening meal.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Early in the morning, the partnership assembled at the great ruins in

Slavhos, determined to find a way into the catacombs. Using Bertha's scroll,
Robert drew the lines of ancient walls and studied them for a landmark that
might indicate the entrance. He made four copies of his best idea and gave one
to each pair of searchers. He told them to look for the remains of a room
shaped like an irregular pentagon in which the two longest walls joined at a
right angle. Within the right angle, the underground entrance should lie.
"The scroll only shows part of the ruin," Robert explained. "It doesn't show
where the five-sided room is. There might even be more than one such room
for all I know."
"I can't tell the shape of rooms from these piles of rubble," Bertha
grumbled. "Everything's buried. How are we supposed to know where the
original walls were?"
Martin climbed a heap of crumbling stone and seated himself, crosslegged, near the top. He released a metallic sphere and sent it high above.
Within his Mentat eye, he saw the entire ruin. What had seemed a random pile
of stones took on order. In the pattern of fallen blocks, Martin saw the shape of
ancient walls. He smiled, opened his hand and caught the sphere. Dropping it
into his Mentat's pouch, he climbed from the rocks.
"Find anything?" Engar asked.
Martin unfolded the map given him by Robert. "I think, Robert, that you
have misinterpreted this map. It doesn't show some lessor part of the total ruin.
On the contrary, I think it shows more than the ruin. I believe it maps the whole
of Slavhos. See this portion that seems to show no details? Think of it as
outlining the walls of Slavhos. The five-sided structure is not a room; it's the
entire castle. The original shape isn't clear from the ground, because the
castle's shorter sides once supported a tower that collapsed outward and filled
in the area. The two walls that meet at a right angle actually formed the
southeast corner of the castle. If that's true," he added, "the entrance to the
catacomb lies at the southeast corner of the ruin, not necessarily within a
subsidiary room."
Robert was studying intently and listening carefully. "You're right," he said
slowly. "I should've realized it right away since the place symbol, the slave

figure, has to refer to the settlement, not merely to a building."

"I'm not sure I see it," John said, skepticism in his voice. "But then, what
do I know? I guess it's easy enough to check out." With long strides, he started
along the south boundary of the ruin. Linda darted ahead and the others quickly
followed.
A quarter legon brought them to the Slavhos palisade. The wooden timbers
abutted the partially intact southern wall of the ruin and barred the way
beyond.
"Looks like we have to go outside Slavhos," Martin said, "and circle the
town to get to the backside of the ruin." Even before he finished speaking, the
children had begun running toward the gate. They quickly found a well-worn
trail along the outside of the palisade. When the party arrived at the outer stone
wall, they found many smaller trails radiating eastward.
"As I recall," Engar said, "shooting and throwing competitions take place
here when Slavhos hosts the quarterly Warrior's festival."
"How do you expect to get through that wall?" Bertha said. "It's solid
stone." She looked upward two dozen feet to the crest of the old castle wall
that now formed the southeast corner of the palisade surrounding Slavhos.
Martin released a nubbin and sent it upward. North along the wall he
spotted a place where the huge stones of the castle ramparts had shifted and
now formed what was almost a giant's stairway leading to the top of the ruin.
"We can get in from above," he said. "Come on, Jason, I'll give you a boost."
The first rise was a good ten feet, but from there Jason easily scrambled to
the top. John jumped and caught the upper edge of the lower block and hauled
himself up, then turned to help the others.
"We're not the first to climb here," Carol observed as she crawled over the
worn stones. "Many others have smoothed the way."
From the top, they saw the ruin stretching, heap on heap of enormous stone
blocks, to the north and west. At the southeast corner, a gap in the blocks left a
cleft that plunged sheer to the ground, and within the gap someone had left a
wooden ladder.
"I guess my scroll wasn't the only one," Bertha said with a rueful smile. "It
looks like someone beat us to the punch."
"I doubt it," Engar said. "Remember the storekeeper told us no one has
ever found a way into the catacomb."
"Well this corner hasn't been overlooked, that's for sure," Carol said.
"Which means it probably doesn't lead to anything of importance," Martin

added as he led down the ladder. "But we'll check it out anyway."
At the bottom, they discovered many passageways winding among
chaotically strewn stone blocks, and many overlapping footprints in the dirt
that floored the passages.
"We're near the east wall so we've gotta go south," Robert said. Linda had
already begun in that direction. Moving cautiously, in dim light filtering
through breaks in the blocks overhead, they wormed their way toward the
southeast corner of the ruin. The way narrowed abruptly and ahead was total
darkness. Engar lit a lamp.
"Do felven live in places like this?" Susan whispered, her eyes glinting in
the lamp light.
"Probably," said Engar. "But our light will keep us safe. Just don't go off by
yourself into the dark."
It was hardly a necessary warning.
"What happens if we come on a felven in one of these blind passages?"
Bertha growled. "Light or no light, it won't be able to get out except through
us."
"I trust we'll be smart enough to see it and back off," John noted with a
touch of sarcasm.
"Everyone stay together," Martin ordered. "I want John up front with Linda.
John will pick a route everyone can manage. I'll bring up the rear. We don't all
need to light lamps. Two or three will be enough as long as everyone stays
behind John and ahead of me."
In a hundred feet John entered a large irregular area among the tumbled
stones. Other than the way they entered, there was only one exit, a crevice too
small for John or almost anyone else. It opened above a large stone slab.
"Doesn't look like we're going to get any closer to the corner than this,"
John said.
"Can't be much farther," Robert said. "The entrance to the catacomb could
be under one of these big rocks right here in front of us."
"Or maybe on the other side of this big one with the crack on top," Linda
said. "I'm small enough to get through that little space. I could crawl through
and see what's on the other side."
"No way," Bertha said. "I'll not have you crawling off into some dark little
hole by yourself."
"Well," John studied the massive stones. "There's no way we're going to
move these blocks. They must weigh hundreds of tons."

"Now we know why the catacomb hasn't been found," Carol said. "The
entrance is under these stones and can't be reached."
"Well, maybe we can explore in ways that haven't been done," Martin said.
"You keep forgetting my Mentat eye." He sent a nubbin up and directed it into
the crevice Linda had considered entering. "It's a blind alley," he said.
"Doesn't go through."
"Heck," Linda said. "Didn't you find anything?"
"A few scratches on the wall, but I can't make them out."
"Scratches!" Robert cried. "Runes, maybe?"
"Seems unlikely," Martin said.
"I could get a closer look." Linda brightened. "If it's just a blind alley it
would be safe enough for me to crawl up there. It would be, Bertha, really it
would be."
Bertha had a fierce scowl on her face.
"It looks safe," Martin said. "There's no place for anything to hide in
there."
"All right," Bertha agreed. "But I want to be up there looking after her."
John moved aside and Bertha lifted Linda. The little girl, pushing a lantern
in front, wormed into the small cleft. "Hey!" her voice squealed. "These are
runes! Robert was right!"
"Lift me! Lift me!" Robert yelled. "I want to see!"
"Hold your britches," John said. "That space isn't big enough for you. Let
Linda sketch them."
In a moment, Linda scratched out a copy of the runes and backed out of the
cleft. Robert almost tore the paper from her hands. "They're really strange," he
said, the paper trembling in his fingers. "Different even from the ones on the
silver amulet!"
"Can you read them?" John asked.
Robert held the paper near the lamp. "Let me study them for a minute."
"Hey, these aren't runes!" Jason exclaimed, looking over Robert's shoulder.
"This is musical notation. These are notes. This is a song!"
"A song!"
"Yes. I'll bet it's a key-song, like the ones Marov taught me!" He was so
excited he was fairly dancing.
"What's a key-song?"
"I can sing it!" Jason cried. "I know these notes! Marov told me the key
songs are used to operate hidden locks, and only Song-masters who sing the

right notes can open the locks!"

"Well," Bertha noted. "If the door to the catacomb is under that stone,
whether it's locked or not isn't going to make much difference."
"Everybody quiet!" Jason commanded. "I'm going to sing!"
He held the paper where he could see the notes clearly, then began to emit
clear, soft tones. The song, unlike any the others had heard before, hardly
seemed to come from Jason at all. The notes repeated higher, then lower, then
higher, and higher still. Of a sudden, a low rumbling joined the sound, and the
ground began to tremble.
"Back! Get back!" John shoved Jason and Robert aside as the huge stone
slab in front of them lurched, then majestically, like some great leviathan,
began to slide. With a horrible, grinding roar, it crushed lessor stones to
rubble, then began to shove giant blocks aside like child's toys.
"Watch out! This whole place is going to collapse," Bertha roared. She
gathered Linda and Susan to her and bent above them, placing her massive bulk
between them and the falling rubble. As abruptly as it had begun, the giant
stone slab stopped its slide. As the air cleared, the partners stared in awe at a
three foot gash, ten feet long, that dropped through the floor of the cavern.
Stone steps plunged into inky darkness.
"Wow, Honey!" Bertha growled, as she released Susan and Linda and put
her hand on Jason's shoulder. "You've got one hell of a voice."
"Well, I guess that solves the mystery of why no one found this before,"
Engar said. "It took a very small Scout to find the song and a very good Songmaster to sing it."
"Are we going down into that?" Carol asked appalled.
"Naturally," Susan chirped. "That's what we came for, isn't it?"
"If there's treasure hidden below, it doesn't look like anyone got to it ahead
of us," John said. "This could be a huge break for us."
Martin sent a Mentat sphere into the darkness and was surprised to find it
difficult to control. In the darkness, his sphere showed him only a dim, reddish
outline of steps and massive stone walls.
"I can't see far," he told the others. "What I do see seems safe enough."
"Should we all go?" asked Bertha. "Or should we leave someone to guard
the entrance?"
"What for?" Martin asked. "If someone happens by, let them explore too."
"What if they find the treasure before we do?" asked Linda. "They'd get to
keep it and we wouldn't get anything."

"Not to worry," Engar said. "If we don't spread the word, it'll likely be
quite a while before anyone discovers the entrance is open. By then we'll
either have found treasure or discovered this is just another dead end. Either
way, it won't matter who comes after us."
"What if we get in trouble? Nobody will know where we are?"
"Wouldn't do any good if they did," Engar said. "No one would rescue us.
In Faland, when you hunt treasure, you're on your own."
"If the catacomb is as big as the ruin, it may take a long time to explore,"
Martin said. "We need someone to look after Pecos while we're gone, and
we'd better take enough supplies for an extended stay underground."
"I suggest two or three return to camp and take Pecos to a nearby farm,"
Engar said. "The farmer will store our camping gear in return for the use of
Pecos and our cart until we get back. It's accepted practice and would cause no
suspicion. Meantime, the rest of us can begin to probe the catacomb."
"I'll take Pecos to a farm," John said
"I'll go along," Engar said. "I know a couple of the nearest farmers. With
luck, we should be back by evening meal and can all meet here at the catacomb
entrance. By then, the rest of you should have an idea what we're up against."
After Engar and John left, Martin propelled his Mentat eye into the
catacomb, and holding a lantern aloft, boldly followed it down the steps. The
children then Carol, followed, with Bertha bringing up the rear.
"It's creepy." Susan's voice echoed in the dim corridor.
"The walls are wet and scummy."
"It's sure big!"
"And dark!"
"There's a door ahead," Martin said. The steps ended on a level stone
floor. "Using my Mentat eye is very tiring in the dark," Martin said, as he
retrieved it and returned it to its pouch. "I'll use it sparingly so I don't drain my
powers."
"Well, Jason, can you open this?" Bertha asked as she eyed the massive
iron gate blocking the way.
"If it has a song key," Jason answered. "But I'd need to know the song."
"Look for runes," Robert said. "Runes will tell us how to open it."
"I found something over here," Carol said, wiping brown scum from a
brass plate.
"See! More runes!" Robert cried, as he knelt alongside Carol.
"It's not a song," Jason said.

"But these I can read," Robert said as Carol held the light for him.
Martin tapped on the gate and heard a dull thunk that suggested great
thickness. Linda kicked the door and danced back, shaking her foot. She gave
Jason a murderous look when he laughed, then looking up, caught a glimmer of
reflected light from the roof. "Something's up there!" she cried, pointing.
Martin released a Mentat eye, maneuvered it toward the ceiling, and saw a
large, shallow indentation in the solid stone. "Bertha," Martin motioned. "Hold
the lamp high while I boost Linda. Maybe she can see more detail than I can
with my Mentat eye."
"There's a big metal plate stuck in the rock," Linda announced from a
precarious position on Martin's shoulders. "It's got a big groove in it with a
crossbar."
"Pull on the cross bar," Bertha suggested.
Linda hung her weight from the bar. "It won't budge."
"We'll see about that. Here, Honey, take my rope and thread it through."
Bertha handed up the end of a braided rawhide cord. "Let's put some real
weight on that baby."
When Bertha bore down, the bar dropped so abruptly she fell on her fanny.
A grinding rumble sounded from the bowels of the cavern. Everyone leaped to
cover their heads, but falling debris did not shower them. Instead, the great
iron door slid haltingly sideways.
"Wait!" Robert cried. "The amulet . . . my silver amulet . . . it's getting
warm!"
"And it's glowing!" Linda cried, staring at the medallion brightening
against Robert's chest.
"Honey, I think it's too late for waiting," Bertha hollered, swinging her
mace to ready. "The barn door's already open."
"The runes, Robert; could you read them?" Martin asked as he drew his
sword.
"Only partly. Many are too worn to make out. There's a name, p h a r g, and
something about guards. That's all I can decipher."
Martin sent his sphere through the door, and immediately became alarmed.
"Something is blinding my Mentat eye! It's trying to take control from me!"
Hastily, he withdrew the nubbin and clutched it tightly. "There's a Mentat force
here, stronger than mine."
"Another Mentat?"
"Not a presence," Martin said. "Not like I sensed when Horath preempted

control. This feels more like a static field. Horath told me there are guarded
places where Mentat tools are rendered useless."
"Oh, great, just where they're most needed."
"It's too dangerous to go on," Carol said.
Susan peered into the dark passage. "It's creepy, but it doesn't seem
dangerous," she ventured.
"If there's anything guarding this place, it can't be living," Bertha said. "It
must have been sealed up for generations."
"Then why is my amulet glowing?" demanded Robert. "It's supposed to tell
about demons in the dark."
"Demons are nonsense," Bertha growled. "Maybe the amulet always glows
in the dark and we just didn't notice it before."
"It's warm, too," Robert said. "That's how I knew something was different."
"Let's go ahead," Martin said. "Be especially cautious. We shouldn't ignore
the warnings, but neither should we let fear control our actions."
Moving slowly, the party advanced into the passage beyond the iron door.
Quickly they came to an intersection. When they held their lanterns high, they
could see many doors lining the corridors, some closed, others open, some
hanging loosely from broken hinges.
"Looks like a cell-block. Maybe prisoners were kept here."
"I'll draw a map as we go," Linda said. "I'll number the intersections." She
tore a scrap from her notebook, wrote a numeral on it, and secured it to a rock
shelf with a piece of broken stone. "I'll mark all the turns this way," she said.
Martin led past several more intersections, then came to a T junction with
branches left and right. "We may be at the outer wall of the dungeon." He
turned left and stopped before a closed door. It yielded readily to Bertha's not
so subtle coaxing, and torn from its hinges, clattered to the floor. The doorway
opened into a small cell with a jagged hole gaping in the roof. Stony rubble lay
scattered on the floor. They found nothing and proceeded to the next cell. Half
a dozen cells later, they came to another side passage, this one leading back in
the direction they had come.
"The cell-block appears to be laid out in a rectangular pattern," Carol
noted.
"Let's see how far this passage goes," Linda said. "Then maybe we'll have
an idea how big the cell-block is."
"This is boring," Jason said. "These little rooms are all alike and there's
nothing in any of them."

"I suspect treasure hunting is boring a good deal of the time," Martin
responded.
"I'm getting hungry," Susan said.
"It is getting late," Carol said. "John and Engar ought to be back. I think
we've explored enough for now."
"This place is enormous." Linda looked at her map. "We've passed twentytwo side halls since we turned and there were seven before that."
Martin whistled softly. "With six rooms in each block. If this is rectangular
that means close to two thousand cells in the area we already know about.
Even a casual look in all these cells is going to take days."
"We could split up," Jason said. "If we went in pairs, it'd go a lot faster."
"Right now we need to go back," Carol said.
"Let's take the next hall over," Bertha suggested. "It parallels this one and
will give us a look at something new on the way back."
"Keep an eye out for number seven," Linda said. "That's the passage that
leads to the iron door."
"Look ahead," Jason called. "The passage is blocked."
"Uh, oh. My amulet's getting really hot!" Robert shouted.
He hardly had the words out, when a monstrous black shape lunged from a
side room. Roaring, it bore down on Jason. No taller than he, but three times
broader, the squat form reached toward Jason with powerful arms. Fumbling
his tagan loose, Jason felt his back slam against a wall. Claws raked his arm.
Stumbling sideways, he glimpsed a cavernous, fang-filled mouth.
With great speed, the creature followed Jason's flight, mouth and arms
reaching. Hot breath belched on the boy's face, and he saw the jaws begin to
close. Then he was jerked from his feet and hurled along the wall. Bertha, had
grabbed his arm, and now interposed herself between him and the beast. She
raised her battle mace and brought it crashing down on a massive skull.
Martin, darting past Jason, swung his sword against a clawed hand. An instant
later, a hummer whined, and the creature's shrieks turned to screams. It broke
off its attack and fled into a pile of shattered rock. For a moment, all was
pandemonium as everyone tried to sort out what had happened.
"What creature of hell was that?" Martin sputtered.
"A demon!" Jason cried. "It almost got me!" He stared at streaks of blood
on his arm.
"Damn thing's like a cockroach,"Bertha said. "You can squash it, but it still
keeps coming." Her arm, like Jason's, was bloodied where a claw had caught

her.
"It's got my hummer in its eye!" Robert proclaimed.
"That's what drove it back," Martin said as he sheathed his bloody sword.
"It carries a few other wounds as well."
"And a sore head!" Bertha added.
"Let me see those wounds." Carol seized Jason's arm. She dusted on Poma
and the bleeding stopped. "Not serious." She tended Bertha's wounds. "We
were lucky."
"Everyone's response was terrific," Martin said. "Bertha, you were on that
thing before I even knew it was there, and Robert, you were marvelous with
the hummer."
"Your sword was pretty handy too, Martin," Bertha said. "You took off its
arm before it could do me any more damage."
"I'm sure glad you guys were here," Jason said. "I thought I was a goner."
"We learned something," Martin said. "We definitely must stay close. No
one goes even a few feet alone from now on. Robert, what exactly happened
with the amulet?"
"It got really hot just before the attack. I felt it start getting warmer even a
little before that. It's not hot now, but it's still warm."
"From now on, you stay near the lead," Martin said. "If you feel any change
in the amulet, sing out quick!"
"It got real bright, too," Susan said. "I saw it shining just as that thing
jumped out at Jason."
Returning the way they had come, Robert led with his amulet firmly in
hand. Bertha stayed beside him and Martin brought up the rear. They jumped at
every shadow and flinched at sounds that were not there, but the return to the
iron door was without further event.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

After dropping Pecos at a farm outside Slavhos, John and Engar returned
with food, lantern oil, and water. They listened to Robert tell of the strange
beast in the catacomb.
"We know where it lives," the boy said. "So we can stay away from it next
time."
"We know where one lives," Martin said "There might be others. If we find
treasure, we might find that thing, or others like it, guarding it."
While they talked, Susan built a fire using wood brought by Engar and
John, then she and Robert cooked the evening meal. They bedded down after
dinner, rolling uneasily into blankets on the dusty cavern floor.
In spite of a night of fitful sleep, they ventured past the iron door the next
morning with high spirits. At the first intersection, they turned into a corridor
not previously explored. Big John, brodsrd ready, led with Robert at his side
holding a lamp and his faintly glowing amulet. Bertha brought up the rear, mace
in hand, while Susan carried the tail light. At each cell they paused for a
cursory inspection, then pushed on. By midday they reached the far end of the
dungeon, having passed thirty side passages, and estimated the catacomb held
nearly six thousand cells.
"It'll take a week to poke our noses in all of them," John grumbled.
"What if the treasure is buried?" Linda asked. "We won't ever find it."
"Treasure hunting is a dangerous waste of time," Carol said. "We ought to
do something more . . . more . . ."
"Productive?" Martin finished her thought.
"At least more sensible," Carol said.
"It's true, there may be no treasure," Engar said. "But looking keeps life
from getting dull, don't you think?"
"Dull is good. Dull is very good," Carol snapped.
"Have you noticed, this dungeon wasn't always divided into such small
cells?" John asked. "Some of these tiny rooms were once part of larger
chambers."
"Perhaps this was a barracks rather than a dungeon," Engar said. "The
small openings in the ceiling are probably ventilation ducts. I feel air moving
when we pass intersections."

"Maybe the treasure is hidden in the ducts," Jason suggested. "Robert, do

the runes give any clues about where treasure might be?"
"Not that I've found, but we have the map. No one would make a map if
there was nothing here, would they?"
"The runes mentioned guards," Martin said. "That's also a clue something
of value is here."
"Or was," Carol said. "This place has been abandoned a long time.."
"Maybe, instead of avoiding the monster we fought, we should try to get
into its chamber."
"Oh, Lord," Carol said. "I hope you're kidding." She looked at the
shadowed walls and shuddered. "I say we forget treasure and get out of here
while we can."
"Hold it." Robert held up his hand. "My amulet's getting warmer."
"Close up," Martin shouted. "Weapons ready! Bertha, Engar, watch our
rear!"
"I don't see anything," John said, continuing to move ahead.
"It's getting hotter and brighter!"
"Remember, they attack without warning," Carol yelled.
Her words were still echoing when a black form leaped out of the
darkness. John swept Robert behind with one hand while he swung his brodsrd
aloft with the other. The creature stopped.
"Another behind us," Engar yelled.
"Make that two," Martin added.
"And two in front," John called. As the second beast joined the first, they
charged.
"Go for the neck," Bertha yelled.
John brought his brodsrd down, catching the first creature on its shoulder,
slicing half way through its thick body. It screamed as John planted a huge foot
on its brow and shoved it into its partner. The second rose up and received
Robert's hummer in its eye. An instant later, Martin's sword plunged through its
neck. Flailing, it crashed to the deck, the sword still in its throat. John swung to
the rear in time to see Engar and Carol impale another on their swords. It got a
claw on Carol's shoulder, and John chopped the beast's arm off. Carol lurched
back and Jason drove a hummer into its open mouth.
Bertha worked her mace on the last attacker. Limbs shattered, and she
backhanded across the creature's jaw, wiping away the lower half of its mouth.
Susan finished the brute by burying a hummer in its throat.

The attack was over. Everyone stared at the carnage. Robert, his face the
color of moon-glow, clutched his amulet. "My . . . my amulet is cool," he said,
his voice quavering.
Blood dribbled down Carol's arm.
"You're hurt," Martin cried.
"That thing got me good," Carol said.
"Get the medical pouch, Jason." Martin pulled Carol's pack from her
shoulders. "Bring a lamp!"
Jason dug out vials and packets. Martin soused Carol's wound with
frenwort and dusted on poma. Carol's face relaxed.
"It'll need stitches," Martin said.
"Let Linda sew it. She's assisted before," Carol said.
Linda worked the suture needles with rock-steady hands while Jason
folded a bandage.
"Good work," Carol said when the bandage was in place. "I'm lucky I have
such good backup."
John looked closely at the dead creatures. "These aren't animals," he said.
Martin bent to look.
"Hardly any blood."
"Not even as much as with droids. These are machines."
"Robots," Robert cried.
"I've never seen their like," Engar said.
"You mean they aren't demons?" Jason knelt beside one.
"Oh, they're demons all right," Bertha conceded. "Only they're demons
somebody built."
"Must be the guards," Robert said. "The things the runes call phargs."
"But what are they guarding? There's nothing here."
"Look at the wires," Martin said. "That answers some of our questions
about Robert's silver amulet."
"How so?"
"These machines run on electricity. They probably radiate enough
electromagnetic energy for the amulet to pick it up."
"Must've been here a long time," Engar said. "Pretty reliable to stay
operational so long. I wonder where they get their power?" He was sifting
through the wreckage of one. "Don't see a power source. Maybe it gets energy
from a remote."
"Let's look at where they came from." Martin picked up a lantern. "They

came out of the wall at the side passage ahead."

"Careful. There might be more."
"Robert's amulet says not." Martin pushed into the narrow passage. "I see
an alcove where two might have been stationed. They probably activated when
we tripped a sensor somewhere."
Engar crowded into the small chamber. "Looks like a socket near the floor.
It's metal but I don't see any contacts."
"What about treasure?" Susan called. "Is there treasure in there?"
"Sorry.."
"Well, I'll bet these babies were guarding something," Bertha said. "And I
expect it's not far off. I suggest we move along."
They reached a right-angle turn in the passage, and Bertha eased around it.
"Hold up," Jason called. "I see something." He stooped and swept aside
the brown gunk on the floor.
"A metal plate with a groove in the center - maybe a latch."
"I don't see any runes," Robert said.
"Looks like a little manhole cover," John said. "Stand aside, and I'll see if I
can raise it."
"Weapons ready," Martin ordered.
Straddling the plate, John gripped the bar. When he put his strength to it, the
plate broke free but settled back with a clank. "That sucker is heavy," he said,
then bunched his muscles and heaved. The massive plate rose, swung aside and
slid several feet in the slime.
"Wow," Bertha chortled. "You loved that, didn't you, John. That little
manhole cover looks to be three inches of solid iron. Bet it weighs five, maybe
six hundred pounds."
"Amulet's cool," Robert sang out. "No demons here."
Everyone gathered around the opening. A straight tube, lined on one side
with metal rungs, dropped into darkness.
"Anyone going down that ladder will be pretty vulnerable," John said, "and
for me or Bertha it would be a mighty tight fit."
"I can go down," Linda promptly said. "I'm Scout, so I should go first."
"Makes sense ordinarily," Martin agreed. "But in this case we probably
should send a stronger Warrior first."
"That would be me," Engar said. "I can squeeze in."
"Let me try Mentat visualization first." Martin released a sphere and found
great resistance to its motion. He closed his eyes to shut everything else from

his mind. "I'm still blocked by a Mentat field. I can't see anything. Someone
doesn't want Mentat's poking around here."
Engar dropped his pack, hooked a lantern to his belt, and stepped into the
opening.
"Don't let yourself get hurt," Jason whispered.
Engar descended one rung at a time. "I can see bottom," he called. "Looks
like a stopped bore." He dropped into the circular butt of the tube with barely
room to turn around. "I see a handle embedded in the wall. I'm turning it," he
shouted.
The wall swung away.
"Robert, drop me the amulet. A small passage leads from the tube."
Robert dropped it.
"Still cool," Engar announced. "I'm going into the passage and will be out
of hearing."
"I'm coming down," Martin called.
Engar was out of sight when Martin reached bottom, but the glow from his
lamp was visible deep within the passage. Following the glow, Martin caught
up in a tiny, oval chamber at the end of the passage. It was empty except for a
small platform bearing an inscribed brass plate with a shallow depression in
its center.
"I'll get Robert," Martin said. "Looks like runes."
Robert needed no urging but scrambled down the tube like a monkey when
he heard Martin call. In moments he was at the platform, flanked by Engar and
Martin holding lanterns. His eyes glowed, reflecting bright, shiny runes.
He read, "A silver amulet is the key to the key."
He looked puzzled.
"Your silver amulet must have some use in addition to detecting phargs,"
Engar said.
"Let me have it," Martin said. Carefully, he fitted it into the depression in
the rune plate. A low hum filled the room and the plate swung aside. On its
reverse, a bronze key inlaid with rubies and opals, hung from a peg .
"It's beautiful," Robert said. "It's got runes on it too!"
Robert took the key from its hook and held it close to Martin's lamp.
"Three gates of bronze; three locks of bronze; one key for three gates."
"Hmm," Martin said. "Three gates? Where?"
"Doesn't say," Engar said. "But I see nothing that would qualify as a gate
here. Perhaps there's more to this catacomb than we've yet seen."

"Maybe the key is the only treasure here," Martin said.

"What about the first pharg - the one that attacked Jason?" Linda asked
when Engar and Martin showed the others the key. "Maybe it was guarding a
gate?"
"Possibly," Martin said. "We should check it out. How's your shoulder,
Carol? We can call it quits now and come back another time."
"I'm okay," Carol said. "I don't much like treasure hunting, but I admit that
key is intriguing. Besides, I doubt I'd get any peace if we call off the search
now on account of me."
Linda borrowed Robert's amulet and took lead with Bertha. Using her map,
she located the collapsed passage where they had encountered the first pharg.
The silver amulet began to glow and its temperature started to rise. "Danger
here," she called.
"Back, Honey," Bertha roared. "I've a score to settle with that devil." She
strode ahead. When the robot came out of its alcove, she swung her mace
before it got into full motion. The blow drove the beast sideways, and Engar
skewered it on his sword. Another blow split its skull.
"Hey, we're getting good at this." Bertha grinned at Engar as they stood
over the broken mechanism.
Robert looked at the fallen robot. "What did it do with my hummer? Its eye
is wrecked but the hummer's not there."
"Over here," Martin called. He had found an alcove in front of the rubble
from the fallen roof. Inside, he discovered a second robot crushed by fallen
rocks. Robert's hummer lay on the floor.
"Whatever they were guarding must lie under the rubble," Bertha said.
"Maybe we can get at it from the other side," Susan suggested.
"Might be more phargs," Carol said. "We got jumped by four last time."
Robert held up his amulet. "It's cold and it isn't glowing. I think that was
the last of them."
Still, they moved cautiously as they circled, using alternate passages, to
approach the cave-in from the opposite direction. They found only more fallen
rock.
"It's under the rubble," Jason said, disappointed.
"I can move the smaller stones," John said."Maybe I can open a way into
the rubble."
"Go easy. The roof looks unstable," Engar said.
Bertha and John applied force to a smaller block and slid it enough to open

a slot about eight inches wide near the bottom of the heap. Heaving and
straining refused to budge it further. A lantern at the opening revealed blocks
interlocked in a way that made further movement impossible.
"It's the best we can do without equipment," John said. "With rope and
timbers we might move a couple of these blocks enough for someone to get in,
but muscle alone isn't going to do it."
"I can get in now," Linda said.
"Honey, even a mouse like you can't squeeze through that itty-bitty crack,"
Bertha said.
"I can too. I'll show you." Linda dropped to her knees, and shoving a lamp
in front, slid into the crevice.
"Careful! You'll get stuck!"
Linda's sirkeln snagged. She unfastened it and disappeared like a snake
into its hole.
"Don't go too far," Bertha yelled. "We don't know what's in there!"
Linda shoved the lamp ahead and wriggled on her belly into an opening
large enough to stand in. She was near a partially unhinged cell door. She
crawled around the door and was stopped by a bronze grating. In the center
was a large keyhole, and beyond the grating, she saw steps leading down into
blackness.
Linda returned to the entrance.
"No. We're not sending a child into God only knows what," Carol said
when Linda asked for the key. Bertha backed her up.
"But, I want to go," Linda said. "I'll take the silver amulet, and I promise
I'll turn back right away if it gets even the least bit warm."
"I can get in there too," Susan said. "I'm taller, but I'm as skinny as Linda."
"Wish I could go," Robert said. "But I tried and I'm too big."
"Me, too," Jason said wistfully. "But I vote to let Linda and Susan go.
Linda's a Scout and she knows what she's doing."
"He's right," Linda said. "Give me the key and the amulet and let Susan
come with me."
"Well, the amulet is cool," Martin said. "I say we put it to a vote."
All the children instantly called out votes in favor.
"Okay, but I don't want you girls to take any chances," Martin said. "If the
amulet gets even slightly warm, we're trusting you to high-tail it back here right
away."
Susan grabbed the amulet, and Engar handed her the key. She dropped to

the ground.
"Wait! Take these," Martin said, and handed Susan four hummers.
In a moment, Susan was standing next to Linda. They crawled into the cell,
and Linda fitted the bronze key to the keyhole. Instantly, the gate began to rise.
Linda snatched the key quickly lest it be carried up with the gate.
When the girls passed under the gate, it dropped behind them. They turned
and faced the dark steps.
"Looks spooky," Susan said. But, with the silver amulet nestled against her
chest and the lantern held high, she started down. The steps ended at a long,
narrow passage, the floor of which was covered with several inches of water.
"Smells yucky." Susan wrinkled her nose.
Water dripped, soaking their hair and drizzling down their faces. They
began to shiver with only ukelns wrapped around their bodies. The passage
sloped upward, out of the water, and curved into a large chamber.
"It's gorgeous," Susan said as lantern light glinted off golden draperies that
hung from every wall. Enormous silver and turquoise bas-reliefs, depicting
animals and people and creatures strange to their eyes, rose to the ceiling.
"It's a real treasure room," Linda cried.
"But we can't take anything," Susan said. "Everything's too big and too high
on the walls."
"Wait, I see a little statue on that shelf in back," Linda said. She ran toward
it. "I think it's made of gold!"
A great golden ball dropped from the ceiling.
"Look out above," Susan screamed.
Linda paused. Running full tilt, Susan tackled her and the youngsters
sprawled aside as the sphere crashed onto the floor.
"Oh!" Linda's eyes got as big as saucers.
Susan snatched up the lantern. The flame sputtered, then steadied. The girls
clung to each other and stared at the gilded sphere, as great in diameter as
Susan was tall.
"I'd have been smashed flat," Linda said. She was shaking so hard she
made both girls vibrate. "We better watch out for other traps."
They approached the golden statue, this time slowly. "I saw one like this at
the icon shop in Or'gn. It's worth five hundred ralls," Susan said.
Linda tugged. "It's heavy, but I can move it."
The figurine was only nine inches tall, but it took both girls to lift it from
the shelf. "It'll be hard to carry."

"It's the only thing small enough to carry at all."

"There's a small box over there." Susan started toward it, scanning for
traps.
"It's dusty." She blew the dirt away and saw polished reddish wood
inlayed with silver and turquoise. She lifted the lid.
"Jewels!"
Linda came alongside and saw, nestled on a soft, finely woven cloth, a
dozen rubies the size of dimes. "These we can carry!"
The girls saw nothing more that looked small enough to carry. "We better
go back before the others get worried."
Susan tucked the jewelry box into her ukeln, but when they tried to carry
the statue, each girl needed both hands. With no way to carry the lantern, they
were forced to set it down, move the statue a short distance, then retrieve the
lantern. In this laborious fashion, they wrestled the icon along the water filled
passage and up the steps, then through the bronze gate.
"We're safe," they yelled and hugged each other as the gate closed behind
them.
Susan hurried to the tiny cleft. "We're back. We found treasure!"
"Bring it out!" Jason cried.
"We found lots of stuff we can't get," Susan said as she wriggled to the
entry and handed out the jewelry box. "We've got a gold icon. I've got to help
Linda with it." She disappeared back into the hole. In a few minutes the girls
wormed their way forward, shoving the icon ahead until John could reach it
and haul it out.
"You done good, girls," Bertha said as the two soaked urchins slithered
like eels from under the rocks. Water dripped from their hair and slime
smeared their bodies.
Bertha dug a towel from her pack. "We haven't water to wash with, but
this'll wipe the worst off."
The kids changed into clean ukelns and put on their sirkelns. Neither
mentioned the near miss with the golden ball.
"I think we've done all we can here," Martin said. "I don't think it would be
worth the risk to try to clear a path to bring out more treasure."
"I agree," Engar said. "Between the rubies and the icon we should clear
close to two thousand ralls as it is."
"Thank God you're finally getting some sense," Carol said. "Let's get out of
here."

"I second that," John said. "We can decide later how to use our treasure."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After leaving the catacombs, the partners retrieved Pecos and headed
north. As soon as they arrived at Or'gn Susan said, "Let's go sell the gold
icon."
Bertha laughed. "Good idea. That little statue is as ugly as they come, and
forty pounds of gold ralls will be more useful than forty pounds of gold ugly."
After establishing their camp on the village green, they went to the icon
shop. To their surprise, they met Brom outside the shop, and were even more
surprised when he said, "I was waiting for you."
"How did you know we were coming?" Susan asked. "We didn't know
ourselves until a few minutes ago."
Brom laughed. "What else would you do with a gold icon but sell it?"
"How did you know about our gold icon?" Bertha rumbled. "Have you
been spying on us?"
"No need for that," Brom said. "Check the bulletin board at the village
green; your exploits are noted, including an account of how you defeated six
great demons and found a treasure trove that had been hidden for centuries."
Bertha's scowl became ferocious. "If you weren't spying, somebody else
was."
Engar said, "I warned you, a spy network of some kind exists here. I
suspect a sensor net, however, rather than a cadre of agents. Incidentally,
Brom, those demons are just machines, and we disabled only five. The sixth
was already out of commission when we arrived."
"Interesting," Brom said. "The bulletin credits you with killing six
demons."
"So," Martin said. "Perhaps the spy network isn't perfect."
Susan, as treasurer, got the honor of selling the icon. All the children went
into the shop with her while the adults stayed outside, talking to Brom.
"A group of Warriors is planning an expedition," Brom told them. "They
hope to recover the treasure you left behind. You are, of course, welcome to
join. The contract is already posted at the agent's hall. By the way, you should
drop by the Hall-of-Records. Some of you are due status updates."
The children poured out of the icon shop, their faces flushed, each weighed
down by a sack containing more than ten pounds of gold ralls. "We're rich,"

Linda cried. "We can buy horses - horven, I mean."

Engar laughed. "Don't get carried away. We're not that rich, and there may
be things we need more than horven."
"Well, old friend," Brom said to Engar. "I can see you have things to attend
to. Think about joining our expedition. You might just get rich enough for those
horven."
Brom left and the partners headed toward the Hall-of-Records. Jason
asked, "Do you think we should go with Brom to get the treasure?"
John shook his head. "It'll take an army to move those rocks. I doubt there
are enough Warriors in Faland."
"Some engineering would do it," Bertha said. "But it could take months."
"I'm not going back," Carol said.
"We took enough out of the catacombs," Martin agreed. "I'd rather see more
of Faland."
"Me, too," Jason said.
"Well, that makes it kind of funny," Linda said, with a little chuckle. "If we
don't join the expedition, they sure won't get the treasure."
"Why?" Robert asked her.
"Because," Linda said. "We have the key."
Bertha shook with laughter. "You left the gate locked, I take it?"
"Couldn't help it," Susan said. "The gate locks automatically. We needed
the key to get out as well as in."
At the Hall-of-Records, they discovered that Engar had risen to level five
Weapon-master and John to level three. Bertha made level three Fighter and
Linda received the brown bardebs of a level three Scout. Robert got an unusual
double promotion, to level three Rune-reader and level one Fighter. He was
enormously proud.
When they were outside, Jason whispered to Martin, "I didn't get a
promotion. Why not?"
"I didn't either," Martin said. "Nor did Susan. I guess we didn't earn enough
points in our specialties. Which leaves a big question. How do those in charge
know what we're doing so they can award points in the first place?"
"Engar said there's a sensor system."
"I guess whoever built the demon robots could build a spy network. But
how do they hide the sensors? I haven't seen anything so far."
"On Star-Trek, they have micro-sensors."
"Apparently here too."

That evening the group voted to use a large chunk of their take from the
golden icon to buy a navaid for Linda, and they agreed to head west out of
Or'gn the next morning, bound for Forod. According to Engar, Forod was the
only place in Faland where they could sell their rubies.
They left early and moved leisurely, their pace set by Pecos pulling
Bertha's cart. Sunshine spilled across the verdure and made the wild flowers
seem to glow, while butterflies danced in the mild air and brightly colored
birds serenaded them from thickets of red-berried bushes.
Shortly, they arrived at an unsigned road going north.
"Goes to Odetn," Engar said.
"Could we climb the tower?" Linda begged. "Some kids in Or'gn said it's
really high and you can see for legons and legons."
"I don't see why not," Martin said, "We're in no hurry."
They turned Pecos toward Odetn, and followed the rough trail as it wound
through gently rolling hills. When Odetn's palisade came in view, they saw
how dilapidated it was. Inside, they found a small market and spotted a few
native children playing among rundown shacks. Otherwise, the town appeared
deserted.
They picketed Pecos and left the cart in an unkempt green near a well, then
made their way along an overgrown path among partially fallen buildings. The
path took them to the Odetn Tower.
"It's said to be the tallest structure in the farm country," Engar told them. "I
estimate it at about three hundred feet. Watch the stairs as we go up; they're not
in great shape."
Linda led up a spiral of steps inside the tower, then up a wooden ladder the
last dozen feet to an outside platform.
"Not a place for someone afraid of heights," Bertha said as she scrambled
up the last rungs and looked down on treetops and crumbling ruins.
"There's the mound," Linda pointed. "Is that where Blackwater Cave is?"
"So legend has it," Engar replied. "But no one has found a way into the
mound. The door in is massive and sealed shut."
"Are there runes on the door?" Robert asked.
"Not that I saw."
"Maybe the door has a song lock," Jason said.
"What about digging?" Bertha asked. "Forget the door and dig in from the
side or back."
"Been tried, but under the surface, the mound is sheathed with hard metal.

It's clearly an artificial structure, with unknown purpose."

"A bomb shelter, perhaps?" John mused.
"Oh sure," Robert said. "I've seen lots of planes overhead."
"Watch it, smart mouth," John said. "The mound is old, and things may not
always have been as they are now. Besides, artillery delivers explosives as
readily as planes."
"Maybe we'll check it out," Martin said, "after we see what Forod is like."
When they left the tower it was too early to stop for the night, so they
departed Odetn and continued toward Forod. They camped in open country
near a spring. Since it was the dark of the moon, Engar insisted on keeping a
fire burning and four lamps lit through the night to ward off felven. He also
insisted they stand guard in pairs, mostly to tend the fire and assure the lamps
did not go out.
As they wended their way west over the next few days, the countryside
remained rolling, grass and flower covered, with scattered large trees. At
Pecos' pace, they covered no more than twenty legons each day, sometimes
winding among low hills and across small brooks on charming stone bridges.
Occasionally at the bridges everyone dashed down the slope to bathe in the
clear stream that flowed beneath. Nights they camped under the stars, often on
ground moistened by afternoon showers, and they met numerous farmers and
peasants and passed neatly fenced plots like Mulro's farm. Sometimes they
gave food or drink or an occasional rall to a peasant in need. More often they
stopped at farms and bought fresh produce or meat to supplement their biscuits,
dried herbs, potans, and jerked meat. Once or twice other travelers joined
them for a short distance.
On the fourth evening they met a mounted Warrior traveling to Or'gn. She
was human, black like Brom, tall, spare, and of tough, sinewy construction.
She looked capable and was equipped with armor, shield, sword and bow.
"Hello, Flo," Engar hailed. "I see you made third level since last we met."
He introduced Florence to the group. "Flo and I trained together last year," he
explained. "You must have done quite well to be able to afford a horven?"
"Would that it were mine," Florence said "It's a loan. I'm on my way to join
Fraghorn at Or'gn for an expedition to Riven."
"Riven! That's hard duty."
"Fraghorn is level six and has been there before. He'll have a dozen
Warriors besides me, and it's a good chance to see new country. But what are
you up to with this motley crew?"

"We've formed a partnership and have set our sights on treasure."

"Oh, is that the game of the Mentat Warrior?" she addressed Martin.
Martin laughed. "My game is the same as any Warrior's. To live, to
explore, and to profit."
"And to fight, perhaps?" Florence chuckled.
"Is that a challenge?" Engar asked. "If you challenge Martin, be prepared
for a few surprises."
"So I've heard. I talked with Shiro a few days ago." She turned to Martin.
"Looks like you've fought some since you met her. She told me you were level
two."
"Levels change," Martin said. "If you wish a challenge, I'll oblige."
"Done, then." Florence said. "It's getting late. Mind if I join your camp
tonight?"
The fight took place as soon as they finished setting up camp. There was no
kom, only an open space in the field, and no officials. Martin found Florence
excellent with the sword and was pressed to hold his own. He used no Mentat
tricks. Nevertheless, he soon got a feel for her style and began to press. To his
surprise, she resigned rather quickly under pressure, though he had not broken
her defense.
"You're an able swordsman," Florence told him as she bowed.
"Your defense was superb. You do me honor." Later Martin learned from
Engar that Florence had resigned quickly to avoid risking a serious wound that
might have jeopardized her trip to Riven.
After the fight, Susan, with Robert and Carol's help, prepared a sumptuous
meal. She went all out to impress their guest, their first. She served marinaded
squal, bought from a farmer and spitted over the fire along with potans. She
made kurduc, and drog flavored with wildflower petals. Everyone ate hugely,
but none more than Florence. "This is the best eating I've had in months," she
announced, wiping her chin. "Who's the cook?"
"Take a bow, Susan," John said. "I second Flo's endorsement. A good cook
is a group's best asset, and you're the finest."
Susan blushed.
Later everyone gathered around the campfire, and the talk turned to
Blackwater Cave and treasure hunting.
"Your success in the catacomb makes me envious," Florence
acknowledged, "though I suspect I'm not truly the treasure hunting type. I don't
like caves and dark places. I prefer open spaces and a good fight among

honorable Warriors."
"I hear you," Bertha said. "A lot can be said for a good tussle between
friends."
"If you're bent on pursuing treasure as a career," Florence went on, "I
suggest you see the ring-maker in Triod."
"The ring-maker really exists?" Engar sounded skeptical.
Florence held up her left hand and displayed a glittering bronze ring.
"That's where I got this. It cost a ruby, but it's said to help with introductions
when you need a friend in hard places. And the ring-maker knows a lot about
Faland's treasure."
"I've been to Triod and never found this ring-maker," Engar said.
"I can draw a map for your Scout," Florence offered.
Linda eagerly produced pencil and pad and put her head together with
Florence's.
The following morning, Florence continued east toward Or'gn while the
partners resumed their westward trek. Midmorning of the seventh day brought
them to the gate. They found the market more limited than in Or'gn and fewer
ancillary shops. However, one was unique.
"Jewelry - Bought and Sold," Martin read on the sign outside. "I guess this
is where we sell our rubies."
"Should we?" Carol asked. "We have a fair amount of cash and ralls are
heavier than rubies. Maybe we ought to keep them until we need more money."
"That's a good idea if we stay near Forod," Engar said. "But away from
here we won't find another place that'll exchange rubies for ralls."
"Let's go in and see what's offered," Bertha suggested.
"Doesn't look too prosperous," John said, as they climbed the shabby steps.
"Or maybe the owner doesn't go in for upscale."
Inside, a grimy, glass-topped cabinet, nearly the width of the room, held a
number of gaudy amulets, rings, pins, and bracelets.
"Hello," Martin addressed a native man with slicked-down orange hair, a
green headband, and wide set, deep brown eyes that squinted with suspicion.
He was portly and wore a brown tunic, tied at the waist with a leather cord.
His face, expressing cautious cunning, twisted into a fawning grin.
Rubbing his hands together, he said, "I'm Skumbog. How may I help you?"
He bowed, but never took his eyes from his visitors.
Martin showed him a ruby and asked what he would pay for it.
"Thirty-five ralls," Skumbog answered.

Martin's brow raised. "I understood it's worth more."

"Let me look more closely." Skumbog held the jewel to the light. "Um,
perhaps fifty?"
Engar snorted. "Come on, Martin. Let's look for an honest buyer."
"Come, come, don't be hasty," Skumbog said. "How much did you have in
mind?"
"A hundred ralls," Engar snapped. "I've been in Faland long enough to
know the going rate."
Skumbog shrugged. "You can't blame a man for trying. My profits are slim,
you know."
Engar laughed. "I think we'll keep our ruby. We wouldn't want to engage
you in so unprofitable a business."
"My take may be small, but every bit helps. I'll pay a hundred ralls for the
ruby."
"Maybe some other time." Martin replaced the ruby in his belt pouch.
Skumbog glared.
Outside, Engar said, "Skumbog has a sleazy reputation. He'll cheat if he
can, but he'll pay a fair price if you know enough to insist."
"I didn't see any rubies for sale," Susan said. "What does Skumbog do with
them?"
"Another mystery," Engar replied. "I've never seen a ruby for sale, but I'm
sure Skumbog makes money on them. Maybe he sells to private clients."
"I take it," John said, "we can only get rubies by finding them?"
"Far as I know."
"Then maybe we better not sell them. Florence said she paid a ruby for her
bronze ring, and the ring-maker wouldn't take money. She said there are other
rings that cost more. Is it true the rings, like the amulets, have special uses?"
"So I've heard," Engar replied. "I always assumed such stories were
nonsense, but after what happened with the silver amulet I have to admit what
I've heard may be true."
"Can we go to Triod?" Jason asked. "And find the ring-maker? I want to
find out more about treasure."
"Ah," John said, laughing, "you've been bitten by the treasure bug. A taste
of riches and you want more."
Jason blushed, then grinned. "Are you saying you're not interested?"
John's laugh deepened. "I never said that."
"I want to go, too," Robert declared. "But not just for money. It's fun!"

"And exciting," Linda seconded.

"And deadly," Carol grumbled. "You kids are going to get yourselves killed
and the rest of us too."
"We're safe as long as we've got you to sew us up," Jason bantered.
After a none too pleasant night in Forod's campground, the partners set out
for Triod, twenty-five legons south. The trip took one long day, and they
arrived after sundown and went immediately to the green to set up camp. With
dew fresh on the grass the next morning, they went to find the ring-maker's
shop.
"It's in the southeast quadrant," Linda explained as she studied the map
drawn her by Florence. "It's not in the regular business district."
She took them along lanes shaded by trees large enough to top the town
wall. Naked children scampered in the shadows among modest log cabins or
climbed on limbs high overhead. After a few false starts, she found an obscure
lane that led through deep thickets to a tiny cottage hidden in dense vegetation.
Martin knocked and a hoarse voice bade them enter.
Inside, a small wizened man said, "I've been expecting you."
"Horath?" Martin stared in astonishment.
"Why, bless me no," the man said with a chuckle. "You confuse me with my
brother. I'm Boro, known as the ring-maker."
Martin felt disjoined. Boro had the same remarkable eyes he had come to
know in Horath - eyes that seemed to look into the core of his being. And Boro
had the same withered frame and stooped posture.
"Are you twins?" Martin asked.
Boro laughed gleefully. "Oh yes. We were born together long years ago.
But not many have seen us both and know that we are brothers."
Engar and Jason pushed into the shop behind Martin. The others stayed
outside. Most of the small room was taken up by a work bench that was littered
with tools and scraps of metal. Rings, some small, some large, hung on pegs on
the walls.
"You say you expected us?" Engar asked.
"The Warrior Mentat and his Captain are known to me. And all who are on
a great quest come here eventually."
"Quest?" Martin asked. "We aren't on a quest."
Boro's eyes glinted. "Ah, but you are, my Friend; you most certainly are."
"I don't understand."
"It will become clear in time. But let me show you the rings you'll need.

Your dozen rubies will only afford two; the third you'll have to get later."
Jason stepped forward. "But, sir, we only came to learn about treasure, not
to buy . . ." His voice trailed off when he saw a fierce light in Boro's eyes.
"You're Jason," Boro said, a hardness in his voice. "So you think to find
treasure? And exactly what do you intend to do with it?"
Jason, taken aback by the tone of Boro's voice, said, "Well, you know, sell
it - make money."
"You value money, do you?"
"It buys things," Jason ventured. "I value the things."
"And how many things, that you do not already have, are there to buy in
Faland?"
"A horven, maybe," Jason began, confused. "Other things - I don't know
what - I haven't been here very long." Then he brightened and added, "We
could be independent and buy a place and take care of ourselves."
"To what purpose would you put your life?"
Martin suddenly interceded, "Why are you grilling the boy? Our purpose is
to live like everyone else."
"Well, no matter." The light in Boro's eyes died. "The rings are here if you
want them."
"Which rings?" Engar asked. "I see many rings; are they all special?"
"The ones you see have little value," Boro said as he reached into a
concealed area below his work bench. "It's these three small rings that you
will need." He brought out a tiny case and opened it. Nestled within were three
rings - bronze, silver, and gold. The bronze ring was like Florence's; the others
were of similar design, differing only in the metal from which they were
fashioned.
"What's so special about these?"
"They give passage to places in Faland that are closed to all others," Boro
said. "They can be used only by those who are honorable and can be obtained
only in exchange for rubies. When you buy one, you must make an honorpledge to protect it and allow no one else to possess it."
"This all sounds very mystical," Martin said. "Where do these myths and
legends come from? What do they mean?"
"Ah, friend Martin, you ask questions." Boro smiled. "Is that not what it
means to be on a quest?"
"You mean, to understand Faland's mythology?"
Boro shrugged. "Perhaps. Anyway, do you want to exchange for any of the

rings?"
"What do they cost?"
"One ruby for bronze, ten for silver, one hundred for gold."
"A hundred rubies!" Jason cried. "For that little gold ring! It doesn't look as
big as a rall, and one ruby is worth a hundred ralls."
"If money is the measure of your values, then you must seek elsewhere,"
Boro said, the harshness back in his voice.
"Suppose I decide to go on this so-called quest," Martin said. "What do I
do?"
Boro chuckled. "Perhaps my brother judged you right. A good beginning
might be to find Galendrall, where the sturk flies, north of Oshan. She can tell
you what else you must do; but, be advised, you must wear a bronze ring to get
past her guards."
"Before I exchange any rubies, I need to consult my partners," Martin said.
"Of course." Boro nodded.
Outside, under the shade of the tall trees, Martin related the ring-maker's
message. "It's a long way to Oshan," he concluded. "I noted the distance on the
sign at Forod. And the rubies belong to all of us. This quest, that Boro insists
I'm on, apparently is a Mentat thing. I can't ask any of you to come even if I
decide to pursue it."
"I don't agree the quest is a 'Mentat thing,'" Engar said. "I think Boro
included all of us in his remarks. He expects you to be accompanied by your
Captain and his Warriors."
"Captain?" John raised an eyebrow.
"It's what Boro called Engar," Jason said. "And he thinks money isn't what
we should look for."
"Oh, he does, does he?" Bertha growled. "And what does he think we
should look for?"
"I'm not sure. What is a quest, anyway?"
"A search for something," Susan said. "Like Jason and the Argonauts
searching for the Golden Fleece."
"You mean like Indiana Jones going after the Arc of the Covenant?" Robert
asked.
"Something like that," Martin said. "But I'm not sure what the goal is here."
"It's about myths," Jason said.
"What do you want to do, Martin?" Carol asked. "I said a long time ago we
ought to have a goal or purpose, but I'm not sure this should be it."

"I don't know," Martin answered slowly. "I have a feeling things here aren't
what they appear. This whole Faland experience is weird. How did we get
here? Why are we here? Why am I the only one who could see anything in the
Mentat test? What are these strange magical jewels, and what are droids, and
who put robot guards in the catacombs?"
"I think you're saying you want to go on this quest," John said.
"I'd like to go along," Engar said. "I'd like some answers to Martin's
questions."
"I'll go too," Jason said. "I'm not like Boro thought. I don't really care about
money. I just like to explore."
"Me too," Linda said.
"Maybe we'll find more runes," Robert said gleefully.
"Count me in," Susan added.
John laughed. "Looks like you've got the kids, Martin."
Martin shook his head. "I never said I wanted to go."
"But you do," Carol said. "I see it in your eyes. Anyway, all that matters is
that we stay together, and with Engar, the kids have outvoted the rest of us."
"I'll add my vote." John grinned.
"Why not?" Bertha said. "I'm game. Besides, I may find a few heads that
need bashing!" She brandished her mace.
Martin looked at Carol.
"I'm not a hold-out," she said. "So what do we do now?"
"Get some rings," Martin said.
He returned to the ring-maker and exchanged eleven of their dozen rubies
for a bronze and a silver ring. To Engar, he gave the silver ring and slipped the
bronze ring on his own finger. Then he said, "We're no longer rich, and though
Boro may hold money in low esteem, I suspect we'll find it hard to get along
without."
As they returned to the village green, all were deep in thought, wondering
about Faland, quests, and what a strange place they had fallen into.

PART THREE: THE QUEST

CHAPTER NINETEEN

At the Triod market, the partners replenished their supplies and bought
extra canteens. Linda inquired about the road to Oshan, which ran west 350
legons to the coast of the western ocean. "We could cut across," she suggested.
"With my navaid we won't get lost, and Bersuvi, the storekeeper, said the
country is all open. It might save a day's walk."
"It would be good practice," Engar said. "I've a hunch we'll cross a lot of
wilderness before this quest is done."
Linda set a course northwest, into open farm country. The ground was level
and fertile at first, but became rockier and less productive as they drifted
farther west. Occasionally, they passed farms and crossed meandering trails,
but mostly they broke their own path. On the afternoon of the second day, they
rejoined the Oshan road.
"I've never been this far west," Engar said as he peered across the harsh,
sun-baked plain. "We'll soon leave the farm country altogether, and travel will
be more dangerous. Renegades sometimes rob travelers on the outlying roads,
and we'll be entering country where eagens attack people, especially children.
We must stay close together and be especially attentive at night. Moonlight is
returning, which means felven will keep to their lairs, and without the big cats
to deter night travel, renegades will be bolder."
"What are renegades?" Jason asked.
"Mostly ex-Warriors who get bored working and take up thieving."
"Are they all humans?"
"Some are. But natives can be corrupt too. Someday I expect to find Fukar
among their ranks. There are no social programs here and little intervention if
a kid starts to go bad."
"I'd think the Master could stop it if he wanted," Carol said. "Just who is
this so-called Master? Is he real or a god-myth?"
"Probably real enough," Martin said. "But maybe not a person."
"What do you mean?"

"Well, no one has seen the Master. Maybe the Master isn't an individual.
Maybe the Master is an organization. There are forces here we don't
understand and for which there are no counterparts where we came from."
"That's why we're on this quest, isn't it?" Jason asked. "To find out what
makes Faland the way it is."
"Could be, Lad. Could be."
***
The fifth day from Triod, the party arrived at a small inn shaded by the
sparse foliage of a half-dead oaken tree, whose meager branches, lifting blackveined hands into the sun-bleached sky, were visible for miles. Though not
large, the inn had stone walls that rose two stories to a timber roof. A woodplank door bore a faded sign that proclaimed: "Elwind's House of Repose".
After tethering Pecos, the partners entered the welcome cool of a
pleasingly furnished lobby. Through a door near the desk, they looked into a
dining room. Stairs led upward beside the door. In a moment, a comely young
woman entered the nearly deserted lobby. She was slender, with the red-brown
hair of a native, and large, wide-set, dark brown eyes.
"I am Ermille. You look tired and hot; can I offer you refreshments?"
"Is this your inn?" John asked the young lady.
"My father, Elwind, is the owner. I help tend. Do you plan to stay?" She
spoke in a softly melodious voice.
"We could use rest and some information about the country."
"You can rest here. We have rooms to rent, and my father and my brother
can tell you about the area."
"Sounds good," John said.
Ermille swung around and called to a teenage boy who had just entered.
"Penel! Tell Dado we have guests then tend to their burro." Turning to John,
she said, "Follow me, Sir," and led the way up narrow stairs.
Susan, as Provisioner, negotiated for a large room they could share for the
night at a cost of three ralls, then everyone showered and changed their ukelns
before going down to dinner. The food was excellent, cooked and served by
Ermille, though, at half a rall each, it was more expensive than the room. While
eating, they met the inn's only other guest, a farmer named Imal, who was
taking a cart-load of produce to sell in Forod.
"Do you live near here, Imal?" Martin asked.
The farmer sized up his interrogator, then looked warily at John and
Bertha, Warriors of a size he had not seen. The presence of the children,

however, seemed to reassure him.

Finally he smiled. "Yes. Born near here. Two day North."
"Are there many farms nearby?"
"Mine farthest west. Beyond is wildness - renegades."
As Imal warmed to the group, he told them about the road to Oshan, which
he had traveled twice, and warned them about a renegade named Brenard, a
human reputed to be working the road a couple of days farther west with three
or four others. While he spoke, Elwind and Penel joined them at the table.
"I've heard of Brenard," Engar said. "He's got a nasty reputation. Been a
renegade for a long time. The story has it he came to Faland about ten years
ago, and through honorable combat, worked his way up to level five. Then,
about four years ago, he got into a fight with his agent and violated the honor
rules. He was bound into slavery, and while being shipped south to the Kroll
slave lands, he escaped and headed into the wild. Been living as a raider
since."
"Is he likely to attack us?" Carol looked worried.
"I doubt it," Elwind said. "Your group is too strong. He's tough and
ruthless, but he doesn't have enough men to challenge you."
Elwind also told them about a herd of large animals, called biven, that
ranged the open lands farther west and north of the Oshan road. A hunter could
get both hides and meat from them. Neither he nor Imal could provide any
information about Galendrall.
***
West of Elwind's Repose, the road became rocky and rutted. The country
grew drier and afternoon rains less frequent, though the land still supported
extensive areas of grass, now interspersed with patches of thorny scrub. The
general slope was downward to the west, and as the travelers descended, it
became warmer. Washes, mostly dry, cut the road. The deeper were bridged
with stone arches.
Each time the group stopped, Linda found the highest spot and sketched the
countryside, always extending the map she had begun when they left Or'gn.
Water became scarce and sometimes whole days passed before they crossed a
wash containing a shallow, tepid stream. Engar assured them the water, though
it often looked and smelled less than perfect, was safe to drink as long as it
supported life. Pestilence, they need not fear; but some water contained poison,
probably arsenic.
Several days from the inn, the group crossed a wash containing a lively

stream. Lush grass grew along the banks, and a high bluff afforded protection
for a camp. Edible plants grew among the grasses, and they found a large berry
patch nearby.
"We'll stay here a couple of days," Martin announced. "The grass looks
good for Pecos and we need fresh food. We should not be far from the biven
herd Elwind described. Tomorrow we'll send out a hunting party."
"What about Brenard?"
"He would have attacked us by now if he was going to," Engar said.
"Besides, he most likely stays near the farmland where the pickings are
easier."
"John and I'll stay here, with the main party," Martin said. "Engar and
Bertha, along with Linda, will form the hunting party. The land is too rough for
the cart, but the hunters can take Pecos to help carry the meat. Those of us left
here can help Susan collect and prepare herbs and fresh greens to replace
those we've used."
"Can I go with the hunters?" Jason pleaded. "I could help with the burro."
Martin scowled, then noticed the sheep eyes Jason was laying on Linda.
"Are you sure you want to go only to help with Pecos?"
"We could use him," Engar said, laughing. "Bertha and I'll have our hands
full if we find biven, and Jason can free-up Linda to map the terrain."
"All right, I guess we can spare one more," Martin said and chucked Jason
on the shoulder.
The hunters left at first light the following morning. Jason had risen early to
load Pecos with ropes, sacks, and extra canteens and was ready before Bertha
and John finished morning meal.
***
Linda judged them near the southern edge of the biven range, and she led
almost directly north, using the navaid to get a general bearing. She made
frequent notations, detailing the northwest drainage of the small stream on
which they were camped.
In spite of her bulk, Bertha moved with remarkable ease and set the pace
for the party. They soaked up the cool of the morning, reveling in the calm,
clear weather, and were delighted by wild-flowers that created luminous
displays against the darker scrub. Jason trudged behind with Pecos and envied
Linda as she darted from side to side, sometimes well away from the group,
spying out the land from nearby knolls or rises. He was perhaps a quarter
legon behind when he spotted an eagen. The giant bird wheeled against the

shining sky, almost invisible in the intense light. Only the flicker of its motion
had caught his eye, and he was looking at it when it began its stoop. He
glanced to see what it had targeted, and his heart jumped into his throat.
The great bird was directly over Linda, who was sitting on a small hillock
sketching in her pad. The distance was too great for a normal cry, so Jason
raised his head and gave voice to the Kroll war cry he had used to frighten
Fukar.
The sound reached Engar's ears. Turning, he saw Jason silhouetted against
the prairie with his arm extended upward. Engar followed the point and saw
the eagen. He started toward Linda. Bertha, who had also been alerted by
Jason's cry, swept along behind.
Linda, too, recognized the cry and saw Jason pointing up. Rocking
forward, she got to her feet, paper and pencil scattering aside, and began to
run.
Engar nocked an arrow as he charged. The eagen was nearly down when
he released. Without waiting for the first to strike, he nocked a second. The
first arrow sped toward a point a dozen feet above Linda's head, nearly six
hundred feet away. It missed, but the eagen's aim was spoiled, and only one
great talon struck Linda a grazing blow. She tumbled in the grass as the eagen
hit the ground, then sprang toward its victim.
Engar's second arrow struck the great bird's breast and its scream
reverberated across the plain. Together, Engar and Bertha closed on it, and the
eagen backed, its huge wings spread. Engar's bow was drawn, but there was
no need to release another arrow. The eagen clawed at the arrow in its breast,
dislodged it, then with thunderous flapping, labored into the sky.
"Are you all right, child?" Bertha cried as she knelt beside Linda.
The girl was sitting, slightly dazed, in the stubby prairie grass. "I think so,"
she said as her fingers probed the knot on her head where a thin seep of blood
was spreading in her dark hair.
"Honey, that was close. You were almost that vulture's breakfast."
Linda smiled weakly. "Guess I should be more observant."
"I think we'd all better stay closer in the future," Engar said. "If it hadn't
been for Jason, this could've been much worse."
"That's right," Bertha said. She looked around. "Jason?" Jason was
nowhere to be seen. Between herself and Pecos, where last she had seen
Jason, was only empty grassland.
"Jason!" Engar started running toward the burro. When he reached the little

animal he saw a scrap of paper pinned to a sack on its back. He tore it off.
"He's been taken!" Engar's stricken eyes looked into Bertha's as she
lumbered up with Linda.
Bertha took the note and read: "Martin, bring your silver ring and silver
amulet to the mesa - northwest twenty legons - tomorrow morning. Come alone
if you want to see your Song-master again. You are being watched."
Bertha held the note with trembling fingers and read it again. "Who would
do this?"
"Brenard!" Engar's voice shook. "It's my fault."
"How can it be your fault?"
"I shouldn't have gotten so far ahead of Jason, and I shouldn't have let
Linda wander. The eagen was the distraction Brenard was waiting for. He
must've been watching us since we left camp this morning."
"I thought he was back near the farmlands," Linda said. "Maybe it wasn't
Brenard."
"It was Brenard," Engar said, anger blazing in his eyes. "He's probably
been shadowing us for days. He's worked the bush for years and there are few
tricks he doesn't know."
"We've got to get Jason back," Linda cried. "Come on! We have to follow."
Engar shook his head. "There's no way we could catch them." He pointed
into the grass. "They're on horven - probably three or four of them."
Linda looked in dismay. Engar was right. Partially hidden in the dense
grass, the horven prints were clear. They came from a low line of hills a few
hundred yards to the east and trailed into some gullies to the west.
"What are we going to do? Oh, I shouldn't have gone so far to draw my
maps."
"Honey, sniffling isn't going to help," Bertha growled. "That goes for you
too, Engar. Let's get to camp and let Martin know what's going on. We'll all put
our heads together and decide what to do."
The long march to camp was grim and silent. When Engar stood before the
others, recounting what had happened, his face was as gray as clay. "I take full
responsibility," he said. "I underestimated Brenard."
"I knew it!" Carol exploded. "I knew something like this was going to
happen! We should never have started on this insane quest business. We should
have stayed in Or'gn and sold grain or done something sensible."
Martin walked away. Bertha started toward him but faltered. Engar, ashenfaced looked helplessly toward Martin's retreating back. Even John stood

indecisively.
Carol continued to fume until Bertha turned on her. "Honey, button your lip!
If this isn't a fine bunch! What's everyone standing around moping for? We've
got a job to do. We've got a partner in trouble, and we don't have time to waste
on self-pity and recriminations."
"You're right," John said. "We need to get our act together. We've got some
planning to do."
Carol hurried toward Martin. When she drew abreast, he turned toward
her, his face wet with tears. She saw the shock in his eyes.
"It wasn't your fault," she said. "We've got to get him back."
Martin brushed a hand across his brow.
"What are our options? Anybody got any ideas?" Bertha's voice drifted
toward them.
"We should wait for Martin and Carol," Robert said.
"We need ideas, the sooner the better," Bertha said.
Martin turned toward the others, blinking tears out of his eyes. "Bertha's
right," he said.
"We'll give him what he wants," Carol said.
"We can't." Martin shook his head. "We can't give him the silver ring.
We've got to get Jason back some other way."
"Why can't we give him the ring?" Carol demanded. "We can find more
treasure and replace the silver ring, maybe even the silver amulet."
Martin shook his head. "I'd like to. If it was only money, I would. But we
pledged to protect the silver ring, and though I can't explain why, I know that if
we violate our pledge Jason will be in even greater danger. Engar, worse case,
what is Brenard likely to do to Jason?"
"Are we even sure it is Brenard?" John asked. "Are there other
possibilities?"
"Not many," Engar replied. "Brenard is the only renegade reported in this
area and you know how readily information gets around in Faland. If other
renegades were working this area we'd have heard about it at Elwind's. To
answer your question, Martin," Engar's voice was low and grim, "if Brenard
doesn't get what he wants, he'll take the boy south and sell him to the Kroll.
Kroll slaves don't usually fare well."
"If I don't show at the rendezvous in the morning, how long do you think
Brenard will wait?"
"He won't wait," Engar said. "I doubt he expects you to turn over the ring

or the amulet. He's just taking a shot in the dark, but he probably thinks this
will strengthen his reputation for ruthlessness. He'll make a profit selling
Jason, and the gain in reputation will make it easier to extort from others."
"But, what are we going to do?" Linda asked. "Has anybody got a plan?"
Martin saw all eyes turn anxiously toward him. "I have an idea," he said
slowly. "It's dangerous but may be the only chance we have. We're probably
being watched now, so we'll have to wait until dark."
"Are you thinking of tracking Jason at night?" John asked. "Even with
moonlight, it would be difficult to follow a trail."
"I could try," Linda said. "I did night exercises."
Martin shook his head. "We don't need to track him. He told us where he'll
be come morning. I suspect Brenard will hold Jason not far from the
rendezvous. Only I won't wait for morning."
"We'll all go," Bertha said. "We'll make those renegades wish they'd never
heard of us!"
"I'd like nothing better, but with so many we'd likely be spotted. There's
something I haven't told you. During the past weeks I've begun to develop a
bond with each of you. I sense when you're near. I suspect it's another Mentat
power, and it's strongest with Jason. If I get close enough, I'm sure I can find
him. I'll take only Engar with me - Engar and his bow. Two of us can get close,
without being seen, and I guarantee, if we find Jason, we'll get him back."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Early in the evening, when the first stars appeared, Martin and Engar
headed northwest along the creek on which they were camped. Since Brenard
had demanded a rendezvous at a mesa to the northwest, and since the creek
flowed in that direction, they gambled that he was camped near the creek.
There weren't many other sources of water in such arid country.
Martin sent his Mentat spheres up, and from their lofty vantage, searched
for a glint of light that might betray a campfire. He loped rapidly through the
silvery moonlight, Engar beside him, and anxiously watched the stars, using
their movement to gauge the time. After two hours, he slowed to a walk.
"That must be Brenard's mesa," Martin said, pointing toward a dark shape
on the horizon.
"Seems likely. Have you sensed Jason?"
"He's not near," Martin said, his voice full of gloom. "Maybe Brenard
didn't camp near the stream."
"That's bad. He could hold Jason anywhere within twenty or thirty legons
and still be close enough to bring him here in the morning."
Through his Mentat eyes Martin noticed a slight unevenness in the moonglint to the northeast. Was it smoke or illusion? As he pondered, he heard
Engar draw in his breath, then issue an abrupt warning, "Hyen, Martin! To the
right!"
Martin saw a dozen dark forms swarm from a draw.
"Back to back!" Engar commanded.
As Martin grappled his sword from its sheath, he put his back to Engar's
and braced himself. The dark animal forms, squat and ugly, charged, driven
forward by powerful hind legs. Martin glimpsed bright teeth in open jaws, then
the first was on him. He swung his blade and heard a yowl, quickly joined by
another as Engar's sword found its mark.
Leaping, a hyen impaled itself on Martin's blade, its weight carrying him
back and down. Rolling, he drew his legs under the hyen's body and booted it
free. In an instant he was up, cleaving fur and sinew. As quickly as they had
attacked, the hyen backed off and began to circle, searching for an opening.
"They could bottle us up all night," Engar said. "Cover me!"
He dropped his sword, and swung his bow to hand. With lightning speed he

released three times. Three bodies dropped from the circling beasts. Engar
drew again, but the hyen melted into the surround terrain, leaving behind five
dead.
Engar picked up his bloodied sword. "We were lucky. The pack wasn't
large enough to sustain a long attack. I've seen them two hundred strong in the
eastern forest where they sometimes attack for hours."
"Will they be back?"
"Not those." Engar collected his arrows from the fallen hyen. "But there
could be others."
"We've lost time." Martin scanned the stars. "We must find Jason before
sunrise." He began to run, searching with his Mentat eyes for the smudge seen
earlier.
In an hour, Martin slowed.
"Did you spot something?" Engar asked.
"Jason," Martin whispered. "I sense him!"
"Near?"
"Maybe half a dozen legons. This way!" Martin increased his pace to a
sprint. His breath had begun to tear at his throat, and he could hear Engar's
labored breathing beside him when he pulled up. "I've spotted a small
campfire, well shielded, just beyond this ridge." He gestured at a line of rocks.
"Jason is near the fire. He's in pain."
"Brenard?"
"Four men are with Jason - I don't know if one is Brenard - and some
horven. Jason's awake. They've done something to him; he's suffering."
Martin's voice quavered.
"What kind of cover is on the other side of the ridge? How are the men
deployed?"
"There's a clump of trees near the fire, no other cover. They're holding
Jason in the trees. Two men are sleeping by the fire, the other two are about a
hundred yards out, keeping watch. They have a good view of the
surroundings."
"Can we circle them?"
"Too much open ground." Martin flattened and began to worm toward the
top of the ridge.
"They've chosen well," Engar said as they came in sight of the guards.
"They're out of bow range and would see us before we got close. Perhaps we'd
have better luck if we come in from the other side?"

"There's no time," Martin said, scanning the stars. "It's less than an hour to
sunup, and Jason's hurting. I don't know what they've done to him, but I sense
his strength is diminishing. We've got to act quickly."
"I'm game for a frontal assault."
"No." Martin pulled the metallic lump from his Mentat pouch and shaped it
into a thin shield. "Stay here. I'll use my Mentat metal for cover and try to get
into the trees. If I make it, give me five minutes, then create a diversion. I'll
take Jason out the back. If I'm spotted, come running. We'll take 'em head-on."
Engar nodded, and Martin began to squirm down the ridge, using the slight
cover provided by his Mentat metal to make himself invisible. He hoped the
guards would not notice the shimmering patch gliding among the rocks. As he
approached the trees, the sensation of Jason's pain increased and brought an
echoing pain in his own body. The intensity of the feeling was unnerving, and
he was surprised by the effort it took to keep it from clouding his thinking.
He reached the trees and slipped into their sheltering dark. He could see
through the thin screen of trunks to the sleeping men near the campfire. Then he
saw Jason, apparently standing near a tree across the copse. Working quickly,
he formed his Mentat metal into a pellet, tucked it in a belt pouch, and moved
silently through the trees. As he drew nearer Jason, he saw the boy's arms
stretched above his head as though tied to the limb overhead. He felt pain
running from Jason's hands downward and radiating through his body.
Then he saw what Brenard had done. Jason's hands were not tied
overhead; Brenard had nailed them to the tree! Blinding anger brought a snarl
from Martin's throat. He drew his sword.
"No!" The warning shocked him. "Clear your mind!"
Martin shrank. Horath's words, as clear as though shouted in his ear, rang
through his brain. He sank to the ground and grappled the metallic lump from
his belt pouch. Fired by his rage, the Mentat metal burned his hand as he pulled
it free. Leaping, it hurtled toward Jason.
In mid-rush, Martin gripped the metal with his mind, slowing it, then
formed an image of Jason's hands, pinioned with bloody nails, and merged
image and metal. Mind power bent the lump into arches above the hands, the
feet of the arches planted firmly against the wood of the tree limb. As Martin
thought it, the arches shaped into hooks that seized the nails. Driven by the
power of his mind, the metal bulged upward. Like breaking glass, the nails
snapped. Released, Jason slumped to the ground.
A blanketed form by the campfire heard the sharp sound of the breaking

nails and awoke like a tiger. It came off the ground with sword in hand. Martin
saw, and shattered the Mentat metal arches, dashing the fragments into the fire.
A flash, like lightning, lit the night sky. In the glare, Martin saw the dark form
charge and knew it was Brenard.
Yelling like a Faland demon, bow in hand, Engar was hurtling down the
slope when the sleeping renegades threw off their blankets. Skidding, he
dropped to a knee, brought up his bow and released. A renegade spun aside
under the arrow's blow as his partner closed with a shadowy figure at the edge
of the trees. Engar nocked a second arrow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
the out-guards charging toward camp. Swinging, he released his second arrow,
then instantly pulled another from his quiver. The flying arrow centered in the
breast plate of the nearest guard. The remaining renegade veered in time to
escape Engar's third arrow.
Martin met Brenard with drawn sword. The charge drove him against a
tree. He ducked and saw Brenard's sword tear splinters from the wood, then
their blades met, steel on steel. Driven by tightly controlled fury, he pressed
Brenard. But the renegade was skillful, with years of experience, and he fought
with the deviousness of one bound by no rules. In the straight, sword to sword
combat, Martin's Mentat power gave him little advantage, and slowly he began
to falter, relentlessly driven back by the superior technique of his opponent.
Jason, crawling in the brush, sucked air painfully into his lungs. The agony
in his hands dulled his wits, but not enough to make him unaware that someone
had released him. He shook his head, and through his blurred vision,
recognized Martin. He saw his friend in mortal combat with the monster who
had driven nails through his hands. Searching among the leaves, he sought a
stone to throw, but his wounded hands could not grasp it. Lifting his head, in
the extremity of his pain, he gave voice to a cry that shook the ground.
Brenard heard the cry and froze. He spun to meet the new challenge. Too
late, he realized his error and tried to turn back, but Martin's blade, in that
wink of an eye, slipped over the top of his armor and drove cleanly through his
neck. Brenard dropped to his knees, clutching the skewer in his throat. Martin
planted a foot on the renegade's chest and shoved, drawing his blade free. He
shuddered with disgust as Brenard flopped onto his face.
Engar closed with the remaining guard, a massively built native wielding a
battle axe. The axe was too heavy to deflect with a sword, and Engar was
pressed to stay clear of the slashing weapon. The renegade who had fallen near
the campfire, an arrow in his shoulder, recovered and wrenched the shaft free.

Staggering to his feet, he joined his larger companion in battle against Engar.
Seconds later, the third man, whose armor had stopped the arrow that toppled
him, joined the fracas.
The three drove Engar against a low, rocky cliff and closed for the kill.
The axeman raised his great war weapon, then stood trembling. An arrow had
sprouted in his neck. The axe wavered and fell from his nerveless fingers.
Seeing their mighty companion fall, the other renegades made a mad dash for
the horven. Using Brenard's bow, Martin fired a second arrow and dropped
one before he had covered a dozen feet. The other dropped his weapons and
surrendered.
Martin turned and saw Jason stagger from the trees. He reached and the
boy fell into his arms. "I knew you would come," Jason said, blood running
from his pierced hands. It soaked the thin ukeln wrapped around his loins.
Shaking, Martin dug frenwort from his belt and poured it into the wounds. As
his pain lifted, the boy smiled.
"How long were you left like that?" Martin asked, in a low, shocked voice.
"I tried to escape - after we got to camp - but that one," Jason pointed
toward the crumpled body of Brenard, "caught me and stripped me and nailed
my hands to the limb. He said I was lucky; he said when other prisoners tried
to escape he cut off their feet."
Engar bound the captured renegade then examined the two who had fallen.
Neither was fatally wounded. Engar extracted the arrows and treated their
wounds with frenwort and poma. Only Brenard was dead.
Martin bandaged Jason's hands, then found his sirkeln, mokads, and body
armor and helped him dress. He got out cold meat and biscuits, and in spite of
his wounds, Jason began to eat. The boy's resilience astonished Martin. As
though sensing his thoughts, Jason looked up and said, "Heck, compared with
Aids, this is nothing."
Later Martin went to the burned out campfire and knelt by the ashes. He
could find no trace of the metallic lump he had sacrificed in the flames, but he
recovered his Mentat spheres and replaced them in their pouch. He and Engar
removed Brenard's armor and buried his body on a hill well away from the
spring. They gathered up the weapons and loot the renegades had acquired and
loaded it on a horven. Martin lifted Jason to another horven's back, then he and
Engar mounted the remaining two. Leading the renegades, they began the ride
back to camp.
***

"Someone's coming!" Linda sang out.

All morning she had waited on the bluff behind camp, straining to see
across the prairie. It was late afternoon, and the mounted riders were barely
visible on the horizon.
"Weapons, everyone," John bellowed.
"To the north," Linda shouted. "Riders on horses, I mean horven."
She stood with her hand shading her eyes, waiting until the riders came
close enough to identify. "It's them," she yelled. "Jason's riding on a horven."
She darted from the bluff and raced to meet the approaching riders.
"Let's get the food on," Carol said to Bertha. She could not hide the shaking
in her voice.
"I'll do that," Bertha said. "You go meet Martin. He'll be looking for you."
When Martin saw Carol, he slid off the horven.
She folded into his arms. "Is Jason all right? Is everyone all right?"
"Yes." He kissed the top of her head.
The kids danced around the horven and stared in awe at Jason's bloody
arms and face.
Jason, with a cocky smile, said, "No big deal."
Martin and Carol took Jason to the stream and helped him bathe and
unwrap the bandages from his hands. The wounds had closed and he could
work his fingers okay.
Carol had tears in her eyes as she examined the injuries. "Who could do
such a terrible thing?"
"Somebody who's dead," Jason said. "Martin killed him."
Susan's expert culinary skills, assisted by Bertha, soon had a victory meal
ready, and though it was only the middle of the afternoon everyone dug in as
though it had been a week since last they ate. Even the prisoner's were fed after
Carol tended and stitched their wounds.
Then they listened to Jason's story, and he struck terror anew into the hearts
of the prisoners when he produced the cry he had used against Brenard. Later,
when the last light began to fade in the sky, they sat near the fire and planned.
"What will we do with the prisoners?" John asked.
"Take them to the Klett in Oshan," Engar said.
"Klett?"
"The Klett is like a sheriff," Engar said. "Captured renegades generally end
up at the nearest Klett for trial and disposition. I don't know what'll happen to
these, but I assure you the Klett of Oshan already knows what happened

yesterday and this morning. The Master will have seen to that."
"I don't remember a Klett in Or'gn."
"There isn't one. Renegades don't work the farmlands."
"How does the Master keep them out?" Carol asked. "I've never seen any
police."
"Nor have I," said Engar. "But I've heard that the Faland Master sends
special Warriors against renegades who enter the farmlands. Rumor has it
these Warriors dress entirely in black, except for a silver headband bearing a
solitary green emerald. They carry weapons unlike those we have and
resistance against them never succeeds. This may be myth, but something keeps
renegades out of the farmlands."
"It's no myth," a gravelly voice interrupted. "I've seen them."
All eyes turned toward the axeman who had taken an arrow in his side and
was now lying bound hand and foot. "When I was a boy. I saw them in the
farmland southeast of Slavhos where I grew up. Xar'el, a renegade of the time,
tried to raid my father's farm. The Black Warriors arrived almost as quickly as
Xar'el. They carried rods in their hands which they pointed at Xar'el and her
men. They all just folded up. It didn't look like a thing had touched them, but
the Black Warriors gathered them up and rode away. No one ever heard of
them again."
"What's your name?" Susan asked.
"Kelkil."
"Why did you become a renegade?"
"I don't know. It just happened. I've got a nasty temper and one time I broke
the honor rules."
"Others have regained their honor," Engar said.
"I guess I never learned to follow rules."
"Why did you do such a terrible thing to Jason?"
"It's a hard land, little girl," Kelkil growled. "Brenard made it plain what
would happen if your friend was disobedient. A hard reputation makes others
think twice before challenging you. Besides, that story about cutting off
prisoner's feet was a lie. And he was real careful, when he put the spikes
through the boy's hands, not to damage the tendons. The boy would have been
worth two, maybe three hundred ralls in Kroll country, but not if he was
crippled."
"You make me sick," John snarled. "I ought to smash your skull!"
"Brenard never expected to get the ring, did he?" Martin asked.

"Not really. But Brenard always fancied one. Me, I don't think he could've
used it anyway. Story is, the rings can only be used by honorable Warriors."
Kelkil laughed. "And that sure didn't include Brenard."
"Or you," John snapped.
"What's going to happen to you, when you get to Oshan?" Susan asked.
"I don't know. But you needn't worry; you'll never see me again."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The next morning, although low on meat, the partners decided to go on to

Oshan without further delay. They did not want responsibility for their
prisoners any longer than necessary, and many legons yet separated them from
their destination. They had found root and leaf foods and a large number of
berries and melons, enough for several days, so they were in no danger of
running out of food. Packs were light, for the horven carried what could not be
pulled by Pecos, and everyone got a chance to ride part-time on one of the
shaggy beasts.
The riders controlled the horven with bit and reins much like horses. They
had no saddles, only a thin leather and cloth blanket. The animals were easy to
ride, however, as their walking gait was smooth, and they were more tractable
than horses, or so Linda claimed. She was the only one who had experience in
horsemanship and adapted to the big animals with ease.
On the following days, Jason's hands rapidly healed, and by the fourth day
only faint scars remained. As it became evident Jason had suffered no lasting
damage, the enmity felt toward the prisoners lessened and a few even felt
sympathy for them.
"Do we really have to turn them all in?" Susan asked. "I know what
happened to Jason was awful, but the one who did it is dead."
John was not so charitable and spoke with some irritation. "Brenard may
have been the instigator, but Jason told us none of the others protested. They all
had a hand in it and there's little doubt any of them, Kelkil included, would
have done the same had he been in charge. I can't sympathize with anyone who
would tolerate such cruelty."
"It's a moot point anyway," Engar said. "We're honor bound to deliver them
to the Klett if it's within our power to do so."
"Oshan ahead!" Linda sang out. She was riding point and had spotted the
distant palisade. As they neared, they caught their first glimpse of the sea,
glinting in the midday sun, and caught their first smell of saltwater carried on
the slight breeze. To their surprise, they saw a large throng gathered outside the
gate and lining the way for half a legon. The people had their arms raised in a
peculiar, cross-arm salute.
"What's going on?" Martin asked Engar.

"An honor greeting. Brenard must have given these people a lot of trouble,
and they're showing us respect as the ones who abolished the menace."
"How did they know? We've told no one who could have gotten here ahead
of us."
"I warned you it would be so. Someone or something monitored what
happened - monitored but did not interfere - then reported the outcome to the
Master. No doubt the information is now all over Faland. It's disquieting, but
you'll get used to it."
Martin's brow furrowed. He was not sure he would easily get used to such
pervasive and mysterious surveillance. The throng parted to let them pass.
Martin led on foot, with Engar at his side. John, Bertha, and Carol followed,
then the four children, double mounted on horven. The prisoners, the horven
carrying packs, and Pecos brought up the rear. By Faland standards they made
an impressive entourage.
As Martin passed through the gate, a large robustly built native woman
confronted him. She was wearing a saffron robe unlike any he had seen and
was almost as tall as Engar, powerfully muscled, and had an air of authority. A
black headband, bearing in its center a large emerald, held back long, reddish
hair. Two brawny Warriors flanked her.
She spoke in a strong voice. "As Klett of Oshan, I bid you welcome." She
extended her arm for the Warrior's clasp and Martin took it. She then turned to
her companions and spoke again in the same strong voice. "Take the prisoners
to the compound."
Martin's eyes narrowed. "You knew we were bringing prisoners. How did
you find out?"
A slight smile touched the Klett's lips. "Nothing happens in Faland that is
not known to the Master."
While she was speaking, John brought the prisoners forward and turned
them over to the Klett's men. "What about the stolen goods we recovered?" he
asked. "Will you return it to its rightful owners?"
"It's yours, as reward for your services. It's enough that the renegades are
gone. You'll find the people of Oshan grateful."
With that, the crowd surged forward with loud cheering and engulfed the
group, each citizen trying to congratulate the partners simultaneously. The
crowd bustled them through the gate and half-led, half-pushed them to the
village green.
A short vigorous man introduced himself as Falkenfre. "Get back! Give

them room," he shouted.

The throng melted back and the partners saw an enormous banquet set in
the green, with rows of tables and log benches and mountains of food. Escorts
guided them like heros to a place of honor at the head table. The children
danced with excitement, and even Carol smiled. Bertha roared her
appreciation, and when they were seated, dug enthusiastically into a huge
platter of roast biven. They feasted for hours, with people coming up all the
time to express their appreciation and heap their plates with more food.
After the meal a carnival began, with acrobats, jugglers, musicians,
singers, and magicians. It was the first such entertainment any of them had seen,
even Engar. Jason was especially interested in the musicians and their
instruments for Marov had shown him nothing of instrumental music. It
delighted him to discover that Faland music included more than singing. He
listened with pleasure to the varied melodies of a rich assemblage of
percussion, stringed, and wind devices, including a tripartite drum with three
distinct voices, a seven-stringed instrument plucked like a guitar, a stroked,
single-string instrument, soprano and tenor flute, and a huge, slightly curved
tube that, when held between the knees and blown with great force, produced a
thunderous bass.
Before the festivities ended, someone asked Jason to sing, and in spite of
feeling a bit intimidated by the large crowd, he acquitted himself well. Over
the weeks, he had learned to put words to his music and had even composed
some tunes of his own. When he finished, he bowed happily to a storm of
applause.
After the festivities, it was late and stars had long since filled the sky.
Falkenfre took Martin aside and advised him to visit the Hall-of-Records on
the morrow. The group camped on the green after the banquet tables and
benches were cleared away.
In the morning, Martin called a meeting. "As you know, we now own all
that we captured from Brenard and his gang. That includes the four horven, the
weapons, armor, and assorted other supplies, and nearly a thousand ralls. I
propose we sell the weapons, armor, and incidentals we can't use, combine the
proceeds with the captured money, and buy five more horven. It would take all
our money, but we'd all be mounted. Falkenfre assures me he can find us five
fine horven here, so we don't have to return to the farm country to get them.
Horven are very strong and can easily carry even Big John with his gear. We
can carry our extra equipment on the horven with the smaller riders, and Pecos

will continue to come along with the cart."

"Sound's great," Bertha said. "I could do with a little riding for a change."
"As I see no objections, it's a plan," Martin said. "We'll stop by the Hallof-Records this morning and after that see about buying the horven."
Oshan was nearly as large as Or'gn, with pleasant tree-lined streets and a
prosperous populace. Everywhere the partners went, the people smiled and
returned friendly greetings. "Have you noticed," Martin asked Engar," that none
of the Warriors has made a challenge?"
"Perhaps they fear our reputation."
"Seems hardly likely, but they are deferring to us."
The Hall-of-Records, a stone building, was as unimpressive as the one in
Or'gn. They quickly discovered why Falkenfre had sent them; Martin had
advanced to level three Mentat and level four Warrior. Jason, Susan, Bertha,
and Carol had all been promoted to level three in their respective skills.
"Your defeat of Brenard was remarkable," the clerk explained to Martin
when he expressed surprise at his promotion to level four Warrior. "Brenard's
skill was equal to that of a sixth level Warrior. You must have great power to
have overcome him."
"Anger had as much to do with it as skill," Martin growled, then in a softer
voice asked, "Can you tell me how to find Galendrall?"
"The sturk-woman?" The clerk raised a brow. "Some said you might be
seeking her. She lives north, near the coast, in a stone warren carved into the
cliff where sturks nest. Her guards are fiercely protective. I see you have a
bronze ring. That may help you get past them."
Back at camp, they sorted the captured weapons and armor and kept what
they could use, then went to the market to sell the excess. Bertha insisted they
also sell her cart. "It would only slow us," she said. "The horven can carry
what Pecos can't."
Falkenfre helped them find five horven at a price so favorable that, even
after buying the horven and replenishing their supplies, enough money
remained to keep them comfortable for some weeks. Since Oshan lay at the
eastern end of a bay extending inland several legons, the partners rode west
along the bay shore to the open ocean. A breeze drove breakers onto a sandy
beach.
"Oh, it's like California," Carol cried. "I remember." Her face suddenly
flushed and her eyes began to sparkle. "I want to do something, Martin."
Without waiting, she jumped from her horven and began running like a little

girl toward the water. Astonished, Martin dismounted and ran after her. Flocks
of shore birds fluttered up, calling with wild, piercing cries.
"Over here," Carol yelled, scrambling along a rocky outcrop that extended
into the water. "Tide pools!" She knelt and reached toward myriad small
creatures swimming in the clear water. "It's so much like home."
Martin came up beside her. "I didn't know you missed home so much."
"Sometimes I do," she said. "But I haven't forgotten I'd be dead if I'd stayed
there."
"Yes," Martin said.
"And," Carol said. "I . . . I like the people I've met here. It keeps me from
being too homesick." She looked at Martin as she spoke and a faint blush
touched her cheeks.
"I think we all feel that way," Martin said, reaching a hand to gently help
her up.
"Come on," Carol said. "I see the children playing in the surf. Let's join
them." She pulled free and darted away. Martin chased. The sun dropped and
its light, shining through the waves, turned the water blue-gold. Robert and
Susan dashed ahead, their bodies glistening with saltwater. The others had also
come down to sample the sea, and Linda and Jason, mounted on their horven,
sent the shaggy animals galloping through the surf, kicking up showers of spray.
Next morning, the partners left Oshan and struck north along the shore of
the western sea. Late in the afternoon, rain dashed from gray clouds and left the
air sparkling. In the evening, they camped on the beach, and after supper
listened to Jason sing songs of sea and sand, wind and surf. Then he brought
dusky lights to Linda's cheeks by singing of her radiance, and that made
everyone laugh.
The second day, Linda spotted the sturks. Huge, with great wing-spread,
they soared gracefully above towering cliffs. The shore changed from sand to
rock, and the horven picked their way slowly. Martin sent a sphere aloft to
soar with the sturks. Gray granite pressed so close to the sea that there was
little room for a beach and water pounded hard against the stone.
"You'll need to scout inland," Martin told Linda. "We'll wait here." He
motioned Engar to go with Linda as the girl headed her horven up a rocky
slope.
While the scouts were out, the others set loose their horven to graze the
shoreline grass. Martin pushed his Mentat eyes upward, searching for the
warren Oshan's clerk described. He spotted a Warrior high on a column of

rock.
Linda and Engar returned and led the party up a steep wash to a granite
plateau. The ocean, spreading below like a gray sheet, melded into the western
horizon. Northwest, a low hill broke off at the cliff's edge. Martin lost sight of
the Warrior. He nudged his mount upslope to the northwest, wending between
granite slabs and around gnarled shrubs. Sparse grasses grew in stony clefts,
and wild-flowers clustered in pockets of sandy soil.
Martin stopped at a small flat carpeted with gold and white flowers. He
slid from his horven and motioned the others to remain, then continued up the
rocky slope on foot. With his Mentat sphere, he picked out the dark shape of
the Warrior and spotted two others. One stepped forward to meet him.
"Stay, Friend!" The Warrior raised his hand, palm out. "State your
business."
Martin squinted against the lowering sun and could not clearly see his
interrogator. "I'm Martin, come to see Galendrall."
"The Mentat Warrior?"
"I am, and wearing a bronze ring." He showed the ring.
"This way," the Warrior said.
Martin pocketed his Mentat sphere and followed among granite boulders to
a cleverly hidden cleft. A trail descended into the narrow, lantern-lit, passage,
then took them through a maze of underground ways. The Warrior-guide paused
before a door and knocked. A pleasant voice from within bade the guard enter.
Martin stepped through behind the guard and stopped. Before him was a lovely
woman, scarcely older than Susan, dressed in a white gown tied about her
torso and waist with gold braid. Her soft russet hair swept upward and was
bound with purple ribbon. Her high-cheeked, narrow face held large, slightly
almond eyes the color of blue-green sea breaking in the sun. She smiled and the
sea-light in her eyes filled the room.
"Hello, I am Galendrall." She spoke with the voice of a Song-master. "You
seem surprised."
Martin stammered, "You...you're the sturk woman?"
Galendrall laughed. "Did you expect an old hag, weathered by sun and
wind, surrounded by a flock of cackling birds?"
Martin blushed. "I suppose I did."
"Come," Galendrall motioned Martin to an upholstered bench. "Sit beside
me."
The walls of Galendrall's chamber were tapestried in blue, white, and

green, the colors of the sea, and adorned with every artifact of shore and
deeps. The chamber appeared almost as if carved from the sea and might fill at
any moment with ocean water.
"You seek knowledge. Is that not so?"
"Yes," Martin answered. "I understand you know the secret of Blackwater
Cave and perhaps other things as well."
"Blackwater Cave is next in your quest."
"Then you know about the quest. Do you work for the Master?"
Galendrall nodded. "Like you, I am the Master's agent."
"I don't know much about this quest, even why I'm on it, but it seems like
something I have to do."
"It's good you accept it. Have patience. All will become clear in time."
"You're a Mentat?"
"Can't you tell?" She touched his mind lightly, as a mother might touch her
child's face. Behind the touch, Martin sensed power beyond imagining and he
shivered. "What is this quest? Why must I go to Blackwater Cave, and what do
my friends have to do with it?"
"You have a Rune-reader in your party," Galendrall said. "To learn the
secret of Blackwater, you must bring him here."
Martin looked startled. "Robert? Have you a message for him?"
"Call him," Galendrall said. "A task awaits that he alone can perform."
Martin started to rise, but Galendrall motioned him back. "Stay," she said.
"I don't want you to fetch him; I want you to call him."
"I don't understand."
A Mentat globe sprang into being above Martin's head.
"Listen!"
The sphere began to sing, softly, then louder, the music rising and falling in
a varied melody. It sounded like a person singing.
"How are you doing that?" Martin asked.
"You have learned only to take information from your sphere. You must
also learn to give it back. Try. I'll help you."
Martin took a sphere from his pouch, sent it aloft, and heard Galendrall
say, "Clear your mind. Move into the sphere as you moved into the arches
when you rescued Jason."
Martin felt the sphere expand, enclosing him. Suddenly he was wholly in it,
not merely receiving images from it, but mentally occupying its space. The
experience was dizzying and exhilarating.

"Speak," Galendrall said.

Martin felt as though he had no body and no muscles. He felt as light as
thistle. He floated near the ceiling and looked down where his body lay on the
bench beside Galendrall. He tried to form words and saw lights flash and
heard fierce squawking.
He heard Galendrall laugh. "No! Don't use so much force. Form words
gently, just as you think them."
Martin ceased trying to talk and the noise and light stopped. He tried again,
this time producing a few feeble bleats that sounded like a sick goat. He heard
Galendrall laugh, and his dander rose.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't mean to laugh at you, but you do sound funny."
Martin felt like a small child.
"Please try again. It just takes practice."
This time Martin felt Galendrall's guiding power and soon heard his sphere
emit organized sounds. When the sounds became intelligible, Galendrall
stopped and Martin felt himself tumble back into his body.
"I don't understand," he said. "When I was in my sphere, I had no control of
my body. Yet when you were singing in yours, you seemed fully alert in your
body."
"It takes much practice to learn the art of multiple presence. You'll learn it
in time, but for now your task is to bring Robert here."
Martin closed his eyes and went again into the sphere. It was easier this
time, and he felt more relaxed. He guided the sphere out of the room and into
the maze of passages. It took a few minutes to untangle the route, but he made
his way through the warren and into the sunshine outdoors. As he rose above
the cleft, he saw his friends far down the slope. He had never worked a sphere
at such great distance, and as he sought Robert, he felt how tenuous the thread
was that joined his mind to the sphere.
"Robert," Martin's voice came out hardly more than a whisper and the boy
did not hear it. Shifting closer to Robert's ear, he repeated, "Robert!"
"What? Who called me?"
"It's me, Martin."
"Where? I don't see you."
"In front of you, in the bubble."
Robert looked and saw a translucent, nearly invisible bubble, like a soap
film, drifting before his eyes. His eyes widened. "You're in the bubble?"
Carol heard and realized what was happening. "It's Martin's Mentat eye,"

she said. "It's talking!"

"It talked to me!"
"Yes," Martin said. "I'm talking through the Mentat sphere. I want you to
follow me - follow the sphere. Can you do that?"
"I . . . I guess so." He looked quickly at Carol.
"Martin must need a Rune-reader. It's safe, isn't it Martin?"
"Yes," Martin said. "Robert must do something, but I sense no danger."
Robert started up the slope after the bubble. As they neared the cleft,
Martin's voice said, "You'll be in an underground passage. Don't worry. It's
well lit and I'll guide you." The voice was stronger now, and sounded more
natural.
Robert followed through stone passages to an open door. His mouth
dropped when he entered. Galendrall spoke kindly, "Martin, tells me you're his
friend."
"Yes . . . yes I am."
"Will you help him find the secret of Blackwater Cave?"
"Of course. We all will," Robert said. "I mean, yes Ma'am. I will."
"Good. Then you must learn the notes of a song."
"Oh, Ma'am," Robert said. "I think there's a mistake. I'm a Rune-reader.
Jason's our Song-master."
"There's been no mistake, Robert. The notes of this song can only be
learned by a Rune-reader. You must catch the notes, then teach them to Jason so
he can sing them."
"Catch the notes?"
"From the Drune-master in the game of the yellow shuttle."
"Yellow--"
Robert was interrupted by a short, powerful Warrior. "You summoned me,
Mistress?"
"Hu'ga, take Rune-reader Robert to the game room," Galendrall said.
Hu'ga bowed, his face expressionless, and motioned Robert to accompany
him. Robert looked to Martin, but Martin said nothing. With his heart thumping
in his throat, he followed Hu'ga.
This is weird.
In a small, modestly appointed chamber, a low pedestal supported a
polished stone table. An elderly native woman, in a white gown, was sitting on
a red cushion atop a round stool. Hu'ga escorted Robert to a stool opposite and
motioned him to sit.

"I'm Hel'kuf," the woman said, "and you're Robert, Rune-reader to the
Mentat Warrior. Look closely at the game pattern and read the instructions
carefully. When you're ready, we will begin."
Robert's brow furrowed. "Is this a test?"
"Read and your questions will be answered."
I'll take that as a yes, Robert thought. He studied the granite surface,
polished as smooth as glass, marked by a grid of intersecting perpendicular
lines, seven running in each direction. A colored square, alternating yellow
with red, green, or blue, occupied each of the forty-nine intersections. On the
lower left square on his side, Robert saw a small yellow pellet, a moveable
game piece apparently, sized to cover the yellow square upon which it rested.
Just below the grid, he saw six small circular areas: four yellow, one black,
the last white. Each yellow circle had a black arrow in its center pointed in
one of the four cardinal directions.
Robert translated a series of runes below the array and arrived at a cryptic
message:
Color digit, blue, green, red;
Number pitch, digits three.
Column volume, left to right;
Row sustain, bottom up.
See repeat, reply in kind;
Perimeter stop, wait for more.
Robert read it several times, grateful he had asked Jason how Faland's
musical notation worked for it seemed the message must refer to that notation.
Apparently, he was reading instructions for playing a game from which a song
could somehow be derived. Tentatively, he touched an arrow button and was
startled by a brief tone. Centered in the moveable yellow game piece, a dark
arrow suddenly appeared that matched the arrow he had touched. Robert
glanced at Hel'kuf, but she seemed not to notice. In rapid succession, he
touched each arrow and saw the arrow in the pellet change to match the one
most recently touched.
He touched the white button and nearly jumped out of his skin when the
pellet abruptly slid away from him, in the direction indicated by the arrow on
its surface. In a moment, it reached the far side of the grid and a double tone
sounded. Then it shuttled back to its initial position and the arrow on its
surface vanished.
Robert glanced at Hel'kuf. Her eyes were on him, but she neither spoke nor

changed expression. Using the arrows and the white button, he soon learned
how to make the yellow shuttle traverse any path he chose over the grid. He
noticed the shuttle always stayed on the grid, but its speed could be increased
by repeatedly pressing the white button and it could be slowed, even stopped,
by pressing the black button. He also learned the arrow buttons worked only
when the shuttle was at an intersection. Then the shuttle moved in the direction
most recently pressed. When he tried to direct the shuttle off the grid, the
double tone sounded, and it immediately returned to the start position.
The shuttle's path must somehow describe musical notes, Robert
reasoned.
He studied the rune message again. "Color digit, blue, green, red."
Could the colors represent numbers? Perhaps blue, green, and red stand
for the three digits of a trinary numbering system?
"Number pitch, digits three."
Maybe that means a three digit trinary number represents pitch.
He could indicate such a number by moving the shuttle, in sequence, over
each of the appropriately colored squares. If the digits were in the implied
order, blue would be zero, green one, and red two. The number 'one' would be
represented by blue, blue, and green, the equivalent of 001.
The idea intrigued Robert and he forgot about Hel'kuf as he became
absorbed working out the details of his scheme. The highest three digit number,
red, red, and red, Robert quickly calculated would represent twenty-six. When
he recalled Jason telling him the Song-master's scale contained twenty-six
notes, his heart leaped. It made sense! Blue, blue, and blue would represent a
null.
"Column volume" could tell how loud to sing the note, and "row sustain"
how long to hold it. The rest of the message might tell how to mark off the
notes.
He took out his pad and pencil.
"Are you ready to begin?" Hel'kuf asked.
"I think I know what the runes mean, but I'm not sure how the game is
played."
"I'll go first."
The image of the six buttons on Robert's side faded. An identical row of
buttons appeared on Hel'kuf's side. A numerical zero appeared near the right
hand corner on Robert's side. Hel'kuf placed her fingers on her buttons and sent
the shuttle on a leisurely journey across the board. Robert followed the pattern

easily and noted key points on his pad.

When Hel'kuf finished, the shuttle was on her side, in Robert's upper right
hand corner. The buttons had reappeared near Robert's hands.
"Is it my turn?" he asked.
Hel'kuf nodded.
"What do I do?"
"You must decide," Hel'kuf told him.
Robert looked at the rune message again. "See repeat, reply in kind." He
felt sweat on his brow. He put his fingers on his buttons and repeated the
pattern he had just seen, only in reverse since the shuttle was opposite the
position it had been on Hel'kuf's side. The shuttle responded, then
automatically returned to Hel'kuf's side. The zero near his right hand changed
to a one and a zero appeared near Hel'kuf's right hand, but the buttons remained
on his side.
My turn must not be over. I must have done something right, but what do
I do now?
Robert studied, then following the scheme he had deduced, translated
Hel'kuf's pattern - the one he had just repeated - into the rune for a musical
note. He assumed he must now supply a note of his own, but he knew little of
music.
He decided on the note next above Hel'kuf's. He kept volume and sustain
the same. When he completed the pattern, the buttons switched again to
Hel'kuf's side. She deftly repeated his pattern, and her zero changed to a one.
She promptly began a new pattern.
For several minutes, the turns switched from side to side. The only change
was the speed with which Hel'kuf moved the shuttle. Soon, the shuttle was
moving so quickly Robert had trouble following it and began to miss part of
the pattern. Then it dawned on him: the object of the game is to produce a
pattern so quickly your opponent can't repeat it.
He picked up his tempo, but Hel'kuf never missed.
Finally, when Hel'kuf's turn came, she sent the shuttle around the perimeter
of the board and parked it in her own left corner. "Game!" she announced.
Robert glanced at his number and was dismayed to find he had only
fourteen, while Hel'kuf had a score of thirty.
"It's now your challenge," Hel'kuf said.
"Are we to play another game?" Robert asked.
"You begin this time."

Good grief.
Wearily Robert began to move the shuttle. This game went much like the
first. Robert better understood what to do, but he was tired and Hel'kuf began
her responses at a faster pace than in the first game. He was hard pressed to
catch the notes, and when the game ended was shocked to find he had scored
only eleven against Hel'kuf's thirty, worse than the first game.
Hel'kuf saw his dismay. "Don't worry," she told him kindly. "You did
exceptionally well. Your Song-master will need two songs. They are contained
in the first twelve notes I gave you in each of the two games we played. You
were wise to write them down. You caught eleven notes of the first song, and
ten of the second. If your Song-master is clever, he'll fill in the missing notes
from context."
As Hel'kuf spoke, Hu'ga entered the chamber. Robert felt relieved, though
disappointed he had not caught all the notes. When Hu'ga returned him to
Galendrall's chamber, Robert found Martin and the young woman deep in
conversation.
"Do you know what's in Blackwater Cave?" Martin was asking.
"I know it's dangerous," Galendrall replied, then saw Robert. Her face lit
with a smile. "You did well, Friend Robert!" Her voice was filled with
gladness and she rose and hugged the startled boy. Robert's face went pink.
To cover his embarrassment, he said, "I heard you talking. Does
Blackwater Cave have treasure?"
"Perhaps," Galendrall said. "Do you know about weyrings?"
"Engar mentioned them. He wasn't sure they existed or how to get one,
though."
"They exist," Galendrall said. "The only place to get one is beyond the
Lake of Darkness in Blackwater Cave. That's why you must go there, for you
cannot complete your quest without a weyring."
"You said Blackwater Cave is dangerous," Martin said. "What kind of
danger?"
"Danger comes in many forms. You'll recognize it when it comes. You'll
face many dangers on your quest."
"You knew about this quest before we did," Martin said. "Don't we have
any say in the matter?"
"It's why you were brought to Faland," Galendrall said simply.
"Then we really were kidnaped," Robert exclaimed. "Like Jason said all
along."

"In a manner of speaking," Galendrall said.

"Did I die before I came here?" Robert asked. "I mean, it's okay if I did. I
like being here."
Galendrall smiled. "Take joy in your life and don't question too much."
"How did we get here?" Martin asked. "I like to understand what's going
on."
"You must have patience. You grow stronger every day and in time will
find your answers." Galendrall smiled. "Would you like some refreshment?"
"I am getting a bit thirsty," Martin said. "How about you, Robert?"
"I can always drink," he said, then added hopefully, "and eat."
Galendrall summoned Hu'ga and ordered meat, bread, and drog.
"I can tell you a little," she said as they ate, drank, and settled more
comfortably into the plush cushions. "The demons, as you discovered, are
mechanisms. They were made to guard the dark ways during the demon wars
when Mordat fought the evil genius, Darc'un, for control of Faland. Few
survived the war. The Master was one and set up the protected zone and
spread his influence over the adjoining lands. Only the southern Kroll lands,
the northern desert, and the blank lands remain outside the Master's reach."
"Who is the Master?" Martin asked.
"Some say he is Mordat, still alive. They say Darc'un still holds power in
Faland and forces it to remain a peasant world in spite of the Master. Legend
says a Mentat Warrior will one day challenge Darc'un, break his power, and
free Faland." Galendrall smiled mischievously. "That is why people are so
interested in you, Martin."
"I find it hard to think of myself as a liberator," Martin said. "Besides
legends are only legends, and you don't sound convinced of their truth
yourself."
"I don't know the whole of things," Galendrall admitted. "But you are a
Mentat Warrior, the first ever, and you are on a quest."
"Where does Mentat power come from?"
"From the Mentat who wields it, of course."
"I'm not so sure. The Mentat spheres and metal seem to have very odd
properties."
"That reminds me." Galendrall rose and crossed to a chest that stood
against the wall. "I have something for you." She removed a small box from the
chest and returned to Martin. From the box she took a pouch and emptied its
contents into Martin's hand.

"Mentat metal!"
"To replace what you lost. You've learned it's expendable, but I warn you,
it's not readily replaceable. Spend it wisely."
The lump felt heavier than the one he had previously owned. "Thank you,"
Martin said. "It's a generous gift."
"North of here is a badlands of dry gullies, mesas, and sparse vegetation.
High atop one mesa is the ruin of a great fort. Hidden within the ruin is a cache
of bronze amulets. Worn with lithan armor, these amulets will protect against
great cold."
"What is lithan armor, anyway?" Robert asked. "And where can we get it?"
"Riven Armorers developed lithan during the demon wars. It's the strongest
substance in Faland and armor made from it protects against more than mere
slings and arrows. The Weapon-maker of Riven, south of Fariver, knows its
secret."
Martin started to ask more, but Galendrall cut him off. "We've talked
enough. It's time you returned to your friends."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The group returned to Oshan, stopping often to romp in the surf. From
Oshan, they began the long trek back to the farmlands. Linda delighted in her
horven and named it Perry after her pet dog from the Other World. It made
scouting pure pleasure, and she often persuaded Bertha to ride with her. With
Brenard gone, renegades posed no danger, and the prairie hyen did not run in
packs large enough to threaten mounted Warriors.
Bertha became an expert rider, though her weight made it impossible to
outrun Linda in impromptu races. During one of these races, Linda, riding in
the lead, suddenly shouted, "Biven! Dead ahead!"
The two pulled up to watch the huge horned animals.
"Marvelous!" Bertha exclaimed. "We can get a two month's supply of meat
from one of them!"
"Oh, Bertha," Linda cried. "Is that all you see? Just a two month's supply of
meat? They're beautiful. Look at them move. They're like you, big but
graceful."
"They are rather good looking."
"You're right, though," Linda said. "A hunt would be fun, and we could use
the meat."
They camped that afternoon on the stream from which the ill-fated hunt that
had led to Jason's capture had started. But with no reports of renegades it
seemed safe enough.
"All who want, may go on the hunt," Martin announced. "We stocked up on
staples at Oshan and need mostly meat. We can collect the few fresh greens we
need in an hour or two."
"Someone should stay in camp," Engar advised. "Outside the farmlands,
petty thieves often work the roads. An opportunist might take advantage of an
unguarded camp and make off with what they can carry."
"I'll stay," Martin volunteered. "I could use some quiet time."
"I'd like to stay, too," Carol said. "Hunting doesn't excite me."
Linda led, with Bertha at her side. They did not take Pecos because the
horven could carry the meat should they bring down a biven and the burro
would only slow them. Linda recognized the place where the eagen had
attacked her and pointed it out to Susan.

"This is where you were captured?" Robert asked Jason.

Jason showed where the renegades had come from the hills. "I was trying
to get to Linda. They took me by surprise. Brenard stuffed a gag in my mouth
and tied me over Kelkil's horven. They carried me down the draw to the west."
Jason patted his horven's mane. "You know, this is Kelkil's horven. I'll bet he
never thought I'd be riding it a couple of weeks later."
"Show me where you were held prisoner and where Engar and Martin
fought Brenard and his gang."
"Maybe it's not such a good idea; we've other business today. Let's catch
up. I don't think Engar wants us to lag."
Linda picked up the biven trail and the hunters rode swiftly northeast. It
was barely noon when they spotted the herd, about fifty strong, in a shallow
valley between low, rocky hills. The huge beasts were grazing in good grass.
"None of us are experienced buffalo hunters," Engar said. "Don't take
unnecessary risks. You kids, stay clear. Your hummers won't do much good
against these guys."
"How do you want to work it?" John asked. "It's too open to sneak up."
"Our best chance is to cut one out of the herd, then ride it down and put in
as many arrows as it takes."
"Like old west Indians," Bertha said. "I like it!"
"Let's do it!" Engar put his horven into a gallop with Bertha and John
behind. The kids watched wistfully from high ground.
The herd spotted the riders while they were still some two hundred yards
away. With remarkable speed, the shaggy animals began running toward the
lower end of the valley. They topped the low hills to the north before Engar
drew abreast. He picked a husky straggler to divert. John and Bertha, heavier
on their mounts, were not yet at the herd.
"Come on," Linda nudged her horven. "They'll soon be out of sight." The
kids galloped after the fleeing herd, charging upslope through a settling dust
cloud. Short of the crest, Susan's horven lurched, and she found herself clawing
air. She somersaulted into a thorn bush.
"Susan's down," Jason yelled.
Linda did not hear and continued while Jason reined back. Robert heard
Jason's call and pulled up hard. He and Jason arrived as Susan crawled out of
the thorn bush.
"Are you all right?" Robert slid from his mount and scrambled to Susan's
side.

"Damn it, no!" Susan snapped, spitting twigs and pulling thorns out of her
elbow. Her face and legs were streaked with blood, but she was more mad
than hurt.
"Dancer," she yelled.
Her horven was running away to the northwest.
Jason had remained mounted and set off in pursuit. As he topped the crest,
he spotted Linda and signaled her to help. The horven took them away from the
hunt, through a series of dry rocky gulches, and around the flank of a stony
prominence. As they galloped over a small hill, Jason's heart suddenly
fluttered. Below him was a familiar copse of trees. He reined back.
"What's wrong?" Linda called, pulling up.
Jason sat without speaking.
Then Linda looked into the valley where Susan's horven had pulled up in a
grove of small trees. "Down there? That's where they held you captive?"
"Yes. Brenard nailed me to a tree in that grove. Martin buried him on the
hill." Jason pointed toward the remnants of a shallow grave. Nudging his
horven, he started slowly down the slope. Linda followed silently. They came
upon Susan's horven, standing docilely after its brisk run.
"Where did they do it?" Linda asked.
Jason slid from his mount and walked toward the trees. He found the spot
where his feet had brushed the ground while he hung from the limb. The
overhead branch seemed smaller than he remembered. Gently he brushed his
fingers over the nail holes still surrounded by the dark stains of his blood. He
held out his hands and looked at the small round scars on his palms.
Linda had tears in her eyes. "It was awful, wasn't it?"
Susan and Robert had arrived and were watching. Jason mounted and rode
up the slope. No one said anything more, and the children followed the dust
cloud raised by the biven and soon found the hunters, ranged around a young
bull. The animal was quick and the riders unpracticed. A dozen arrows
protruded from the huge animal's flank, which served only to enrage it. Bertha
rode close, trying to batter the bull to the ground with her mace, but her horven
had better sense and stayed clear of the slashing horns. Engar had spotted a
small rocky gulch, and with much shouting and arm waving, signaled his
companions to drive the biven into it. The wounded animal, charging first one
way then another, kept all three at bay.
The children watched in amazement as the three mighty Warriors churned
haplessly around the wounded animal. Finally, Engar got in front of the beast

and enticed it to charge. He galloped into the gulch, the biven on his heels, then
clattered up the opposite end. Bottled in the gulch, the animal was impossible
to approach and none of the hunters had more arrows. John slid from his
horven, drew his brodsrd, and marched into the gulch. The biven charged, and
John raised his brodsrd overhead. He stood stock still until an instant before
impact, then brought the great blade down, cleaving the huge bull's skull.
Hanging onto the brodsrd, he was driven back ten yards before the animal fell
heavily.
"Damn it, John! I thought we weren't going to take unnecessary risks,"
Engar shouted.
"So, what was unnecessary?" John said. "I didn't see you making much
progress." Then he laughed uproariously. "I wonder what level we rate as
biven hunters?"
The kids rode up.
"I think you guys better stick to small game," Jason crooned.
"Oh, shut up!" Bertha brushed black hair from her sweaty forehead. "We
got the damned thing, didn't we?"
Susan took charge of butchering. She'd never rendered a biven, but during
her training she had practiced on a smaller devon. Under her tutelage, the
hunters soon had the hide off and the huge animal reduced to a heap of bloody
chunks. They wrapped the flesh in sacks and packed the horven. John estimated
they had more than half a ton of meat. They left the offal for scavengers and
headed for camp.
"Stoke the fires," Martin shouted to Carol when he spotted the returning
hunters. "They've got meat."
Martin and Carol had already collected wood and laid the fires; it was
only necessary to bring them to full heat to begin cooking. They had also
collected greens, berries, melons, and roots, and had begun preparations for
supper. Huge slabs of biven were soon spitted and roasting while other meat
was cut in strips and hung to dry over the fires.
When the meat was ready, they gorged on roast biven until forced to loosen
their sirkelns. Later they lounged near the fire and laughed as the children
recounted the spectacle of the hunt. They told stories and sang songs until far
into the moonless night. When they finally tired, they lit lamps against the
felven, banked their fire, and rolled into their blankets.
For two days, the partners rested by the stream while they smoked and
dried biven meat. Bertha stretched and scraped the hide; later she said they

could sell it in Forod or Or'gn or tan it and make coats and boots. She
fashioned a crude ball from a small piece of hide, and a rough-and-tumble
game of soccer was soon underway, pitting the men against the women, then the
children against the adults. It was uncertain who won, but everyone had a good
time.
Mornings, Engar put everyone through their paces with weapons they had
not specialized in, and Martin spent time each day with Jason practicing the
songs Robert had won from Hel'kuf. Martin had begun to fancy someday
qualifying as a Song-master though Jason was not worried he would soon be
upstaged.
Linda learned healing from Carol. Susan and Robert learned scouting from
Linda. As Engar often said, "Having multiple abilities doesn't hurt as long as
you don't neglect your primary skill."
When they broke camp, the remainder of the trip to Forod was leisurely.
They made camp by mid-afternoon most days so they could continue to sharpen
their skills and play or explore. Carol and Susan gathered plants, some
medicinal, others that made good condiments. Bertha fashioned chisels and
practiced wood carving. She crafted an elegant soprano flute, patterned after
one Jason showed her in Oshan, and presented it to him the night they reached
Elwind's Repose.
"It's beautiful," Jason said, his eyes shining, and throwing his arms around
Bertha declared, "I love you."
"Enough of this," Bertha said, practically crushing him in a return hug.
After supper in Elwind's dining room, Jason tried a few notes on the flute,
but not having practiced a musical instrument, found the results less than
felicitous and quickly put it aside in favor of singing. Penel accompanied him
with a single-string 'fiddle' that he stroked with a thin wooden shaft.
"I saw one like it in Oshan," Jason said. "What's it called?"
"A barstrin," Penel replied. "It's mostly a toy."
"Sounds like a musical saw," John said, chuckling. "Not fancy, but fun."
"Are you going to be a Song-master?" Jason asked Penel.
"No. I plan to go to Or'gn and train to be a Warrior like you. I'd go now, but
Dado won't let me. He says I'm too young, but I'm not. I'm older than you."
"Enough," Elwind said. "Jason is an Other Worlder. He has to be a
Warrior; you don't. When you're sixteen you can study war. Until then, you're an
innkeeper."
"It'll only be a few months," Penel said, his eyes shining.

"It's time we turn in," Engar said. "We must be up early." With that, there
was a general stirring, and the partners headed upstairs to their rooms.
***
In the farmland east of the inn, where no significant hazards existed, Linda
and Jason rode many legons ahead or to the side of the main party. Linda
increased her understanding of the country while Jason practiced his flute.
Sometimes Susan and Robert accompanied them but often dropped off when
they spotted some unusual plant, animal, or insect.
One day, Susan found a wild bee tree. John smoked the bees out and Bertha
chopped an opening into the nest. Susan and Bertha rode to Forod, a day and a
half, to buy jars to carry the honey. It was a great treat because they had found
no sweets, other than fruits, since coming to Faland.
A few days after the bee tree, Linda estimated they were no more than a
day from Or'gn. She rode north with Jason and found a large oaken tree and
climbed it. "I was right!" She balanced on a limb far above the ground and
pointed. Jason glimpsed a low, grass-covered mound.
"Blackwater Cave," Linda said.
"Let's tell the others. We could camp there tonight," Jason said.
Linda scrambled down. "I'll race you!" She leaped onto her mount. Though
not bred to be sprinters, horven could gallop for hours, and the children let
them have their heads. Wearing only sirkelns, it was deliriously joyful to ride
full out in the sun with the wind against their bare skin and their long hair
streaming behind.
The group reached the dome by sundown and Linda scouted a nearby
spring where they camped. Next morning, when dawn brightened the sky
enough to deter felven, Jason awakened the camp with the sound of his flute.
He sat on a knoll above the spring and played a tune that blended with the
songs of birds gathered around him.
"Come and get it!" Susan's voice rang out. Everyone hurried to a sumptuous
meal of kurduc that Bertha avowed was the equal of Mithral's and Tisha's. Sun
had scarcely dried the dew when a familiar figure appeared on the hill above
the spring.
"Trenel!"
Robert ran to meet the boy, now dressed in a thin leather sirkeln. He
seemed quite grown up. The two boys clasped arms and hugged, then Robert
picked up Trenel and twirled him around.
"See!" Trenel held up the hummer Robert had given him. Its blade showed

the patina of use. He flicked it, like a wink of light, into a nearby fallen branch.
"Wow!" Robert's eyes showed his delight. "You're good!"
Trenel's face glowed.
"You have horven now!" Trenel pointed with excitement at the animals
grazing nearby.
"Yes! I'll show you!" Robert took the boy by the arm and boosted him to the
back of one shaggy animal. "This one's mine. I call him Windrunner."
"You have good adventure, find much treasure?"
"Good adventure," Robert agreed. "Some treasure. Come! There's kurduc
left. Stay and have breakfast with us."
After morning meal, Engar led to the dome and showed everyone the huge
metal doors set deep into one side of the grassy mound. "The only marking on
the door is a small depression." Engar pointed. "It isn't a keyhole and pressing,
prodding, and rubbing have no effect."
"Try the songs, Jason," Robert said. "Hel'kuf said two songs are needed."
"I have to guess at some notes," Jason said. "I've come up with two
possibilities for the first song, and three for the second."
"Try them all."
Jason began singing, running through his proposed compositions,
alternating the songs in all combinations, forward and reverse. Nothing
happened. Jason frowned , then shrugged and began improvising new
variations.
Trenel grew restless and tugged Robert's hand. "Come, see."
"Not now. We're working."
"I show. Please." He pulled Robert's arm and gestured toward the dome.
"Special place."
Robert whispered to Susan, "Come with me. Trenel wants to show me
something."
Trenel raced off. Robert and Susan ran to keep up as the small boy led
them around the grassy mound to a small gash, thickly overgrown with bushes.
He disappeared into the brush. Robert pushed between a tangle of roots and
stems and found Trenel squatting in a tiny alcove. At its head was a metal plate
that looked like a miniature version of the door where Jason was singing.
Runes were inscribed on the plate.
"Secret place," Trenel said proudly.
"What's in there?" Susan called from outside.
"You come." Trenel reached to help her through the thick growth.

Robert recognized an inscription for a single Faland musical note. Below

the note a series of runes read, "Note on note at the gate of the silver ring."
"What's that mean?" Susan asked..
"Trenel, you're a genius! Let's get back to the others." Robert wriggled out
of the gash. In minutes the party was gathered at the alcove. Jason wiggled
inside with Robert and studied the note inscribed on the plate. "Note on note?
That's what it says?"
"That and, 'At the gate of the silver ring,'" Robert affirmed.
"This is the first note of the second song you got from Hel'kuf. Maybe it
means I'm supposed to sing the song here."
Jason sang his three variations, but to no avail.
Then Robert shouted, "Engar! I've got an idea. Take the silver ring to the
big door. The songs and the ring may work together."
"Sounds like it's worth a try," Engar said and hurried to the main door
where he placed the silver ring in the small depression. He signaled ready and
Jason again sang his songs. The great door did not yield.
"There are two songs," Robert said, "but only one note here. Maybe there's
another place for the second song."
"Good thinking," Martin said. "Trenel, do you know any other place like
this around the dome?"
Trenel shook his head. "No."
Martin said, "Let's do a little exploring."
"I see something," Linda said when they had circled half the dome. "The
grass is thinner here." She looked at a strip of rocky ground. "The rocks are
tumbled together, like there might've been a ditch here."
"Maybe it's caved in."
They only had one shovel so Carol and Susan rode into Odetn to buy more
while the others took turns excavating the suspect area. John and Bertha used
poles cut from small trees to pry out huge boulders.
Carol and Susan returned with shovels and picks, pulleys, and rope. By
evening, Susan's hunch paid off and they uncovered a second metal plate. The
next day they completed clearing the rubble. The second plate, like the first,
bore a single musical note above a series of runes.
"It's the first note of the first song," Jason said.
"The message is the same," Robert said. "Note on note, at the gate of the
silver ring."
"Maybe the songs have to be sung together. That's what 'note on note'

means, and I'll bet they have to be sung at the main gate with the silver ring in
place."
"How can you sing two songs at once?"
"I can't, but two people can. Martin, do you think you can sing one of the
songs?."
"I can try," Martin said.
"Good," Jason said, then added ingenuously, "You've been working at it a
while; you may be good enough to do it."
"Fair praise from a master," Martin said.
Jason blushed. "I only meant--"
"I know what you meant. Which song would you like me to sing?"
"The first," Jason answered instantly. "It's the easiest." He blushed again.
"What I mean is, it's got the lowest notes."
"Let's get on with it," Engar said.
At the main gate, he placed his ring in the small depression.
Jason stepped forward. "We'll start with the first variation. Are you ready,
Martin?"
Martin nodded, and after a couple of false starts, they brought both songs
into synchrony. The result was remarkable. When the two voices blended, the
sound was unlike anything they had heard before, a marvelous double-trill that
seemed to make the ground vibrate.
"It's working!"
The great iron gate slid slowly and majestically aside creating a gaping
hole into a dark cavern.
"Robert, bring the silver amulet," Martin said and started through the
opening.
"The amulet's cool," Robert said as he stepped through the entry into a
dimly lit, empty room. Bertha and Linda lit lamps and studied the smooth inner
walls.
"Runes," John called. "High on the wall." He boosted Robert.
"Another song," Robert said. "Only three notes and runes that say, 'Sing to
open, sing to close.'"
Robert copied the notes and showed them to Jason.
"Perhaps a toggle," Engar suggested.
"To what?"
"Shall I try it?" Jason asked.
"That's what we're here for."

As the song's echo died, the great outer door began to slide shut.
"We're being closed in," John hollered.
"Everybody out," Engar yelled. "Before the door closes!"
They tumbled through seconds before the door slammed shut.
"Is everyone here!"
"Where's Jason?" Martin yelled.
"Still inside," Susan cried, "with Linda!"
"Without Jason, we can't open the door!"
As they spoke, the door began to slide open again. Jason stood coolly
inside with Linda, holding a lamp at his side. "It's a toggle, remember?" he
said. "The song that closes it also opens it."
Engar laughed. "Boy's right."
"There's more," Jason said. "When the outer door closes, an inner door
opens. When the outside door is open the inner door is closed, and when the
inner is open the outer is closed. Neat arrangement, like a spaceship airlock."
"Only the door in here is a lot smaller," Linda said. "And a bad smell
comes when it's open."
"Let's check it out," Engar said.
Jason sang the key-song and the outer door slid shut. A small opening
appeared, as though by magic, in the wall opposite.
"The silver amulet's getting warm," Robert said.
Malodorous air wafted from the black opening, and everyone shivered, the
hairs on the back of their necks stiffening.
"Sing the song again, Jason, quickly."
Jason sang and the inner door shut as silently as it had opened. The outer
door rumbled open.
"I don't like the feel of that place," Carol said, shuddering.
Bertha said, "We'll need preparation before we go into that foul pit."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Susan arranged with Trenel's father to board the horven and Pecos, then
distributed to each person a share of oil, lamps, flints, ropes, tools, food, and
other sundries, sufficient to stay underground several days if necessary. The
partners left their extra supplies unguarded in camp, knowing there were no
thieves in the farmlands.
People from Odetn, Or'gn, and nearby farms gathered to see what was
going on. They were friendly and merely curious, but Martin felt it unwise to
make entry to the caverns too easy. When it came time to open the outer door,
John and Bertha kept the onlookers far enough away to assure no Song-masters
would overhear the tunes.
Inside, with her light held high, Linda stepped across the threshold into the
inner passage. Robert felt his amulet warm, and everyone's nose wrinkled at
the smell. The passage bore straight into the mound, then opened into a circular
room even larger than the outer chamber. Footsteps echoed in the vast
emptiness.
"Why, there's nothing here," Bertha said. "It's empty."
"There are doorways in the walls."
Six wide passages, spaced equally around the great chamber, led into
wedge-shaped rooms, each comprising roughly one sixth of a circle. Clearly
these six rooms, together with the central chamber, filled most of the dome.
The outer antechamber was merely a minor addition that provided entry to the
greater complex.
Each wedge-room was of great size, but like the central chamber,
completely empty. They had no openings other than that to the central chamber.
The air was dank and foul but the rooms were free of debris or encrustation.
"Hey, here's something different," Linda said as they followed their initial
cursory look with a more careful examination. "An iron floor-grating. It's the
only one I've noticed."
"What a stink!" Carol knelt near the grating and peered downward.
Bertha held a lamp.
"I can't see through," Carol said.
"Looks to be nearly solid iron," Bertha said.
"My silver amulet gets warmer near the grating," Robert said. "And it gets

brighter."
"Demons!" Jason said. "Must be some in there!"
Bertha said, "The grating appears to be held in place by weight alone."
"Doesn't need a lock," Engar said. "It must weigh close to two thousand
pounds if it's solid iron."
"Let me give a look." John tugged at a heavy iron ring attached to one
corner. "No hinges. I think these iron rings at each corner raise and lower it."
"We can bring in timbers and build a trestle. With a block and tackle we
might raise it," Bertha said.
John grinned. "Why don't you and I give it a try first? Maybe we can lift
one end and slide it off."
Bertha laughed. "You love to work those big muscles of yours, don't you,
John?"
"Come on," John said, "grab a ring. We can't do worse than fail. You need
some real exercise for a change."
Bertha took the ring next to John. They heaved, and to Bertha's surprise,
felt the iron slab yield.
"Pull!" John grunted.
Screeching loudly, the plate slid free.
"Weapons ready," Engar barked.
John stood, his grin widening. "Easier than building a trestle, wouldn't you
say, Bertha?"
Bertha, blowing to recover her wind, said, "I think you just did that to spoil
my chance to show off my engineering skills."
Swords drawn, Martin and Engar peered downward into darkness. Dimly
illuminated by their lantern light, some sixty feet down, they saw an opening.
Otherwise the shaft was a smooth bore. Martin sent a Mentat sphere down to
the lateral opening.
"No gate," he said. "But a groove around the edge might have
accommodated a cover."
John dug a rawhide cord from his pack and lowered a lamp. At the limit of
the cord, roughly a hundred fifty feet, he still saw no bottom.
"We could drop an em," Linda said, "and time how long it takes to hit."
"Good idea," Engar said. "We'll assume Faland's gravity is about the same
as Earth's."
Linda took a silver coin from her belt pouch and let it fall. Everyone
listened until a faint sound, possibly a splash, echoed up the shaft.

"Ten seconds, about sixteen hundred feet," Engar said.

"Wow. That means we aren't going to get to the bottom of this thing," John
said. "We can reach the side opening, though."
"By rope? Seems awfully risky."
"We can tie a line to the iron cover and use it as an anchor."
"My silver amulet's glowing," Robert reminded them. "Bet we'll find
demons in that side passage."
"We need to get enough people down to back one another up," Engar said.
"Don't look at me," Bertha said. "I'm not dangling over that pit and neither
are these kids. But I think I know how to build a platform and wedge it below
the side tunnel. We'll need timbers and rope. With a ladder to the platform,
we'd have easy and safe access."
"This a chance to prove your engineering skills?" John asked.
Martin retrieved his Mentat sphere. "Bertha's right. We can get timbers and
rope outside. Seems worth the effort to me."
Outside, they found Trenel and the sightseers had left. John and Engar
retrieved the timbers used earlier to clear rocks from the song-lock. Bertha
directed construction of a rope ladder and assembled tools and fasteners. In an
hour they were back at the vertical shaft, ready to begin construction.
Bertha first lowered a thin pole, and manipulating it with lines tied to each
end, measured the diameter of the shaft at the side entrance. She then cut four
stout poles which, when lowered into place, lodged securely at the base of the
side opening, one end in the encircling groove, the other wedged firmly against
the main shaft wall. She unfurled the rope ladder and secured it to the rings in
the iron plate.
"This'll hold even you, John," she said.
"Question is, will it hold you?" John chortled.
"Watch it, Honey!" Bertha swung her legs over the edge and descended as
agilely as a squirrel. "Lower the rest of the timbers," she shouted.
When the platform was in place, Martin and Robert joined Bertha. Robert
scrambled into the side passage, holding a lamp and his silver amulet. In the
eerie light he peered along a jagged bore hacked through solid rock. Martin
sent a Mentat sphere into the tunnel.
"My silver amulet's getting warmer," Robert said. "Brighter too."
Martin bent and shuffled into the passage. "It's going to be a tight fit. I want
everyone to keep close, adults paired with kids. Engar, bring up the rear."
Martin pushed his Mentat eye in front and kept his sword in hand. Hunching

along in the low ceilinged passage was slow work, especially for the larger
adults. The tunnel curved right and sloped downward, then ended in a drop.
Martin looked down fifteen feet into a larger horizontal tunnel. Robert lowered
a lamp. With his Mentat eye, Martin saw that the lower passage was wet and
heavily crusted with fungus.
"My amulet's still warm," Robert said. "But it hasn't gotten hotter or
brighter since we started."
Martin swung his body over the lip, clung briefly by his hands, then
dropped. He sent his sphere to the limit and detected nothing menacing.
Moments later, John appeared above. "I hope we don't have a lot of low
passages. My knees won't take much more of this."
"We'll leave a rope fastened here to help with the return," Engar said as he
squeezed alongside John. Bertha wrestled a strip of metal from her pack and
passed it to John, who drove it into a crack in the rock. Engar secured a length
of rope and dropped into the lower shaft. The others followed.
"Yuck." Susan brushed against the slime on the tunnel wall and found it
clung like glue. "I've seen this stinking stuff before. Kefaln showed me some in
a jar. It's called slumgut, and he used it to grease the stove hinges." She shook
her fingers, spattering off slimy gunk.
"Watch it! You're getting it on me," Linda yelled. Her foot slipped and she
sprawled in the muck. "This is disgusting!"
"Settle down," Bertha said.
"We're all getting slimed," Jason said. "No big deal; it'll wash off."
Martin and Robert led. Foul water, dripping from above, streaked their
bodies with black sludge. The shaft descended treacherous stone steps.
"Cavern ahead," Martin said as his Mentat eye moved into a large dark
space.
Robert cried, "My amulet's getting warmer."
The tunnel ended at the edge of an abyss. Their lantern light was
swallowed by the yawning black, and the silver amulet began to radiate an
eerie blue.
"I see light-glint below," Martin said. "Looks like water."
"Black water," John said. "I'd say we're in the right place."
"There's no way down."
"We've enough rope to lower ourselves," Martin said. "Bertha, have you
got something to weight a line with? Maybe we can plumb the water - get a
sense of its depth."

Bertha tied an iron strap to a line and John fastened it to his brodsrd. At the
limit of his reach, he lowered it. "Water's shallow," he said when he felt the
weight strike bottom. He drew it up and found the line wet and slimy along its
lower three feet.
"Maybe we can wade across, or find a passage along the cliff."
"There might be demons in the water!" Susan exclaimed. "I don't want to
wade in that stuff."
"Why does the tunnel end here?" Carol asked. "It doesn't make sense."
"Maybe it linked this cavern with the dome," Martin said. "Apparently it
wasn't finished. The main tunnel ends where we dropped from the upper,
smaller passage. The upper passage might have been dug later to finish the
connection."
"You think there's another way out?"
"Maybe, but no telling if it's still open. It seems likely whoever built this
had a way to get across this chasm, maybe a bridge or causeway."
John said. "I say we drop down and check out the water. Wading may be
our only option."
Bertha fished a metal spike from her pack and anchored a rope at the lip of
the chasm. John backed over the edge and worked his way down, hand over
hand. Martin kept watch with his Mentat eye.
A glint caught John's eye, and he worked his feet against the rock. "I have
to swing a bit to check something out," he shouted up as he nudged into a gentle
oscillation, increasing the sweep until he could get a look at the sparkle in his
lamp light. Reaching, he caught hold of a rod extending from the wall. With a
leg looped securely in the rope, he freed a hand to pull up the lamp.
"What have we here?" he murmured. "Looks like a rune plate. Send Robert
down. I'm no good at reading these things."
Engar tied a line around Robert's waist and the boy went eagerly over the
edge. He slid down John's rope and rested on the big man's shoulders. "Look's
interesting." He squinted. "Something about the water. Something's in it, but I'm
not sure what."
"Demons?" John asked.
Robert fished a pad from his belt and copied. "Longest echo, long breath,
maze, raise finger, return, spark of light".
"Maybe something has been poured in the water, some kind of poison,"
John suggested.
"Maybe," Robert said slowly, still copying. "I don't see the symbol for

poison, but part of the message says, 'Beware the water in the water.' Could be
poison."
"Let's climb out of here. Maybe the others will have some ideas."
"Runes always talk in riddles," Carol complained. "What does longest
echo mean? Echoes last as long as the noise you make. Or does it mean how
many echoes? Every time someone shouts in here the whole place echoes
repeatedly."
"Could be a distance marker," Engar said. "Longest might mean how long
after a sound is made before its echo is heard. In principle, we could map the
size and shape of this chamber by analyzing echoes."
"Like bats," Jason said. "Marov taught me to do that, only I didn't know
why. She taught me to make sharp, high noises and from the echoes tell how far
away things are. Trouble is, I'm not very accurate."
"You don't have to be for our purposes," Engar said. "If my hunch is right,
we need only locate the most distant part of the chamber. That, I believe, is
what 'longest echo' in the message is telling us."
"And maybe 'longest breath' means we have to dive!" Robert cried. "After
that we have to look for something in a maze."
Jason began to chirp weirdly.
Susan giggled. "You sound like a cricket."
Jason quickly discovered the chamber was oblong and they were near one
end."To the left," he said, "it's farthest to a wall."
"If we're going to wade," John said, "it would be good to have some idea
what 'water in the water' means."
"I'd be happier if we had a boat," Carol grumbled.
"Hey, that's a great idea," Bertha said. "We've got canvas ground cloths and
we've got sacks. We can make inflatable floats."
"Out of canvas and sacks?"
"Sure. The canvas is water resistant. When it's wet, water resistant cloth
holds air. The only trick will be making air-tight seams. Get out the cloth;
we've got work to do!"
They gathered the lamps in a circle, and Bertha soon had everyone working
with their sewing kits remaking canvas ground cloths into inflatable boats.
They fashioned each craft from two squares sewed together with double
seams. Bertha sewed a small cloth tube, to admit air, in each, then stitched the
center together so each float would contain a roughly circular depression.
It took hours. When done, Bertha eyed the floats critically. "They should

float a quarter ton each, maybe more, but I've no idea for how long."
"What if we oil the seams," Carol said. "We have extra lamp oil."
"Brilliant," Bertha said "It'll give us the insurance we need."
Fatigue and hunger caught up, and Susan portioned out cold meat and
biscuits. Then they curled up in their newly inflated rafts for a few hours sleep.
In spite of the worrisome glow from Robert's amulet, they slept well and
awakened eager to get on. It took only minutes to lower the rafts onto the lake,
where they bobbed like corks until weighted with their occupants and gear.
Bertha and John each had a raft alone, while Jason shared with Martin and
Robert with Engar. Carol, Susan, and Linda crewed the last. They propped
lamps among the gear, and the five bobbing lights created an eerie impression
in the cavern's gloom.
Using pack slats as oars, they rowed slowly, gratified to find the oiled
canvas held air well. Beyond the cliff base, they lost sight of the walls, and
Jason chirped periodically to provide direction. It felt as if they were floating
in a great black hole of infinite dimension, where only the rafts and their
occupants were visible.
"Bottom's gone," Bertha announced. She had continued to plumb and the
hundred foot line suddenly played out. "Good thing we didn't wade."
"What's that?" Linda pointed to a small red light.
"My Mentat sphere," Martin replied. "I'm learning how to make it shine."
A dark cliff loomed.
"Water's shallow again," Bertha said. "Bottom's about ten feet down."
Using his sphere, Martin discovered a metal bar embedded in the stone
wall a few hundred feet away. It extended from below the water to more than a
dozen feet above.
"A marker?" Carol asked.
Inspection revealed no runes or mechanisms associated with the artifact.
Martin tried to move his Mentat eye into the water to examine the underwater
portion, but the buoyant force was too great. Experimentally, he collapsed the
sphere and felt it drop through the water. Quickly he expanded it, hoping to
catch a glimpse before it rose, but it shot so rapidly to the surface he could see
nothing.
"Apparently, I can't use the sphere underwater," he said.
"The lamps should provide enough light for a diver to see a little," Engar
said. "I'm willing to take a look."
"What about the silver amulet, Robert? Does it glow underwater?"

Robert pulled the cord over his head and dangled the amulet in the water.
Light flared, and he jerked it back. "Wow! The water must really be
dangerous!"
"Or maybe water just makes the glow look stronger," John said.
"I don't think so," Robert said. "Look at the steam coming off the amulet. It
got a lot hotter in the water."
"Let's try something," Bertha said. She scooped a cup of water from the
lake. "Put the amulet in the cup."
Robert did. This time there was no flare-up and the amulet did not get
hotter.
"Odd," Robert mused. "It doesn't work in the cup."
"The water doesn't make it get hot," John said.
"Nor anything dissolved in the water," Carol added.
"Maybe something lives in the water," Jason said. "Something dangerous."
"A demon fish!"
"A sea serpent!"
"It hasn't attacked our rafts," Susan said. "Maybe it's something small."
"Or doesn't like the surface."
"The water's clear," Bertha said as she peered into the cup. "Let's tie the
amulet on the plumb line and see if it gives off enough light to see what's
below."
When Bertha lowered the amulet, it brightened and made visible even the
bottom of the lake.
"There's a tunnel," Linda exclaimed. "See it, against the cliff - a dark patch
in the rocks?"
"That might explain 'long breath,'" Robert said. "Maybe we have to swim
through the tunnel, and it takes a long breath to do it!"
"Oh, Lord," Carol muttered. "You're thinking of swimming down there with
a demon fish, or sea serpent, or something else lurking in the tunnel?"
"I've got an idea, Bertha," Martin said. "Row close to the mouth of the
tunnel." He maneuvered his own craft near Bertha's. "Swing the amulet into the
tunnel."
As Bertha did, Martin dropped a collapsed Mentat sphere into the water.
When it hit bottom, he expanded it and shoved it hard into the underwater
passage. It shot upward, but struck the tunnel ceiling and stopped.
Martin lay back and let his mind go entirely into the sphere, as Galendrall
had taught him. His vision filled with murky, dimly lit images. "The tunnel is an

extension of the larger passage we walked through. Maybe the lake wasn't
always here." He rolled smoothly along the tunnel ceiling. Abruptly, he felt a
strong sense of motion. Panic almost caused him to retreat from the sphere,
then he realized the motion was the sphere rising to the surface. He had rolled
out the far end of the tunnel into another chamber. In the sphere's slight light, he
saw a rock shelf jutting a few inches above the water. Mind-lifting the sphere
into the air, he explored the circular opening exiting the underwater tunnel.
Smaller tunnels, above water, led away from the rock shelf. He moved toward
one and was struck by intense pressure. He felt his body go rigid as pain drove
him out of his Mentat eye. Darkness flooded his mind.
***
"Martin! Martin!"
Small hands gripped his shoulders, and Martin opened his eyes. Jason's
anxious face peered down at him.
"What happened?"
"Are you all right?"
"I've lost the sphere," Martin said, astonished at the emptiness he felt. "I
was forced out."
"Never mind the sphere. Are you okay?" Carol's voice buzzed in his ear.
"We saw you fall, as if having a seizure."
"You were out cold," Bertha said.
"I was ambushed," Martin said, sitting and holding his head.. "A Mentat
took my sphere. I've got to get it back."
"Not now," Carol said. "You're in no condition to take another hit like you
just did."
Martin groped with his mind, hoping the sphere had collapsed and was
lying underwater at the far end of the tunnel. His efforts proved futile, and
briefly he considered sending the other sphere, then decided against it. "I'm
going to swim across," he said.
"Don't be stupid," Carol said. "You've no idea what's over there."
"Carol's right," Engar said. "You don't know if you can handle the Mentat
over there."
"I have to take the chance. I wasn't hurt - not seriously. I just wasn't
prepared for a Mentat. I should've been. Horath warned me of stronger forces
than he showed me."
"If it's above water on the other side, I can go with you," John said. "You
don't have to face this thing alone. How far is it?"

"Not far," Martin said. "An easy swim, but I might be the only one who can
get past the Mentat guard."
"Yeah, you might get yourself killed," Carol said "I don't want you to go."
There was real alarm in her voice.
"I'm going with you," John said. "I may not be much help against a Mentat,
but I can watch your back. There may be other enemies as well."
"Let's go back," Carol said, "and forget this whole crazy business."
"I can't," Martin said. "I feel I must see this quest through. No one else has
to, though. I don't want anyone getting hurt, especially not the kids."
"I'm going," Jason said in a fiercely determined voice. "This isn't just your
quest. It's mine, too. Boro as good as said so. You can't order me to go back.
You didn't bring me to Faland."
"If the kids go, I go," Bertha said. "Jason's right; this is a joint venture.
Without us, Martin, you would not have gotten this far. Jason sang the key
songs, Robert read the runes, and John's muscle got us into the first tunnel. And
I don''t think I'm being immodest when I say these rafts we're sitting in owe a
bit to my skills. We're all needed, Carol too, whether she likes it or not."
"I think it's stupid, but I didn't say I wouldn't go," Carol said.
"I'll lead," Martin said. "If I can't get past the Mentat, neither can you. We'll
keep our armor on and take our weapons. The weight will keep us down and
allow us to walk along the bottom. A few kicks should take us to the top at the
other end."
"What about light?"
"The lamps are waterproof when folded," Engar said. "We'll leave a
couple burning and take the rest with us. The amulet will give us enough light
to get through the tunnel, and we'll light a lamp on the other side. Look to your
emergency supplies and get ready."
Martin glanced at the others. The children's eyes were shining with
excitement, but nobody looked scared. He had to admit he felt pretty excited
himself. "The passage is wide. I want Robert up front with John and me.
Bertha, you watch our rear. Everybody pay attention to your partners. Engar
and Jason can look out for each other. If anyone gets in trouble, prod the guy
next and pass the word. We'll beat it back here if we have to."
Bertha fashioned a rope loop and tied it to the bar above the tunnel. She
anchored the rafts to it, then propped two lighted lamps among the packs and
extra supplies. Martin slipped over the edge, with John and Robert beside him.
Robert retrieved his amulet and held it high. Martin expanded his second

Mentat eye and rolled it ahead along the roof of the tunnel.
Moving was like waltzing in slow motion. Even so, they covered the fifty
feet in less than thirty seconds and scarcely felt the lack of air. Martin lunged
upward first, caught the lip of the stone ledge, and hauled himself from the
water. He expelled his pent breath. When the others were clear of the water, he
sent his Mentat sphere toward the opening where he had encountered the
Mentat resistence. Wrenching force hit him the instant his sphere reached the
threshold, but this time he was ready and kept control. A shower of fiery
arrows streaked out of the darkness.
"The arrows are Mentat controlled," Martin yelled. His sphere wobbled as
he deflected arrows.
Someone yelped. More arrows flashed into the chamber, and Martin could
not track them all. He heard Engar yell, "Get back! Give Martin room!"
In full control now, he saw Engar draw his sword and flail at the darting
arrows. He saw a fiery shaft protruding from Bertha's armor and heard her
curse as she burned her hands trying to dislodge the searing bolt. A storm of
arrows swirled in all directions. Martin concentrated on the one in Bertha's
side, mentally grabbed it and pulled it to himself. Then he plunged his Mentat
sphere into the well, collapsed it and left it. Focused wholly on the arrows, he
snatched half a dozen in fewer blinks of an eye. Melding the arrows together,
he wove a fine net of Mentat metal and fused it across the tunnel entrance. No
more arrows came through.
Engar and John tucked the children between them, shielding them against
the remaining arrows. Engar struck down two and Jason snapped one in half
with his tagan. Another burned a streak across Susan's shoulder while John
swept three aside with the flat of his brodsrd. The flurry of arrows subsided as
Martin scavenged them and poured their material into the net.
Martin sensed a shift in focus as a loud whine built in the Mentat cave. A
serrated disk spun wildly against the net, shredding through it like a circular
saw ripping through cobwebs. The disk whined toward Martin, and he mindclosed on it. The blade bucked, trying to keep him from gaining a solid hold.
He felt himself slipping.
"Clear your mind!" Horath's words echoed.
Martin closed his eyes and tried to enter the disk.
"No!"
Martin backed off, shaken, then his mind flashed to the net. With startling
insight, he saw what he must do. He ripped down the net, reformed its metal

into a shaft, and rammed it hard against the hub of the disk. Before his Mentat
enemy could respond, he welded the shaft to the disk, then grabbed the shaft
physically with his hands and dashed the blade against the rocks. It shattered
into a shower of fine droplets.
"Well done!" Horath's voice boomed in Martin's head.
Mentat pressure ceased and a series of brilliant, glowing runes appeared
over the entrance to the passage from which it had come.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"Black Water Cave: Beware the Water in the Water," Robert intoned, his
face glowing red in the light of the runes.
"Oh, Lord," Carol said. "We aren't even there yet."
Martin recovered his Mentat spheres. The first he found lying outside the
cave where he had encountered the Mentat force, the second at the bottom of
the well where he had sent it during the fight. He also recovered more Mentat
metal than he had yet owned. He felt quite pleased. "Is everyone all right?" he
asked. "What about you, Bertha? When I pulled the arrow from your armor, I
couldn't tell how far it had penetrated."
"So you're the one who pulled it out," Bertha said. "I thank you for that. It
burned like hell-fire but I'm fine now. Carol took care of it with frenwort; the
wound is hardly more than a scratch."
Carol said, "She was lucky and so were the rest of us."
"That was quite a display," John said. "Those red hot flying pokers were
tricky to hit, but it was a blast!"
"You guys did good," Martin said. "Horath told me only a handful of
Warriors are fast enough to down a Mentat arrow."
"Hey, look! My amulet has stopped glowing." With all the excitement,
Robert had just noticed. "It's still warm, though, so there must still be danger."
"We'd better move on," Engar said. "We're burning oil, and we don't want
to get caught in here without light."
Martin moved out, his Mentat eyes aloft, John and Robert still at his side.
Shortly the passage divided into three.
"Which way?"
"The passages divide repeatedly past this point," Martin said. "I can see
ahead a little with my Mentat eyes."
"This must be the maze mentioned in the runes," Robert said. "We've got to
find a way through it."
"Looks like a job for our Scout," Bertha said.
"Well, I can't decide the right path," Linda said. "But I can keep track of
where we've been so we can find our way back."
"We'll try the center," Martin said.
Linda marked the first intersection and began to construct a map. The path

quickly divided into a tangle of branching routes, all sloping gently downward
into slime-choked water. Soon they were wading knee deep.
"This stuff really stinks," Susan said. "It's worse than the first tunnel."
"My amulet's getting brighter," Robert said.
Bertha scooped up a cup of the fluid. "Black as ink," she said. "I think
we've definitely found Blackwater Cave."
Linda grew anxious as she mapped myriad twists, loops, and intersections.
Her paper markers became soggy and her note pad got wet, making it
impossible to write. It got harder to find places to secure her limp markers.
She became coated with sticky black goo. Even John, who towered above
everyone else, got covered with the foul slime. He took pity on the girls and
lifted them to his broad shoulders. The maze continued to branch, and suddenly
Linda spotted a marker she had previously placed. "We're going in circles!"
she cried. "My notes have washed off. I think I put out two more flags after
this, but I'm not sure."
"What are we looking for?" Carol asked.
"A finger," Martin said.
"A finger?"
"Yes," Robert said. "A finger we can raise - maybe like a lever or a latch."
"Yeowch!" Jason yelped. "Something bit me!"
"It's a snake," Susan cried.
"I've been bit too," Engar called.
"And me," Bertha howled.
"They're all over the place!"
The water suddenly boiled with slithering reptiles. They struck viciously,
hitting exposed flesh and attaching themselves like leeches.
Martin swung Jason to his shoulders. The boy's legs were festooned with
blood-sucking serpents. Engar grabbed Robert and they plunged ahead, sending
up showers of muck and snakes.
"The water's getting deeper," Carol screamed.
"To the right! To the right!" Linda shrieked.
They plunged through serpent-filled sludge to a rock ledge Linda had
spotted. John dumped the girls onto the rock, than hauled himself up. His lower
body was swarming with snakes, and he tore them off, hurling them back into
the sludge.
Engar and Martin reached the ledge, then Bertha and Carol. They cursed
and yelled as they tore blood-suckers from their bodies. Their skin was

smeared with blood from dozens of small wounds. Carol worked with poma
and frenwort.
"It's my fault," Robert said, crying. "I forgot the symbol for snakes. It's the
same as for water. 'Water in the water' really means, 'Snakes in the water'."
John put his hand on Robert's shoulder. "It's not your fault, Lad. You
couldn't know which meaning was intended. Besides, we couldn't have done
anything about it even if we had known."
"We might not have gone on," Robert sobbed. "Now, how are we ever
going to get back?"
"Robert's question is a good one," Martin admitted. "We can't survive long
in the water with the snakes. We'll lose too much blood."
"I've found another tunnel," Linda called. She had been exploring along the
ledge while the adults tended their wounds. "It's dry."
The travelers followed Linda into a water-free room, then a collective
gasp rose from their throats. At the far end, gleaming in their lamp light, a giant
golden statue stood on a platform. Surrounding it were dozens of golden icons,
glittering as though lit with a hundred fires.
"Treasure!" Bertha breathed. "We've found the mother of all treasure!"
"There must be a hundred gold icons," Linda cried.
"Thousands of ralls worth," Engar said.
"Look! The finger!" Robert pointed to the golden statue's arm, held aloft, its
fist knotted, its index finger extended.
"It's not pointed up, though," Robert said. "It should point upward."
"I expect you're right," John said and swept Robert to his shoulders. He
carried him to the statue and boosted him high enough to grab the arm and
shinny to the fist.
With his legs wrapped around the arm, Robert grasped the finger. His thin
muscles knotted as he forced the huge golden finger slowly upward. With an
audible click, it locked in place. "Noting's happening," Robert said after a
moment..
"What did you expect?" Carol asked. "A hole to open in the roof and we'd
all fly away?"
Robert slid to John's shoulders. "Maybe lifting the finger caused something
to happen elsewhere?"
"Maybe," Martin said. "Anyway, we've raised the finger, and we need to
find a way out of here."
"The way out is the way we came in," Linda said.

"Back to the snakes." Bertha shuddered.

"I have an idea how to get by the snakes," Martin said. "Can you find the
way back, Linda?"
"I know the way through the snakes," Linda said. "It's harder after that."
"Okay, we'll go that far," Martin said. "Linda and I and Bertha will go first.
Linda will ride on Bertha's shoulders. I'll build a Mentat metal net around us,
like the net I used against the arrows. I'll come back for the others, one or two
at a time."
"The lamps float," Carol said. "We only need one here. You can anchor the
others along the way to leave a lighted path."
Bertha outfitted the lamps with cords and anchor pins. When they were
ready, Martin shaped a cylindrical net, open at each end, and positioned it like
a skirt around himself and Bertha.
"I can carry Susan as well as Linda," Bertha said. "Might save a trip later."
They dropped into the sludge. Snakes swarmed around, held back by the
net. Martin flicked off those that tried to slither over the top.
"Straight ahead," Linda said. "I see the marker I placed just before the
snakes attacked us."
Susan floated a lamp and anchored it. "The snakes are going with us," she
said. "We have to go farther."
Twice Linda, guided by instinct, found her way where markers had come
loose and drifted away. Slowly, they left the snakes behind. Martin did not stop
until Susan had set all the lamps out.
"I'm afraid you'll have to wait in this sewer while I get the others," Martin
told Bertha.
Bertha said, "At least I can keep the girls above the water."
Following the lamps, Martin traveled more swiftly. He ferried John, with
Robert and Jason as passengers, and made a third trip to bring out Engar and
Carol. Engar retrieved the lamps as they passed them.
The remainder of the trip was a weary slog. Linda led with unerring
accuracy. Robert's amulet had lost its glow so could not light them through the
underwater tunnel, but when they dropped into the water, they spotted the shine
from the lamps left on the rafts. Fatigue and loss of blood had reduced
everyone to somnolence. Nevertheless, they set out at once to paddle across
the lake, in deep silence broken only by the slap, slap of their paddles and the
occasional chirp as Jason sounded the chamber walls.
Across the cavern, they saw no sign of the rope they had left behind when

they climbed down from the high tunnel. They paddled all along the dark cliff,
but even Linda could not recognize any part of the great black wall.
"Our oil reserve is getting low," Susan said, squinting at her lantern's oil
indicator.
"We'd better keep fewer lamps burning," Engar said. "Tie the rafts together.
We can get by with only one light."
"Something's not right," Carol said. "We've been the length of the cavern
and haven't found where we entered."
"Someone took our rope," Martin said. "It's too dark to spot the tunnel from
down here. Even my Mentat vision can't pick it out."
"This must be another test," Robert said.
"We're too tired to think straight now," Engar said. "Let's eat and get a few
hours sleep."
"What about the oil? How short are we?"
"If we burn only one lamp, we've enough for a day," Susan said.
"My amulet is cold," Robert said. "Maybe it's safe to turn off all the lamps
while we're resting. Felven don't live in lakes, do they?"
"No," Engar said. "Your idea is good. We'll post a guard to monitor the
amulet, and if it gets warm, the guard can wake us."
Bertha hammered an anchor into the cavern wall, and they tethered the
boats. With the lamps out, the darkness was absolute. Those who shared a raft
clung nervously to their companions, but after a time the gentle rocking lulled
them, and those not on guard slept.
Martin saw lights shifting slowly across his line of sight. The silver
amulet, pressed in his palm, remained cool. He decided he was seeing
phosgenes, illusions created by his mind as his eyes tried to find structure in
the darkness, and did not wake the others.
Engar's watch was last, and when he judged his hour up, he lit a lamp and
awakened the others. "Did any of you see anything?" he asked while Susan
broke out meat and biscuits for a brief breakfast.
Robert said. "Some lights but I didn't think they were real."
"I saw lights too," Linda said.
Robert looked thoughtful. "They seemed to dive into the water to my left,
and when I turned to the right I didn't see them."
"Now that you mention it," Bertha said. "I saw lights in one direction, but
not when I turned my head. Like Robert, I didn't think they were real, but now I
wonder."

Carol said, "Illusory lights often appear in total darkness, but they ought to
be visible no matter in which direction you're looking. I didn't see anything."
Martin said, "Maybe we ought to take another look, together this time."
Engar snuffed the light.
"To my left," Jason shouted.
"I see something - very faint," Robert said. "When I turn my head, it
disappears."
"Are we all looking in the same direction?" Martin asked.
"Linda and I are," Susan said.
"Let's row toward the lights."
Bertha pulled the anchor and a few moments of paddling took them along
the wall until small points of light appeared directly overhead, cascading
downward slowly like drifting sparks. Some even fell in the boats, then
winked out leaving nothing behind.
"It's weird!"
"Beautiful!"
"What are they, and where are they coming from?"
Engar lit a lamp.
"I see a reflection above," Robert sang out. "It's the rune plate! The tunnel
entrance must be above us!"
"It is," Martin affirmed. "I've found it with a Mentat eye."
"We can't climb up without the rope. It's slick as glass with all the slime."
"Look in the water," Susan said. "I see lights in the water!"
"They weren't here before," Engar said. "What do they tell us?"
"They tell us we're going to get wet again," John said. "I see the outline of
a bore opening below my boat. It goes straight down."
"That wasn't here before, either," Bertha said. "We would've found it when
we plumbed the area."
"The finger," Robert cried. "When I raised it, this tunnel must have
opened!"
"Probably turned the guide lights on too."
"I'll dive," Linda said. "Hang lamps near the surface and I can go down and
see how deep the tunnel goes."
"No need. We'll measure it," Bertha said. She dug out her plumb line and
played it out between her fingers. "Forty feet - pretty deep."
Linda said, "I can dive that far. Somebody's got to see what's down there,
and I'm the best swimmer."

Martin lowered his face beneath the surface. He raised his head and shook
water from his hair. "There's light enough to see the tunnel but not far into it."
Robert dipped his amulet in the water. "It isn't glowing and hasn't been
warm at all."
"Fasten a line to Linda," John suggested. "With a safety line we can
minimize the risk. It's obvious we have to explore this tunnel, and like she
says, she is our best swimmer."
"We can't climb the cliff," Engar said. "We better hope there's a horizontal
connection to that bore and that it leads to another way out."
Martin used Mentat metal to make a holder for an expanded sphere. He
buckled the holder, with the sphere, to Linda's belt. "If you get in trouble, press
it," Martin told her. "I'll sense the pressure, and we'll pull you back."
Linda went over the side and kicked straight down, guided by the lights.
Through the Mentat eye, Martin watched the bottom slip beneath as Linda
reached depth and entered a side tunnel lighted with tiny firefly-luminescences.
Linda's line pulled taut at its limit. She reversed and stroked back, with
barely enough air in her lungs to make it. She broke surface, gasping, and clung
to Bertha's arm. "A tunnel goes far," she said when she could speak. "The line's
too short; I couldn't see the end."
"You were down too long," Bertha said. "From the way you pulled air, I
doubt you could have stayed longer. The tunnel may be a death trap."
"You're right," Linda said. "If I had gone farther and not found air, I'm not
sure I could have gotten back. The pressure made my head hurt."
"We're stuck," Carol said. "We'll have to think of something else."
"Any ideas?"
"Find a way up the cliff. Can you make pitons, Bertha?"
"Not near enough."
"Too bad we don't have scuba gear," Jason said.
"Even an air bladder might do," Susan said.
"That's an idea," Bertha said. "I'm not sure we've enough cloth left to make
one, though, and we'd have to use more oil to make it air-tight. I don't think we
have oil to spare."
Martin slid out of his raft. "But we can spare a raft. Come on, Jason, climb
out with me. We'll cut up the raft to make air bladders."
John joined them in the shallow water near the bore and transferred
Martin's and Jason's supplies to his raft. Bertha cut a section of oiled cloth
from the empty raft and fashioned a sack. With its neck secured by a cord, it

made a crude air bladder.

"We'll have to weight it so Linda can take it down with her."
"She'll need to practice," Carol said. "It won't be easy to get air from that
bag without getting a lungful of water at the same time."
"I can do it," Linda said, and slipped into the water like a fish. She quickly
got the hang of it. "There's only enough air for a couple of breaths," she said.
"But with the bladder I can probably double my time down."
"I hate this," Bertha said. "We don't have enough rope for a safety line."
"We've no alternative," Engar said. "I think we have to trust our Scout on
this one."
Linda dropped the weighted bladder into the pit and stroked after it. At the
bottom, she snatched the bladder and carried it into the horizontal tunnel.
Martin watched through his Mentat eye and saw the change in motion when
Linda stopped to suck air from the bladder. And he saw the empty bladder
drop from her hand and settle. She should have turned back then, but did not.
Closing his eyes, Martin willed himself to join Linda and felt a thread of
panic as she neared the limit of her air. She rolled to one side, and he glimpsed
a way up, but she continued kicking forward. Concentrating his will entirely
into the sphere and its Mentat metal holder, he generated an upward force that
tugged sharply on her belt. Dragged upward, her flailing arms struck the wall
of the upward passage. Her head broke surface, and Martin felt her body
vibrate as air blasted into her lungs.
"She's safe!" he cried, as air exploded from his own lungs.
"Thank God," Bertha said.
"Hallo!" The voice came from above, and eight faces turned upward. Linda
was waving down at them.
"How in the world did you get up there?"
"The tunnel goes through. I almost didn't make it. I lost the bladder and it's
pitch dark, but I got lucky and found a ladder that goes up. There's a big hole in
the floor of the tunnel that wasn't here before. It goes right down into the
water."
"Did you find our rope?" Martin asked.
"I don't see it, but the metal bar John hammered into the rock is still here."
"We can put up another line," Engar said turning to Bertha. "Have we got
enough rope?"
"If we take the rafts apart," Bertha said. "How will we get it up?"
"With an arrow," Martin replied. "We'll shoot up a pilot line Linda can use

to pull up the rope."

"We can make the pilot line from pack lacings," Carol said and began
unlacing her pack.
Linda stood aside when Engar released the arrow, then darted forward,
caught the line, and pulled up the heavier rope. In half an hour everyone was
up.
"After all we've been through, we didn't find a weyring," Robert said.
"And no treasure we could bring with us."
"We're not done," Martin said. "Come and look here." He was leaning over
the opening through which Linda had climbed. "There's a branch passage
below; I spotted it with my Mentat eye."
"I'll go down," Engar said.
"It'll be tight," Martin told him.
"Let me go," Robert said.
"Not this time. Give me the amulet." Engar took the silver medallion and
began to back down the ladder. Halfway, he intersected the side passage. It
was so dark even with a lantern, it was easy to see how Linda had missed it.
He crouched and turned sideways to squeeze into the narrow opening, but the
way was short and soon opened into a small smooth-walled chamber. Set in
one wall, he saw a carved panel with a small lever. He fingered it and the
panel slid noiselessly aside revealing a tiny chamber containing a small black
ring. A turquoise panel on the ring's face displayed softly glowing white runes.
Engar slipped the ring into a belt pocket and squirmed back through the narrow
passage.
"It's beautiful," Susan said when Engar showed the ring.
Robert studied the tiny, white letters, then rubbed his chin, scratched his
head, and turned the ring over several times.
"Come on, Robert," Susan said. "What does it say?"
Robert grinned. "It's quite simple. It says, 'Talk to me. My name is
Weyring.'"
"Oh, great. Now we have a talking ring," Carol said.
"Hello, Weyring," Robert said, then nearly jumped out of his skin when it
answered.
"What place do you seek?"
"It really does talk!"
"What place do you seek?" the ring repeated.
"I don't know," Robert said. "What place can I seek?"

"I only specify locations," the ring announced rather imperiously.

"All right," Martin said. "Where is the fortress ruin?"
"The mesa ruin lies at 95 legons on a bearing of 352 degrees from Great
Bend."
"Where is Great Bend?"
"Great Bend lies 200 legons west of Biclif on Great Barrier Cliff."
"Where is Biclif?" Jason asked.
"Biclif is a reference point already known to you."
"Where is Riven?" Engar asked.
"Riven is a reference point already known to you."
Linda took the ring from Robert's hand. "Are all settlements reference
points supposedly already known to us?"
"I only specify locations," the ring responded.
"The answer is probably yes," Bertha told Linda. "I'll bet the weyring only
gives directions in reference to some settlement."
"And we have to know what places we want to ask about," Robert added.
"We better get moving," Carol interrupted. "We need to get out of here
before our oil runs out."
Hours later, tired and dirty, the partners stumbled from the great dome into
the astonishing brilliance of early morning.
"The sun!" Bertha shouted. "Hallelujah!"
Before doing anything else, they stripped to their skins and scrubbed off
Blackwater Cave's foul stench. Then they collapsed in the sun to dry and get
some much-needed sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

By afternoon word had gotten around, and camp followers began to gather,
Trenel among them. Susan enlisted his help to retrieve the horven from his
father's farm. When they returned, the sun was low and she began at once, with
the help of the others, to put together a feast to celebrate their success. She
worked happily and with infectious enthusiasm. Delicious smells roused
appetites long held in check by drab food and the noxious environment of
Blackwater Cave.
The campground took on a festive atmosphere. Many visitors eagerly asked
about what was found in the cave beneath the great dome. Some planned how
they, too, might enter the cave and explore its secrets. Feasting and talking
continued late into the night, until Carol finally got impatient.
"Get on with you now," she told the visitors. "Leave us alone! We need
rest!" She hustled around the fire, shooing children and adults alike. Bertha
joined her, and when the big lady threatened to take her mace to some reluctant
stragglers, the camp quickly cleared.
***
After an idle day, Martin grew restive. He called a partnership meeting. "I
think it's time to move on." he said, a hint of anxiousness in his voice.
"Why the hurry?" Bertha asked.
"Something's troubling you, isn't it?" Carol asked.
"I feel a sense of urgency," Martin acknowledged.
"Do you have a plan?" John asked. "It doesn't seem obvious what we are to
do next."
"I can't explain," Martin said. "But I have a feeling something isn't right. It
came on me after we left the cave. I thought it was only nerves after our ordeal,
but the feeling is growing. It's somehow connected with my Mentat awareness.
We were brought to Faland to do something. More than ever, I feel it's
something we can't - or should not - avoid."
"You're giving me the willies," Bertha said. "Your talk takes the edge off
my pleasure."
"I'm ready," Jason said. "I feel it too. But it's exciting - something good and
worthwhile. I don't feel like something's wrong. I sort of feel like we're here to
. . . to, well, maybe to make our lives valuable . . . worth . . . worth having

been saved."
"Me too. I'm ready," Robert said. "I love this adventure!"
"I confess to a certain restlessness myself," Engar said. "But what's the next
step? To repeat John's question, have you got a plan, Martin?"
"I thought we might try to find the mesa ruin and look for the bronze
amulets Galendrall told us about."
"Don't forget Mordat's Castle," Jason said. "Doynu told me we can get a
gold amulet there. Although," he added thoughtfully, "I'm not sure what we'd
want it for."
"The amulets are all magic, aren't they?" Susan asked.
"Presumably," Engar said. "We know the silver amulet warns of demons;
Galendrall said the bronze amulets work with lithan armor to make it proof
against cold. The gold amulet must do something too. Perhaps it really does
protect in some way against demons."
"There wouldn't be much point in getting the bronze amulets if we don't
have lithan armor, whatever that is," Carol pointed out.
"We can get lithan armor at Riven," Engar said. "Though I'd guess it's pretty
expensive."
"Perhaps then," Carol said with a touch of asperity, "it would be best to
raise some cash and go to Riven before we chase off to some hypothetical ruin
on an unknown mesa."
"We are running short of money," Susan said. "We haven't made a profit
recently, and we spent a lot on the horven and supplies."
"Maybe there's treasure in the mesa ruin or Mordat's Castle," Robert
suggested.
"Let's decide," John said. "What'll it be, Martin? You're the one who feels
the need for action."
"Okay," Martin said. "We do need to replenish our coffers, and since
dueling and contracts produce small returns, treasure hunting is our best hope.
If the decision is mine, I say we return to Or'gn, replenish our larder, then head
for the mesa ruin and hope the bronze amulets are accompanied by other
treasure. Riven can wait."
"Well, I'll go along," Carol said. "But I remind you, we found plenty of
treasure in Blackwater Cave and couldn't bring back a single piece."
With the decision made, the partners visited the Hall-of-Records and
verified new promotions, presumably based on their performance in
Blackwater Cave. All advanced to level five in their skills, and Bertha, John,

and Martin to level five as Warriors, Engar to level six.

***
Next morning, they rode north out of Or'gn in weather that felt cooler than
usual, almost crisp. The first rays of sunlight spilled across the land like
orange marmalade. Not a breath of air stirred. The road was powder-dry after
several rainless days, and faint wisps of dust, kicked up by the horven's
hooves, hung in the air. The riders spread out along nearly a legon, moving
singly or in pairs. Linda rode point but paid scant attention to the familiar
terrain.
Midmorning found the group a dozen legons north of Or'gn. Robert spotted
a small figure running through the tall grass west of the road. "Yo! Trenel!" he
shouted.
The boy raised a hand. "Yo, Robert!" He reached the road and trotted
alongside Robert's horven. "I go see Sal'to. You come too?"
"Climb up," Robert said.
Trenel reached a brown arm to catch Robert's hand. He settled happily on
Windrunner's rump. Robert kicked the horven into a trot and caught up with
John.
"Is it okay if I ride ahead with Trenel to Mulro's farm? Slow as we're
riding, I can be there and back before everybody else reaches the turn-off to
Mulro's."
"You want to give Windrunner a bit of a gallop, do you?"
Robert grinned. "It might break the monotony. Windrunner hasn't had much
real exercise for a while."
"I see no harm in it, but be at the crossroads when we get there and don't
lose Trenel on the way."
"Yahoo," Trenel yelled, wrapping his fingers in the leather band that girded
pack bags to Windrunner. Robert wheeled into open prairie, and Windrunner
laid back great, shaggy ears and settled into a serious run. In half an hour, they
covered as much distance as the group had traveled all morning. Robert swung
around Mulro's farm and slowed Windrunner. Trenel dropped from the horven,
glad to give his aching fingers a rest.
Sal'to spotted them and rose, shedding dirt, from a dugo wallow where she
had been playing with a litter of new pups. She ran to meet them. "Robert!
Trenel! Do you come stay?"
"Only an hour or two," Robert said. "I have to meet my friends on the Or'gn
road about noon. I just came to give Trenel a lift."

"We swim, though?" she pleaded.

Robert slid from Windrunner's sweat lathered back and tied him in the
shade of an oaken tree. "I can stay long enough to swim," he said and watched
Sal'to's eyes light up. "Is your father here?"
"South field. Back noon. We swim pond." Sal'to led the way. "You no
come, long time," she said to Trenel.
"Busy," Trenel said. "I hunt, bring meat." He looked proudly at Robert and
patted the hummer resting in its belt sheath.
At the pond, naked Sal'to ran immediately into the water. It took Trenel and
Robert a second longer to shuck their sirkelns. Robert was glad he had left his
armor with his pack bags. Swimming in the sun-heated, reed-encircled pool
was like lounging in a bath tub.
Sal'to and Trenel enticed Robert into a game of water tag that lasted nearly
an hour. All were exhausted when they waded out of the pond and stretched in
the sun to dry. Robert had nearly fallen asleep when an unfamiliar voice
intruded. He opened heavy-lidded eyes and saw two brown legs rising above
him to a boy's body topped with a broad smiling face. Red-brown hair, glinting
with sunlight, hung to the boy's shoulders, and around his neck a gold chain
supported a golden amulet of intricate and wondrous design.
Robert came awake instantly. "You're Doynu," he said. "Jason told me
about your gold amulet."
The boy's smile widened. "Yes, I'm Doynu, and you're Robert, Runereader follower of the Mentat Warrior."
"Did Jason tell you about me?"
Doynu laughed. "Everyone in Faland knows the Mentat Warrior and his
followers."
"Am I to wrestle you?" Robert asked.
"That's not my purpose today."
Sal'to and Trenel had roused and stood by, gaping.
"I wrestle," Trenel said.
"Not now, little friend," Doynu said. "I have business with Robert. Please
leave us for a while."
Trenel looked disappointed but bowed politely. He picked up his sirkeln,
and with Sal'to, withdrew toward the farm house.
Doynu turned to Robert. "The Faland Master asks your service."
Robert's eyes widened. "The Faland Master? You've seen the Master?"
"No, but I serve the Master. You are here to serve also."

"Is it part of our quest . . . I mean, Martin's quest?"

"The quest is yours too . . . and mine. I know only a little, but now I must
give you your task."
"I have to ride to the Or'gn road to meet the others. Ride with me and tell
me on the way," Robert said as he slipped on his mokads and buckled his
sirkeln around his waist.
"There's no time. You must leave now."
"I can't," Robert said. "I have to tell the others."
"No," Doynu said. "You will go alone and must leave immediately. I'll send
Trenel with word to the others." Doynu's voice held authority, and Robert
hesitated in confusion.
"I can't . . . I mean, I shouldn't," Robert said. "It wouldn't be right."
Doynu looked into Robert's eyes. "You must, my friend - and with haste."
Robert's forehead knotted. He tried to pull his gaze from Doynu's eyes, but
could not. His breath caught in his throat and his stomach knotted. The feeling
reminded him of the old fear - remembered from the days when he lay dying in
the hospital. "Can I at least say goodby?" he asked, his voice quavering.
"No," Doynu said. "You must take Windrunner and go at once. I know your
pack is well supplied so you can travel without interruption. Ride east to the
edge of the Glu'me forest, then south to Rooden road. Follow it to Sapro's Inn.
There you will receive further instructions."
Robert walked with Doynu to the farm yard. Trenel and Sal'to ran to
Robert. "I must go now," he told them as he mounted Windrunner. Then he
turned to Doynu. "I must be crazy to do this. You promise to tell the others?
They'll worry and blame me."
"I promise. In two days you will meet friends at Sapro's. Go now and good
luck."
***
Breathless from a long run, his face streaked with sweat and dust, Trenel
tilted his head and looked straight up into John's eyes.
"I don't understand," John said. "Where's Robert going? Why did he leave
without talking to us?" His voice was a roar.
Martin was holding a small sphere given him by Trenel. "Robert's not
coming back," he told John.
"What do you mean?" John swung toward him. "Why not?" His voice rose
another notch.
"He's serving the Faland Master," Martin said quietly.

"What does that mean?"

"The sphere Trenel gave me carries a message," Martin said, "from Horath.
Great danger is coming to Faland."
"Hey, stop it," Carol interrupted. "You're scaring me. What do you mean,
great danger is coming to Faland?"
Martin's face had paled. "I've got to meet with Horath - right away - in
Or'gn."
"What about Robert?" Susan sounded scared. "We can't leave without him."
"He's on a quest of his own now," Martin said. "I don't even know where."
"We can search . . . bring him back. This is nonsense," Carol said. "You
can't send a boy off by himself. It's too dangerous."
"I doubt we have a choice," Engar said. "None of us were asked before we
were brought here. We're not being asked about this either."
"You mean we're some kind of slaves to the Faland Master?" Bertha
roared. "Maybe we ought to give this tyrant something to think about!"
"Our lives here have a purpose," Jason said, a bit piously. "I think we owe
something in return for our salvation."
"I wasn't saved from anything," Bertha said. "I was kidnaped from my
business - my home - everything."
"Robert should have refused," Susan said. "Why didn't he?" Her voice was
plaintive.
Trenel, who had been listening anxiously, said, "Doynu not let Robert say
no. Doynu much power. Robert do what Doynu say."
"Doynu! The boy I wrestled," Jason exclaimed. "Did he tell Robert to go?"
Trenel nodded. "He give sphere. Send here."
"Trenel's right," Jason told the others. "I felt Doynu's power. He's no
ordinary boy. Robert must have something special to do. I wish Doynu had
picked me." His voice was filled with envy.
"You may get your wish," Martin said. "I think Horath has instructions for
all of us."
***
It was near sundown when the group, dispirited at being separated from
Robert, arrived again at Or'gn. Martin went immediately to see Horath. As he
entered the familiar chambers, he recalled the first time he had met the ancient
master. Now, as then, the old man was seated cross-legged on a purple
cushion. His eyes, beneath shaggy white eyebrows, glittered with unnerving
intensity. It seemed almost as if the master had not moved or changed posture.

Yet, on close examination, Martin noted a subtle change . . . something in his

eyes and the slope of his shoulders that had not been there before. Deeply
shadowed, the old man's eyes held a hint of worry. Martin shivered inwardly.
"Good!" Horath noted the shudder. "You see this is no idle summons."
Martin seated himself opposite Horath. "I see you are worried," he
acknowledged.
"Events are unfolding more quickly than anticipated," Horath said. "I had
hoped to give you and your companions more time to learn."
"Where did you send Robert?" Martin's voice was chilly.
A smile flickered on Horath's lips. "You have made good use of your
training. Perhaps it is enough."
Martin's brow rose. "You aren't going to tell me, are you?"
Horath shook his head. "As we speak, all your partners are being
instructed. All have a task. None will know what the others are doing."
"Why?" Martin asked. "I, at least, should know."
"Your task will be the most difficult," Horath said. "You must concentrate
fully on it and trust your friends to handle theirs. More is at stake here than you
can know."
The old man's intensity alarmed Martin. Consciously, he forced himself to
control his own rising alarm. Finally he said, "I work better when I know.
Ignorance does not build confidence."
Horath snorted. "Ha! At this stage ignorance is far the better thing!" Then
he spoke more softly. "Be patient. In time you will see clearly. Of all your
partners, Jason perhaps understands best. You were not brought here
capriciously."
"Will I see the others when I leave here?"
"Not right away." Then Horath's look softened. "In time, you will be
together again."
"Apparently you expect us to follow your instructions. Suppose we don't?"
Horath's eyes narrowed. Martin found himself spinning within a plumcolored vortex. A white globe appeared, then was cleaved by a dark sword.
The illusion lasted only a moment.
"We don't have a choice," Martin said flatly. "We never had a choice."
"No," Horath said. "It may seem unfair, but choice is always constrained by
circumstance."
"Then, so be it," Martin said. "What do you want me to do?"
Horath smiled. "You will find instructions in the sphere given you by

Trenel. Through it, you and I will speak again. It's important that you keep it
close."
Martin wanted to ask more but could see in Horath's eyes the conversation
was over. He rose to leave, then hesitated. When he turned back, he saw that
the Mentat-master's head had slumped forward. His chin rested on his breast.
Martin sensed that the persona he knew as Horath was no longer there.
***
While Martin was with Horath, the others went to set up camp at the
village green. They relaxed for the green had grown so familiar it was almost
like returning home. Susan enlisted Bertha and Jason and soon had a fire going
and dinner in preparation. While they were bent to their tasks, a stranger came
into the light cast by the flames.
"Hello." His voice was low.
Startled, Bertha turned. She had neither seen nor heard the stranger
approach. She reached for her mace.
"Ho! I mean you no harm," said the stranger.
Bertha glared, but seeing no weapon or threat in the man, lowered her arm.
"Honey, don't sneak up if you want to stay healthy."
"I didn't mean to frighten you."
Bertha snorted. "It'll take more than the likes of you to frighten me. I was
just surprised; you have a soft step."
The stranger came fully into the light and Bertha saw he was of middle
years with the broad, dusky face of a native. A headband of gold, silver, and
turquoise, with no insignia, held his hair out of his eyes. A saffron robe
covered his body and hung nearly to the ground. Girded about his waist was a
silver belt without scabbard or other sign of a weapon.
"I am Korvu," he said, his voice evenly modulated, his manner openly
friendly.
By now everyone had gathered around.
"Korvu? I spoke with you before," John said, his gray eyes questioning.
"Wasn't it on the north road out of Or'gn? A while ago?"
"I remember," Korvu said. "Now I bring a summons."
"A summons?" Engar spoke this time. "From what source?"
"Only the Master summons Warriors to duty," Korvu said. "I serve the
Master."
"Like Doynu," Jason said. "Do I have a quest like Robert?" He fairly
danced with excitement.

"I have a call for each of you," Korvu said, taking from his robe a small
packet. He extracted several folded papers and began handing them around,
pressing them into hands only half willing to take them.
"I don't like this," Carol said. "We don't know you. How do we know this
is on the up and up?"
"Korvu gave us the silver amulet," John said. "I trust him, and Martin said
we would all soon get instructions; it seems he was right."
Korvu said. "You see on each summons a seal? It is the Master's. Study it.
No others can use it, and it will identify future messages. Be advised, the
Mentat Warrior will not return to you. He, too, has been summoned."
"Can you tell us where Robert is?" Susan asked.
Korvu's face softened. "I'm sorry, I cannot. I can tell you he's safe and goes
with a willing heart." Then his voice became curt. "Now I must go."
As Korvu's lean form disappeared, everyone pulled close around the fire
and began to read the tantalizing messages he had given them.
"Doesn't say much," Carol said. "This is like a silly game. I'm supposed to
meet a person or persons unknown at a place called Zenker's Keep.
Presumably, that's where I'll get my real instructions."
"I go to Huggen's Hole," Jason said with barely concealed excitement. "It's
like a real mystery and we're all secret agents. Where are you supposed to go,
Linda?"
"To Slavhos," Linda replied slowly, with a puzzled expression. "I'm
supposed to go to the market there."
Jason's brow rose. "Kormax! Remember Kormax? He's the storekeeper in
Slavhos. I'll bet he's your contact!"
Linda's brow wrinkled into a worried frown. "I wish we could go
together."
Jason's face darkened. "You're right. We're all going different places. I
don't even know where Huggen's hole is."
Susan looked up with her green eyes grown large. "I don't know where my
place is either. It's called Shortbriar. How are we supposed to find these
places if we don't know where they are?"
"That's not a problem," Engar said. "I know all the places you've
mentioned. They're all inns or settlements. Zenker's is north of here. We would
have passed it had we kept going as planned this morning. Huggen's Hole is
north out of Forod and--"
"I don't like it," Bertha cut in. "Kids shouldn't be going off by themselves.

Some of these places are not in the farmlands. I'm supposed to go to Finfal's
Den on the Targ road. I know that's in the forest south of Triod. I'm not worried
for myself, but how's one of these little ones going to stand up to a gang of
renegades? After what Brenard did to Jason, I think it's the height of
foolishness to send kids away by themselves."
"Where's Shortbriar?" Susan asked. "Do I have to leave the farmlands
too?"
"Afraid so," Engar said. "Shortbriar's a small settlement southeast of here,
on the Edge Trail that leads to the Fragaz Cutoff. It's in South Forest beyond the
farmland. Bertha's right; it isn't safe for you there alone. It's pretty rundown,
and outside of a few outlying farmers and local woodcutters, serves mostly
renegades and outcasts."
"We do have to go, don't we?" Jason said. "Wouldn't we be arrested or
something if we don't go? It's a call from the Master - like being drafted in the
army. Besides, Martin said danger is coming. I think we are here in Faland for
this; it was planned before we got here."
"Jason's got a point," John said. "Don't forget, Robert's already gone.
Faland isn't Earth; the rules are different. I'm supposed to meet someone at
Elwind's Repose, on the road to Oshan. I can travel with Jason as far as Forod.
Slavhos is on the way to Triod so Bertha can go with Linda at least that far.
Maybe by then we'll know more."
"My assignment is here in Or'gn," Engar said, "three days hence. I'll have
time to escort Susan to Shortbriar. It's only about a day's ride. It'll give me a
chance to check out her situation."
When the partners turned in that night, some were excited, some nervous,
and others plainly worried.

PART FOUR: THE EMERALD OF THUN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

After leaving Mulro's farm an hour before noon, Robert rode east along a
trail that wound through open country. Rising on his left, the ridge of hills
loomed darkly where, many weeks before, the partnership had established its
first hunting camp. To his right, open prairie stretched to the limits of vision.
Why am I doing this?
On the word of a stranger, he was leaving his friends to go on a journey of
unknown purpose and destination. A dozen times, he stopped and swung
around in his saddle. He longed to go back, but instead drove his heels against
Windrunner's flanks and continued his swift trot to the east.
Miles rolled behind and noon came. As Robert put distance between
himself and all those whom he knew, he began to realize he was committed to
something from which he could not turn back. With the realization came
excitement.
I'm on my own adventure. I'm alone with only my strength and knowledge
to depend on.
The thought pleased him and also frightened him. Clouds began to build in
the east. From the clouds came wind. Prairie grass moved in waves that
flashed with color where wild-flowers poked through. Air moving against his
skin felt good, and Robert expanded his lungs. He puffed out his chest, and for
a while imagined himself the invincible Warrior he hoped one day to be.
Something suddenly occurred to him.
I must be thirteen now. I must have passed my thirteenth birthday weeks
ago.
He laughed.
I guess in Faland there are no birthdays.
Late in the afternoon, he caught his first glimpse of the Glu'me forest. The
light dulled as the sun dropped and his good cheer began to wane. Soon he
would need to camp. Fortunately, his saddlebags carried a new ground cloth,
two lamps, oil and food enough to last several days. His armor and tagan were

bundled behind his saddle. Being so well equipped bolstered his confidence.
The trail jogged south around a low hill. As he turned into the shadow of
the hill, he came upon a small farm with tidy fields stretching to the east.
Thinking that perhaps the farmer would offer him shelter, he turned in at the
gate. "Hello," he called to a young, stocky native man he saw working the field
near the entrance.
The man looked up and a smile spread across his dark face. He rested
against his hoe. "Hello, Friend," he called. "I Cambok."
"I am Robert, a Warrior on the Master's business. I seek a place for the
night and will gladly pay." He spoke with the serious and formal demeanor he
felt befitted his new role as the Master's special envoy.
Cambok's grin widened. "My honor offer shelter. No pay. I like hear story
young Warrior."
Cambok's friendliness put Robert immediately at ease. He slid from
Windrunner's back and led the horven as he followed Cambok toward a small
log house set among shade trees a quarter legon from the farm gate. Cambok
showed him where to pasture Windrunner and ushered him into the house. As
Cambok entered the dwelling he spoke to a boy of perhaps Robert's age,
"Seguf, time light lamps. Bring potans. Guest eat with us."
Seguf's eyes lighted. He nodded to Robert and hurried outside.
"Wife, Milvir," Cambok said, introducing a native woman who looked no
older than Susan. Robert could not help glancing at the retreating boy who had
just left.
Cambok caught the puzzled look on his face and laughed. "Seguf, brother.
Milvir I married six month. Not yet child."
Robert, a flush blooming on his cheeks, joined his laughter with Cambok's.
Dinner of fried rabir, baked potans, and salad was simple but tasty. Robert
was embarrassed to eat without providing anything so went to Windrunner and
retrieved a small jar of honey.
"Honey?" Seguf asked when he spotted the jar of amber fluid.
"Honey," Robert answered, grinning at the look of delight on Seguf's face.
The honey, spread on the dark bread served by Milvir, was delicious. They
had consumed nearly half the jar by the end of dinner. Robert pressed the
remainder on Milvir and told her to keep it in return for her family's
hospitality. Milvir graciously accepted.
"What can you tell me about the Glu'me forest?" Robert asked Cambok
when the meal was done and they were all sitting on pads arranged around a

hearth where a small fire burned. The fire was not for warmth, but for light,
cheer, and to heat drog and roast bits of spiced meat on small spits.
Cambok looked startled. "You go Glu'me?"
"Sapro's Inn," Robert answered.
"Bad. Much danger. Renegades, hyen." Cambok's dark eyes showed both
fear and concern.
Robert frowned. Such talk did not encourage him, and for half an hour, he
tried to get more specific information from Cambok. It seemed, however, that
Cambok did not venture often into the Glu'me and then only far enough to
occasionally collect a load of fire wood. He knew the forest primarily by its
unsavory reputation.
Robert slept in the barn with Windrunner, lulled by the sound of gentle rain
that fell through much of the night. After a hearty farm breakfast with Cambok,
Milvir, and Seguf, he found himself again in the saddle. Beyond Cambok's
farm, the trail continued south. The air smelled fresh, washed by rain, though
the sky had cleared and sun drenched the prairie with honey-colored light.
Robert wore only his ukeln having forgone even his mokads so the sun might
warm his well-tanned body and the wind blow away the staleness of a night
spent curled in barn straw.
At midmorning Windrunner topped a small hill and Robert surveyed the
miles of grassland that lay around him. Three or four legons to the east, the
dark line of trees that marked the Glu'me forest cast somber shadows; south a
similar distance, he could see the thin ribbon of the Rooden road. On his left,
Robert saw a small clear pond, surrounded by reeds and grassy banks. He
nudged Windrunner's flank and eased the horven downslope. At the pond, he
dismounted and walked into the tepid water. Though he had expected to enjoy
his bath, when he felt the water rise on his body, homesickness almost
overcame him. He remembered the pond on the ridge where he had played so
happily with Susan, Jason, and Linda. Now he was all alone.
Slowly he submerged, then rose, sputtering, and shook the water from his
long blond hair. He swam easily across the pond and back, then scrubbed his
cloth ukeln, wrung the water from it, and climbed the bank to Windrunner. He
put on his sirkeln, with a fresh ukeln buttoned inside, and tied the freshly
washed ukeln to the back of his saddle where it would dry as he rode.
Reluctantly, he buckled on his body armor, thigh plates, and combat mokads,
then settled his helmet on his head. He sheathed a half dozen hummers in his
belt and strapped his tagan to his hip.

Mounting, he rode at a swift trot to the Rooden road and thence to the edge
of the Glu'me forest. He held himself erect and rode attentively and
confidently. First impressions were important, as Engar always said. If a
renegade spotted him, he wanted the thief to think twice before attacking.
The abruptness with which the forest began impressed him. A small creek
meandered in a gorge along its edge. Grass ended on the west bank; on the
east, mixed conifer and broad-leaf trees rose many tens of feet into the air.
Beneath the trees lay deep shadows.
A small wooden truss bridge carried the road into the forest. Robert felt his
pulse notch up as he guided Windrunner over the bridge. The sun's heat lifted
as cool shade covered him. Within a dozen yards, the forest canopy closed
above the road, leaving only a tunnel bored through unrelieved shadow where
sunlight never touched the ground. Yet beneath the canopy, the forest was
mostly clear with only a little undergrowth. Robert could see a fair distance
through the trunks on either side of the passage and kept a wary eye out for
anyone who might be lurking in the shadows.
For an hour Robert rode, keeping Windrunner to a brisk walk. He met no
one. Once a loud sputtering startled him and halted Windrunner. He sat, eyes
wide, straining to see. Then he spotted a small furry creature above his head on
a large tree limb. It scolded with a sound like the idling of an unmuffled
motorcycle. Robert laughed when he saw the creature flipping its long tail,
balancing on its haunches, and chattering with an outsize voice.
"You're a noisy squirrel," he shouted, surprised at how loud his own voice
sounded.
Though he had difficulty seeing the sun through the dense foliage, and so
could not easily judge the time, Robert's stomach told him it must be near noon.
As he considered whether to dismount while he ate, he noticed a radiance to
the side of the road. The trunks of some trees seemed to shine with soft light.
Curious, he rode toward the brightness and emerged into a glade filled with
wild flowers, humming with insects, and alive with the sight and sound of
small birds. Fans of sunlight spread downward from a partial break in the
forest canopy and filled the glade with soft light. The sight so enchanted him he
slipped immediately from Windrunner's back and stood in the warmth,
surrounded by the forest's wild beauty. The ground felt springy, like a thick
carpet, and the air smelled of damp earth and decaying wood. Water gurgled
nearby.
A spring, lined with fallen wood and green tendrils, burst from the forest

floor in a swirl of dashing liquid. Robert knelt and lifted cool water that tasted
like mint to his lips. Lounging, he ate biscuits and honey along with jerked
devon meat and leftover potans given him by Milvir that morning. He neither
saw nor heard the dark forms that padded through the trees near the glade.
A soft snicker from Windrunner attracted his attention, and he looked up.
He caught a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye. Brush crackled nearby,
then exploded into movement. Low growls turned to snarls. Robert came erect
as a black-furred creature charged out of the bushes across the spring. His hand
darted to his belt and his fingers closed on a hummer. He drew the weapon as
the dog-like hyen leaped, and drove it into the animal's open mouth. The
second beast hit him from the side before he could snatch another hummer, and
he felt sharp teeth tear his flesh.
He rolled, kicking and yelling, as more black animals boiled out of the
woods on all sides. Throwing off his attacker, he scrambled to his feet, took
three short steps to Windrunner's side and leaped to the horven's back.
Slavering jaws closed on his right foot and ripped the heavy mokad away.
Working on instinct, Robert uncoiled his tagan and lashed right and left.
Windrunner snorted, then screamed as teeth tore at his undersides. The horven
reared, flailing with front hooves. Robert stuck to Windrunner's back like a
burr and whipped hyen away on both flanks.
"Gee-up!" he yelled.
Windrunner kicked up huge clods as his hooves took hold in the soft
ground. The dark bodies of half a hundred hyen circled and leaped, tearing at
the fleeing horven and its rider. Robert felt Windrunner stumble.
"No! Oh, no!" he cried. "Run, Windrunner! Run!"
But the horven faltered. Robert looked down to see blood pumping from a
dozen ragged wounds in Windrunner's flanks and legs. With redoubled fury he
lashed with his tagan, ripping chunks of flesh from those hyen that got near. But
he could not hold them back.
He wheeled Windrunner near a huge, heavy-limbed tree. Reaching
overhead, he whipped his tagan around a branch and hauled himself up.
Windrunner collapsed, screaming and kicking.
"Windrunner!" Robert cried. "Oh, Windrunner, get up!"
He drove three hummers into the backs of hyen, but a sea of rending bodies
buried Windrunner. Sobbing, Robert watched as the razor-toothed hyen ripped
the great horven apart.
He cried until exhausted, then climbed higher in the tree. As he climbed he

discovered pain in his right foot. When settled on a lofty branch, well above
the feeding predators, he examined his foot, stripped of its mokad by a hyen's
teeth. Deep lacerations ran along both sides of his ankle and he had lost flesh
from the bottom of his heel. Even after he treated the wounds with poma and
frenwort, which he carried in the pouches of his sirkeln, Robert knew it would
take days for his foot to heal.
When night came to the Glu'me forest, the hyen disappeared, melting into
the surrounding trees like black ghosts. Robert was without a lamp and it was
now the dark of the moon when felven would be about. He shuddered. He had
heard that felven, though too large and heavy to climb, had sometimes torn
down trees with trunks as large as a man to get at someone sheltering there.
The girth of the tree in which he sheltered was many times thicker than that,
and he prayed it was stout enough to keep him safe.
Through the long night, Robert watched, jumping at each sound as a twig
cracked or a small limb dropped from a tree. Only near dawn did he finally
doze, protected from falling by a length of cord he had used to tie himself to the
branch on which he reclined. The motorcycle-chattering of a squirrel
awakened him.
Gray light had stolen through the canopy and cast a gloomy pall on the
forest floor. Peering down, he saw the scattered bones of Windrunner and
fragments of his gear. Though his foot was stiff, frenwort stilled the pain.
With great care, he lowered his thin frame to the forest floor. Although the
hyen had destroyed many of his belongings, he recovered eight hummers from a
torn saddlebag, and three jars of honey. Two bottles of oil and both lamps had
survived along with his canteen. His field mokads and ground cloth, though
tattered, were serviceable as were his two extra ukelns. He had lost nearly all
his food.
Working quickly, Robert fashioned a pack from a saddlebag and loaded it
with his recovered supplies. He put on his field mokads and packed his
remaining combat mokad against the day when he could replace its mate. A last
glance at the bloody bones of his fallen horven gave him his bitterest moment
since coming to Faland. For a moment, he felt his heart would break.
Windrunner had served him well and he had grown to love the great shaggy
beast.
With a shake of his head, he turned from the grisly scene, took up a stout
stick to aid his walking, and hobbled back to the glade where the hyen had
initiated their attack. From the mint-flavored water he drank deeply, then set

his feet to the task of getting to Sapro's Inn.

***
The Glu'me forest took on a new perspective as Robert limped along the
road. From the ground, the trees looked taller and the shadows deeper. His
right foot hurt and he could manage no more than a quarter the speed he had
maintained on Windrunner's back. Alone, with limited supplies, on foot in an
alien forest, Robert's self-confidence plummeted. He jumped at every shadow
and peered fearfully among the darkened trunks. Always he searched for the
black shapes of hyen. He had no idea how far it was to Sapro's Inn or what he
would find when he got there. He considered turning back but knew to do so
would take him again through the area where the hyen had attacked.
The road looked well traveled, yet he saw no one. As the muddy track
began to twist more deviously through the thickening trees, he grew
apprehensive. He decided to leave the road and travel less conspicuously in
the growth alongside.
Once among the trees, Robert found small leafy bushes and broke branches
from them. He used the branches to camouflage his pack and armor and slipped
some into his headband. Soon he looked like a forest bush himself. He scooped
dirt and smeared his face, arms, and lower legs.
He hung the navaid given him by Doynu around his neck and was glad he
had paid attention when Linda showed him how to use it. By consulting it
often, he maintained a straight course, pressing always east.
After an hour, fatigue, mostly brought on by the effort of favoring his
wounded foot, began to slow him. Robert found a patch of protected forest
litter beside a moss covered boulder and lowered himself to the ground. He
took honey from his pack and a few fragments of meat the hyen had
overlooked. When he finished eating, he drained most of his canteen, then sank
back for a moment of rest.
He dozed.
Fiery stinging brought him awake and he sat up with a start. Horror
widened his eyes as he saw his body crawling with tiny insects. He jumped up,
slapping.
"This isn't right!" he yelled. "Faland bugs aren't supposed to bite people!"
At least that's what he remembered Engar saying as he danced, yelled, and
swatted. Apparently he had discovered an exception. Snatching his pack, he
darted away from the swarm of red bugs that seemed everywhere.
As he thrashed through the brush, he stumbled into a forest glade, similar to

the one where the hyen had attacked. Red crawlers had worked themselves into
the spaces between his armor and his flesh. He stripped off the armor and
swept the tormenting insects from his body. A small pond lay in the center of
the glade, and he waded in, scooping water to wash away the insects' sting.
When he was clean, he scratched the beginning welts and inspected himself
minutely to make sure all the insects were gone. Then he turned to leave the
pond and felt something strike his back, hard against his left shoulder blade.
Astonished, he stumbled and sprawled face down. When he tried to rise, his
left arm gave way. Rolling, he saw an arrow's bloody tip protruding from his
breast. The shaft had entered his back and rammed upward through his body.
Renegades! He had forgotten about renegades! With terror he clutched at
the bloody shaft and drew air into his lungs with a tormented whistle.
Skewered by the arrow, he struggled up and lurched into the trees. Beside
his ear, he heard the solid whack as another arrow struck a tree. Then he was
weaving among thick trunks. In seconds, weakness made his legs wobble. He
slumped.
Instinct told him he must act at once, otherwise he had only the briefest
time to live. With his right hand, he grasped the arrow behind its point and
steadied the shaft against his breast. He backed until he felt the shaft press
against a tree, then twisted sideways. The arrow broke and he pulled hard. The
broken shaft slid free and Robert dropped the bloody stick in the duff. Pain
made him dizzy, and he coughed and spit bloody phlegm.
Behind him he heard crashing. Steadying himself, he unleashed the tagan
from his hip as a squat, thick-limbed native burst through the brush, his broad
dusky face drawn in a snarl, a heavy spiked-mace clutched in his fist. Robert
side-stepped, and slipping under the mace's swing, brought his tagan around in
a sweeping stroke that caught the renegade's neck just above his armor. The
native reached for his throat and fell in a shower of blood. Two more
renegades leaped over his fallen body.
As he ducked, Robert felt the wind of a passing spear, then danced
forward, the tip of his tagan a wink of light in the gloom beneath the trees. With
a sound like that made by a breaking branch, the tagan bit, shattering the wrist
of the nearer native. Robert continued his drive, backhanding, and his tagan
tore flesh from the brow of the second attacker. The two renegades melted into
the forest and were gone.
Robert choked, then coughed a mouthful of blood. His heart was pounding.
In hardly more time than it took to blink an eye, he had defeated three

renegades. Yet now his breath felt strangely shallow, and foam flecked the
blood that spewed bright red from his mouth. The arrow had penetrated his
lung.
The hemorrhage frightened him, and he fumbled his first aid kit from its
pouch. Quickly, taking out a small glass vial, he poured it half full of water,
then sprinkled in poma powder and frenwort. He stoppered the bottle and
shook it, then unwrapped an instrument he had never imagined he might use on
himself. His mind replayed the lessons Carol had given him.
The device consisted of two parts: a small flexible bulb attached to a
threaded metal collar, and a long metal tube, silver-colored and polished to a
high gloss. The tube, a quarter inch in diameter, was narrowed at one end. The
other end was threaded to fit the bulb's collar. With trembling hands, Robert
screwed the shiny tube into the collar. Holding the assembled syringe by the
bulb, he inserted the tip into the vial containing dissolved poma and frenwort.
As he relaxed the bulb, the solution rose into the body of the instrument.
Sweat beaded his brow and he shivered as though suddenly struck by a
draft. For a moment he hesitated, his face drawn in a grimace. Then he
clenched his teeth and plunged the metal shaft into the wound on his chest. As
the tube penetrated, he felt pain worse than from the arrow's original stroke.
His head spun and he felt he might faint.
Slowly, while squeezing the bulb, he withdrew the syringe. Almost
instantly the pain lifted. He sank to the ground, gasping, spitting dribbles of
blood.
When the spinning in his head subsided, he went again to his first aid kit
and found small wads of cloth with which to plug the holes in his back and
chest. A clean ukeln, passed over his shoulder and wrapped around his chest,
bandaged the wound.
Rising cautiously, Robert went to the fallen renegade. Sight of the dead
man almost made him turn away but his need drove him. He stripped the
renegade of armor and weapons and took eighty ralls from a belt pouch. The
renegade had been no taller than Robert, but had been a good deal broader. His
armor fit poorly, but Robert knew his own armor, left at the pond, would no
longer be there. He vowed never again to take off his armor while alone and
unprotected in renegade country.
The weapons, sword and spear, were too heavy for his slight form so he
carried them some distance and concealed them to keep the renegades from
recovering them. He was heartened when he coughed and no longer spit blood.

But his legs felt like jelly, and he was not strong enough to push through heavy
brush. He returned to the road, forced to trust himself to open travel. He
laughed wryly; traveling off-trail, it seems, had not provided much protection.
The forest gloom deepened and Robert knew the sun would soon be down.
He was shaking and felt nauseated and thirsty. The thought of spending the night
alone, hungry, thirsty, and seriously wounded, without even a lamp, brought
tears to his eyes. As he contemplated this dismal state, he heard something
behind him and ducked off the road. The sound, echoing softly in the tunnel of
vegetation, told him a large party was approaching.
With his heart in his mouth, he wriggled deeper into the vegetation and
waited. Soon horven riders came into view around a bend. Three Warriors
rode in the lead, followed by a wagon pulled by four horven. Behind the
wagon, other riders were visible.
Robert could hardly believe his eyes.
"Brom!" he yelled and stepped from the brush, his good arm raised.
"Whoa!" A tall black Warrior held up his hand and the party halted. "Well,
what have we here?" He peered at the pale figure standing in the road before
him.
"I'm Robert. Don't you remember?" Robert's head was swimming and he
could hardly focus on the Warrior.
Brom squinted, then his face wrinkled in a crooked smile. "Yes. I
remember. You were with Engar and the Mentat Warrior. You look like
something the cat dragged in. Where are your friends?"
Robert managed a weak grin. "I'm on my own. I seem to have run into a
little trouble. Any chance I could travel with you as far as Sapro's Inn?" He
wobbled and felt his legs begin to buckle. He sat down abruptly.
Brom leaped from his horven. "Lad, I think you're in no shape to travel at
all."
"I took a renegade's arrow," Robert mumbled. He felt his consciousness
slipping and knew his speech was slurred.
"Jakar!" Brom called. "Give me a hand! My young friend needs
assistance."
Robert felt himself lifted. A soft robe touched his back. He sank into it
gratefully and closed his eyes. For a moment he fought dizziness, then let
himself float into a warm, dark well.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Robert awoke slowly, dreamily, and opened his eyes to a room made of
rough hewn planks. Pale gold rays streamed in through an open window. A
cool breeze, also entering through the window, ruffled his hair. It took several
minutes to remember what had happened.
He was lying on his back on a firm mattress covered with fine gray cloth. A
thin blanket covered most of his body. The bed and the room, even the blanket
which covered him, reminded him of the training quarters in Or'gn. He
wondered if, somehow, his rescuers had returned him there.
Probing carefully, he let his fingers find the wound in his chest. Though
someone had removed the bandage, and a scab of dried blood now covered the
opening, the wound was real. Memory of his fight with the renegades came
back. He felt little pain. As he studied his body, he became aware that he
needed to empty his bladder. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he sat
dizzily, waiting for his head to equilibrate. His right foot throbbed, but the
wounds on ankle and heel showed signs of healing.
"How long have I been here?" he asked himself. From the condition of his
injuries, he guessed not more than a day. With a clearer look at the room, he
could see that he was not in the training building in Or'gn.
Carefully he stood, found the door to a bathroom, and went in. After
relieving himself and satisfying a fierce thirst, he returned to the main room
and found his sirkeln and mokads hanging above his bed. Beneath the bed, he
found his pack.
When he looked out the window, he saw he was on the second floor of a
log building situated inside a palisade like those typical of Faland settlements.
What village is this?
Only part of the compound was visible from his window, but it looked
smaller than those surrounding other settlements he had visited. He buckled his
sirkeln around his waist and pulled on his mokads. Passing through the door, he
entered a hall along which other rooms were situated. A stairway at the end of
the hall took him down to a large room with an exit to the outside and smaller
rooms opening to either side.
"Well, my young guest is finally awake!" A rough voice greeted Robert
from behind a long counter. Several people sat around wooden tables, eating.

A native boy and an older woman were serving them.

"Is this Sapro's Inn?" Robert asked, glancing at the broad, bearded face that
peered over the counter at him.
"Indeed it is. You've found your way to Sapro's, my young friend."
"What village is this?"
The bearded face wrinkled in a grin. The man to whom it belonged
waddled from behind the counter. Such enormous girth Robert had never
before seen on a native. And the man's uncommonly short stature accentuated
the impact of his portliness.
"This is not a village. The palisade is defense against hyen. And though
some of those you see in this room are renegades, I'll tolerate no thieving or
back-stabbing on my premises. I'm Sapro." He held out a meaty fist. When
Robert took it, he felt great power and recognized immediately that the softness
implied by Sapro's bulk was misleading.
Robert's heart jumped when he spotted a man with a gash on his forehead.
He was sitting at a table opposite a man with a heavily bandaged right arm.
The two looked at him a moment with blank brown eyes, then returned to their
meal.
"Did Brom bring me here?" Robert asked Sapro.
"That he did. And lucky you are he found you before those two did." Sapro
jerked his head toward the two battered renegades. Then Sapro laughed, with a
deep, resonate rumble. "But they'd not like to face you, I'll wager, when your
wounds have healed and you've regained your strength."
Robert felt the warmth of the praise and flushed slightly. He said, "I'm here
on the Master's business. Further instructions await me. Do you have those
instructions?"
"First you eat," Sapro said. He turned to the servant woman. "Katina, bring
food and drink for our guest!" He ushered Robert to an empty table. "Someone
will join you shortly."
As Sapro retreated, Robert kept a wary eye on the renegades who had so
very nearly killed him. He was grateful when they finished their meal and left.
In a few minutes, Katina approached with a huge platter heaped with meats and
vegetables. Accompanying her, the servant boy brought a large pitcher of drog
along with an empty mug.
When Robert began to eat, he discovered a ravenous appetite and
immersed himself enthusiastically in the task of satisfying it. While he ate,
another joined him at the table.

"I'm Thinbar and I bring you a message, friend Robert."

Robert paused in his eating and looked into the veiled eyes of a short,
dwarfish native. With some surprise, he noted, around Thinbar's head, a red
band bearing a Warrior's gold debbels. Robert's eyes narrowed. The short,
puckish man sitting before him, bearing less height than himself and no more
weight, seemed an unlikely prospect to be a level five Warrior. But then,
Robert recalled, as with Sapro, first impressions might be deceiving.
"How do you know who I am?" Robert asked.
Thinbar shrugged. "Golden haired Warriors and - if you'll pardon my
observation - those so young are not common in Faland."
Robert frowned. "I suppose I am a bit unusual." He paused, then added,
"But so are you."
Thinbar grinned. "You're right, Friend. Deeds, not age or size, should be
the measure of a Warrior."
"What message do you have for me? Is it from the Master?"
Thinbar withdrew a small metal cylinder from a belt pouch. "It's from the
Master," he said, handing the cylinder to Robert. "I have no knowledge of the
contents."
Robert turned the shiny cylinder slowly in his fingers. A knurled cap
covered one end. A small paper, inscribed with intricate runes, covered the
cap.
"You can see the seal is not broken," Thinbar observed, pointing to the
paper. "You'll want to open this in private."
"Yes, I suppose so." Robert tucked the cylinder into a pouch on his belt.
"Will you join me for breakfast?"
"Gladly." Thinbar's eyes lighted. "Cori!" he called to the boy-servant.
"Bring kurduc and drog!"
"How did you get the message? Who gave it to you?" Robert demanded as
Thinbar attacked his breakfast.
Through mouthfuls, Thinbar replied, "I contracted in Or'gn to carry it. The
seal shows it comes from the Faland Master. My instructions were to deliver it
to you at Sapro's Inn. When we found you on the road west of here, near death,
I feared I might have to default on my contract."
"We?" Robert's voice showed his surprise. "You were traveling with
Brom?"
"Yes. We are traveling together. You have not seen the last of us, my young
friend. Brom and I have joined forces and taken a contract to protect you."

"Protect me?" Robert felt truly amazed now. "From what?"

Thinbar leaned back, wiping his chin, and laughed heartily, his small body
shaking. "That, my friend, you must tell us. I think, perhaps, you should retire to
your room and find out what's in the ampule I gave you."
"You're right," Robert agreed. "Katina!" he called. "What do I owe for my
meal . . . my friend's, too?"
Katina bowed respectfully. "No charge. You eat, sleep. Sapro say, no
charge."
Seeing Robert's perplexity, Thinbar chuckled. "You have caught the
attention of high powers. Relax and enjoy it."
Upstairs, in the privacy of his room, Robert removed the message-cylinder
from his belt pouch and twisted the top, breaking the thin paper seal. His
fingers trembled. The excitement of the morning, coupled with his injuries and
loss of blood, had greatly tired him.
A small scroll slid from the vial into his hand. It was no more than three
inches wide and unrolled to a length of six inches. Delicate, beautifully penned
runes, covered its surface. Robert's heart fluttered as he sank to the edge of his
bed and began to read.
***
When Robert finished, his stomach churned and his head swam. So much to
do! Surely what the Master asked of him was not a task for a boy; especially
not one who had scarcely reached his thirteenth birthday and had lived so
little. Robert felt proud, but also afraid; proud that such great trust had been
placed in him, afraid he would not be equal to its demands.
Exhausted, he lay down on his bed, yielding to his body's demand for rest,
and slept. When he awoke, sight of the sun peeping at his window astonished
him. He had slept through most of a day and a full night as well.
Feeling guilty, he hastened up.
When he had fallen sleep, he had been too tired to remove his sirkeln. Now
he undressed and entered the shower. As he bathed, he realized he no longer
felt the wound in his foot. And the tepid water washed off the scabs that
covered the arrow wounds in his chest and back. When he stepped from the
water and stood dripping before the mirror, he saw the angry red blaze where
the renegade's arrow had ripped through his breast, coming from back to front.
Yet, when he drew air deep into his lungs, he felt no pain and rejoiced in the
almost magical power of his body to heal itself.
Dressed, Robert hurried downstairs. No one was in the dining room, but

when he entered, Katina emerged from the kitchen. "You hungry? Yes?"
"I'm starved," Robert said. "I feel like I haven't eaten for a week."
Robert ate hugely, undisturbed save by the occasional attention of Katina.
Even Sapro was not present. When he finished breakfast, he reflected on his
instructions.
I must go first to Renri's cottage.
He hurried from the inn. The air, laden with the fragrance of the forest,
brought a shiver as it touched bare skin for he wore only his sirkeln. Robert
had not realized how early it was. The sun was not yet far above the horizon,
and dew still sparkled on grassy tufts along the wall of the inn. Two dozen
horven milled in a small corral. Next to the corral, a shed covered an
armorer's forge. Several small, single story log buildings, stood near the inn. A
large wagon was sitting inside the palisade main gate.
Sapro's Inn formed the core of what appeared to be a small Faland
settlement. Robert wondered what purpose each outbuilding served but did not
have time to tarry. The only person he saw was a native girl about the servantboy, Cori's, age. She was forking straw to the horven.
Robert asked, "Can you tell me where Renri's cottage is?"
The girl looked up; her double-tine pitch fork paused in mid-stroke. "Not
awake yet."
"Which house?" Robert asked.
"Behind." The girl motioned with her eyes toward the inn. "Near outside
wall. Not awake yet."
"I'll wait to see her. Thanks."
The girl jabbed her fork into a stack of straw and heaved a forkful over the
corral fence. Robert watched the horven and felt a pang when he remembered
Windrunner.
"Hello, Boy."
Robert jumped. He turned to see Brom, without armor or weapons,
standing behind him.
"You startled me," Robert said.
"Stay alert," Brom responded. "In the compound you're safe enough, but in
the forest outside, surprise often means death."
Robert flushed. He bore wounds that testified to the truth of Brom's words.
"You've made level six since last I saw you," he said, changing the subject. He
had noticed the bardebbels on Brom's head crest.
"I've seen some fighting," Brom acknowledged.

"Thank you for saving my life on the Rooden road. I don't think I would
have made it to Sapro's on my own."
A smile flickered across Brom's face. "You were some troubled, but I
wouldn't have counted you out."
"Thinbar told me you and he have a contract to protect me. Why did you
take it?"
Brom shrugged. "The pay's good. I figure you're on to something pretty
important. It might be interesting."
"You don't mind working for a kid?"
Brom laughed. "I work for the Master, same as you. My job is to protect
you, not to take orders from you. No offense, but all I need from you is time
and place. I'll do the rest."
"You'll have to wait a few days," Robert said a little testily. "I have
business here at Sapro's."
"That's fine with me," Brom said. "My men and I won't mind a few days
hunting in the forest near here."
"Men?"
Brom's laugh deepened. "There are six of us. Thinbar, myself, Jakar and
three droids. It seems you're of special value to the Master."
"Or, perhaps, I've received summons to uncommon danger," Robert
responded coolly.
When the sun finished drying the morning dew, Robert made his way to the
cottage described by the yard girl. He found a small, unimposing structure, the
back wall of which was apparently part of the palisade. A curl of smoke rose
from a masonry chimney that protruded through the log roof of the dwelling.
Robert knocked and waited what seemed a long time. He decided that
Renri must still be asleep and turned to leave. As he moved away, he heard the
door open. Turning, he saw a tiny girl, not more than half his height, with eyes
like dark brown plums set in a round brown face smudged with dirt. Reddish
hair hung past her shoulders. Unlike most children her age, she was not naked,
but wore a dark blue tunic that hung below her knees.
"Are you Renri?" Robert asked in confusion.
"No. Renri there." The little girl pointed into the room behind her. "I Irn."
Robert followed the child into the small cottage. When the door shut, it
was nearly dark in the windowless room. The air smelled of smoke and
cooking grease. Robert coughed. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes
adjusted he made out the figure of an old woman, as gray as smoke, seated on a

mat in front of a faintly glowing fireplace. A small iron cauldron, bubbling

with liquid, hung over the coals.
"Come, Robert. Sit." The voice was papery and scratched, as if produced
by the vibration of a torn reed.
When Robert approached, he saw she was not merely old but ancient
beyond telling. Her face was a mass of wrinkles within which Robert could
barely make out two dim eyes, glinting feebly in the red light of the coals.
Robert could not suppress an involuntary shudder as he sank to the mat beside
her. The little girl, Irn, seemed to vanish into the background gloom.
For five days, Robert visited Renri in the darkened cottage, going each
morning when the dew had left the grass and not emerging until late afternoon.
Each day, when his sessions ended and he left the cottage, he rejoiced anew at
the clarity of the outdoor air. He sucked in great gulps of wind and blew from
his lungs hours of accumulated pollution. He wondered how Renri and her
silent companion, Irn, could tolerate the closeness, foul air, and deep gloom of
the tiny cabin. Yet, he never saw either leave their premises.
From Renri, he learned runes. He learned runes as he had never learned
them before, and the learning made up for the dankness, the stink, the eyewatering smog within Renri's quarters. He learned to read runes without seeing
them, by feel alone, like a blind person reading braille. And he learned to
make certain runes visible, rubbing them with oil, then striking light from the
oil with flint, so that the runes became glowing letters in the dark. He learned
to read a language not heard since the days of the beginning of knowing. Robert
felt joy in the runes.
When he was not learning runes, Robert discovered that within Sapro's
compound a variety of artisans dwelt. From these, for a price, many services
were available. One evening, he found an Armorer and paid twelve ralls to
have the armor he had taken from Bronbug - Bronbug was the name of the
renegade he had killed - modified to fit his own lesser frame. From a Healer,
he replenished the supplies in his first aid kit, and he found a Clothier to
fashion a mate for his remaining combat mokad. Knowing what his destination
was, he also had the Clothier make him a heavy suit of fur and an inner suit of
the same light cloth used to make ukelns.
Late on the third afternoon, he found Brom, back from a day of hunting. "In
two mornings we will leave," Robert told the black Warrior.
"Good. I begin to weary of this place. Where are we headed?" Brom
sounded pleased.

"To the cave of Thun in the land of the snowy griven," Robert replied
blandly.
Brom whistled softly and his dark eyebrows arched upward. "No wonder
the Master requested a guard to accompany you. The Snowy Mountains are a
dangerous place."
"Have you been there?"
"Once. Though not so far as Thun. The land of Forever Ice has a mean
reputation, well earned. I see now why our contract called for equipage of furs
and hide tents. That is why we brought the wagon."
"Amral, the Clothier, is making furs for me," Robert said. "I was about to
suggest you order the same, but apparently you have already seen to that."
"I have something for you," Brom rummaged in his belt pouch. "Now is,
perhaps, a good time to give it to you."
Robert's brows rose. "Something for me?"
Brom held out his hand and let fall into Robert's outstretched palm two
small gold icons. The boy's eyes widened. "Bardebs? For me?"
"You're a level three Warrior now. It seems your run-in with Bronbug and
his men did not go unnoticed."
"You mean I advanced two ranks at once?" Robert's voice was
unbelieving.
"It happens. You've earned your rank. Not many men could take an arrow
then stand down three armed renegades."
Robert's face shone as he removed his Warrior's crest and replaced the old
bars with the icons of his new rating. Proudly he replaced the crest, wrapping
it carefully around his forehead and back so that it swept his shoulder length,
white-blond hair away from his face. He clasped arms with Brom and began to
see himself as man more than boy.
"We'll be ready in two mornings," Brom said as he strode away.
On the last afternoon with Renri, Robert sat deep in thought. "You've done
well," the old woman told him in her whispering voice. Irn sat beside her,
flickers of firelight reflecting from her russet hair.
"Do you know what this is all about?" Robert asked, peering at his mentor
from eyes darkened to the color of blue ink by the shadows of the room.
"None knows but the Master," Renri replied, with a hint of impatience. "It's
time for you to go. You will do well."
"Goodby, Irn," Robert said to the little girl sitting coiled against old Renri.
Irn, he had learned, could read runes as well as he, probably better. She was

Renri's apprentice. It would not be long until she replaced Renri as Runemaster at Sapro's Inn.
Robert rose from the mat opposite Renri and left the little cottage, but not
without a last look around. In spite of its unappealing ambience, he knew he
would miss his sessions there, learning runes as his heart was set to do. And he
would miss ancient Renri and little Irn.
Sapro provided a large and hearty breakfast for the travelers on the
morning they chose to leave. During his week there, Robert had grown
accustomed to Sapro's Inn. The thought of leaving caused him anxiety, though
he was happy to know that Brom, Thinbar and Jakar, dedicated to his defense,
would be with him. As he dined with his new companions, he marveled that
the Master had retained such powerful Warriors on his behalf. He also studied
the three droids, Ulf, Bull and Kon, who shared a table in the dining hall. They
ate stolidly, with no social interaction, yet seemed to enjoy the eating. Robert
wondered if they were truly as unfeeling as people said they were.
On leaving Sapro's, the party headed east, deeper into the Glu'me forest, on
the road to Rooden. Brom rode point with Jakar. The latter, a stocky native
woman, was so taciturn Robert had never heard her utter more than an
occasional grunt. She carried a battle axe, which she handled easily, and had
attained the rank of level four Warrior. She also served as the group's Healer.
Brom seemed to trust her, though Robert sometimes caught her staring at him in
a way that made him feel uneasy.
Brom had acquired a remuda of fourteen horven for the expedition, and one
of these he made available to Robert. He was pleased to be riding again, but
none of the mounts could replace Windrunner. When he remembered the pain
he had felt when Windrunner fell, Robert made a vow never to become
attached to a horven again. He rode behind Brom and Jakar, alongside Thinbar.
Ulf drove the wagon. Bull and Kon, along with the extra horven, brought up the
rear.
"How long will it take to reach Rooden?" Robert asked Thinbar. Even with
the heavy wagon, the horven moved with a rapid, swinging gait, and Robert
knew they were making good time.
"A day and a half, two days at most," Thinbar answered. "It depends on
how late Brom is willing to travel."
"And, I suppose, on whether anyone tries to stop us or rob us," Robert put
in.
"Renegades won't attack us. We're too strong. Everyone here is a fighter,

and there aren't any gangs working near Rooden large enough to challenge us.
Hyen'll back off too. We'll make Rooden without trouble."
Thinbar's prediction proved correct, and on the afternoon of the second
day, the small forest village of Rooden came into view. The vegetation had
grown ever more dense with each passing legon to the east, yet now the forest
opened around Rooden. Robert supposed it had been cleared to make room for
the settlement. The town gate, set in a palisade taller and stronger than the one
around Sapro's Inn, stood open. Robert saw guards stationed on platforms set
atop tall towers on either side of the gate. It was the first time he had seen
guards protecting a settlement.
As they approached, he wondered if the guards would challenge them, but
they passed them through with only a nod. Inside, men and women, many with
the rough appearance of renegades, hastened to and fro along a busy street that
extended in a straight line from the gate. Along the street were blacksmith
shops, clothing stores, food markets, tool shops, weapon shops; all apparently
doing a lively business.
"Everything is expensive here," Thinbar told Robert as the boy gawked at
the sights along the street. "And you have to watch the merchants; they're not as
given to fair dealing as those in Or'gn, or at Sapro's for that matter. Renegades
and outcasts do a lot of business in Rooden. We brought most of our provisions
with us. I'm Provo for this expedition. If you need anything, see me before you
lay down hard ralls in any of these shops."
Brom made camp in the village green, a quarter legon beyond the business
district. To his surprise, Robert noted an extensive residential area surrounding
the green. Most of the houses were small and more crudely built than those in
Or'gn, but many children played among them.
Thinbar proved an able cook, and the droids did nearly all the extra
chores. Robert relaxed after the meal, and through the spires of trees, watched
Faland's small moon begin to rise.
"We'll get an early start in the morning," Brom said, as he sipped drog. The
soft glow of embers from the cooking fire lit his dark face. "I think it wise we
turn in early. Rooden is the end of the road. We'll leave the wagon here and
pack our supplies on the horven."
Robert felt grateful for another night in the relative safety of civilization.
When he slipped beneath his blanket, he could not help wondering what lay
ahead. On the morrow, he would follow Brom, the black Warrior, beyond the
edge of Faland's civil world into the cold land where snowy griven wandered.

What, exactly, is a griven?

Robert closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Robert brought his horven to a stop on a ridge overlooking a vast canyon.

Beyond the canyon, mountains, like giant's teeth, soared against the deep blue
sky. Fields of perpetual ice glittered under the noon-day sun. Robert watched
the slopes below, searching for devon, deer-like animals that roamed Faland's
forests.
For ten days Brom had led eastward, first through dense forest that had
seemed trackless, then into low hills, and finally into mountains. Robert
learned Brom was a peerless Scout, finding routes where it seemed none
existed and untangling trails that appeared to lead nowhere. Robert watched
and learned.
He held a bow in his right hand, an arrow nocked to its string. He held it
proudly, though it was smaller and lighter than a Faland war bow, and knew he
was already skilled in its use. The bow was a gift from Jakar. She who had
looked so strangely at him, had taken him under her wing. She sought him out
each night when everyone was gathered around the campfire. She said little at
first, and Robert was puzzled and even a little alarmed. But Thinbar told him
Jakar was once married - before becoming a mercenary. She had a child; a
boy, who was the love of her life. Before the child's twelfth birthday, he went
with his father to the quarry south of Triod to bring back sand for making glass.
Man and boy were killed by a berven. Thinbar said Jakar went nearly mad
with grief before she took up the Warrior's life. Now she saw in Robert a
shadow of her lost boy. She gave him the bow on the third night, with arrows,
and showed him how to stand, pull, and aim.
A devon broke from cover, flushed from its hiding place by Thinbar.
Robert watched, disappointed, because it was too far for a shot with his light
bow.
"Gee-up!" He put heels to his horven's flanks. He saw Thinbar coming
from below, and together they drove the devon toward a small draw. Running
in bounding leaps, the devon turned toward the narrow channel. It scarcely
reached the entrance when an arrow thudded into its side. A second arrow
struck before the fleeing animal could stumble. It dropped.
When Robert and Thinbar rode up, Brom was already at the animal's side,
retrieving his arrows from the carcass. "Along with two brought in by Jakar

and the droids, this will provide enough meat to get us to Thun," he said. "We
won't take time for hunting when we're in griven country."
"We'll reach the snow tomorrow?" Robert asked.
Brom nodded. "Look to your furs and boots. Tomorrow when we cross the
canyon we'll be in a whole other world. You'll learn what cold is."
***
Wind coming off sheets of ice, carried cold like a knife. Robert huddled in
his furs and stamped his feet for warmth. Even through his thick mokads, lined
with socks made from a ukeln, his feet felt frozen. All day they had ridden
upward, climbing ever higher into mountains of gray stone and wind-swept
glaciers. It had been his task, along with Jakar, to lead the string of seven pack
horven safely over the precarious route. Brom, with Thinbar, had ridden far
ahead, scouting the best way through the rugged terrain, while the droids, front
and rear, had served as guards. Now they were preparing camp.
"Our firewood is limited," Thinbar said. "We've enough for cooking but not
for extra warmth. It may be days before we can collect more. I spotted a patch
of ice-free water in the lake below. Get your water there, and don't waste fire
melting snow."
Robert looked toward a stony lake surrounded by patches of snow and ice.
Their camp was on a ridge above the lake, protected by a low wall of broken
rock dropped long ago by a melting glacier. The terrain was grand, all ice and
rock, but so hostile it filled Robert with dread. The long day's ride had worn
him down, and he scarcely noticed the beauty of the stark land.
"What will the horven eat?" he asked.
The droids were putting up hide tents, one for themselves and one to be
shared by the two humans and the two Faland natives.
"We'll find pasture tomorrow, after we cross the first pass," Brom said,
gesturing toward a notch in the stone rampart above the lake.
Robert joined in the camp chores, as much to keep warm as to contribute.
When the tents were up, anchored by large rocks, he carried firewood and food
bags from the pack string. Then he tethered the horven where they could draw
warmth from one another and took buckets to bring water from the lake. The
sun had dropped but still painted the higher peaks with streaks of orange light.
In the lake basin, shadows had thickened.
Ulf and Kon joined him. Curls of fog rose over the open water where lake
moisture condensed in the cold air. The mist formed drifting phantasms in the
waning light. Near the shore, barriers of rock cut the wind and it felt warmer.

Robert walked onto the ice, knelt at the edge and dipped his bucket. He heard a
sound, and his hand paused. Across the lake, he saw a mound of snow moving,
and the hair on the back of his neck stiffened. Quickly, he glanced at the two
droids, their dark figures bent to the task of pulling water from the lake. They
showed no alarm. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The white mound had
steadied. He shook his head, then finished filling his buckets. He had scarcely
taken three steps, a bucket hanging from each hand, when a terrible scream
froze him in his tracks.
He spun. Rising on the far side of the lake, the moving white mound
stretched upward like a small mountain. Atop the mound, a mouth opened,
gaping as if the earth had split. From the mouth, a cloud of vapor streamed
upward, and along with the vapor came the awesome scream.
Robert's buckets clattered on the ice. His feet went into fast reverse,
slipping then grabbing. The mound formed into a giant white animal that
dropped to all fours and began to churn clouds of snow as it heaved its bulk
into motion. As though it were a cloud driven by gale winds, it came around
the lake. Robert ran upslope toward camp. On his left he heard a high, piercing
war cry, and on his right he saw three dark figures charging down the slope.
"Griven!" he heard Brom yell.
Swiveling, Robert saw Brom, Thinbar, and Bull racing to meet the giant
snowy griven. Ulf and Kon, swords drawn, already were nearing contact.
Jakar charged in from the other side, her battle axe raised, her war cry ringing.
Understatement would describe the snowy griven as a large white bear. More
accurately, it might be referred to as a whale on land. At bay, on its hind legs,
it towered as high as a three-story building; its jaws opening wide enough to
swallow a man at a gulp.
The droids closed, swinging their swords against claws borne on arms as
thick as tree trunks. For a moment Robert stood spellbound. The droids moved
precisely, slashing, darting away, closing again. Brom and Thinbar released a
hail of arrows, each thudding home in the giant animal's thick fur. Then Jakar
went in with her axe. Robert glanced at the tents. His bow was there but would
be useless. It was not heavy enough to drive arrows through such thick fur. And
his tagan would be worse than useless.
The roars of the griven rose in fury. A massive paw caught a droid and sent
it crashing into rocks thirty yards distant. Robert charged, plucking hummers
from his belt and stacking them in his left hand.
He heard Brom scream, "Stay back!"

Wild with fear and excitement, Robert went through the battle line formed
by the Warriors and droids. The griven, trumpeting rage, rose above, blotting
out the sky. Blood, black in the dull light, streaked its white fur. The griven's
head curved downward. Giant jaws, spraying slaver, opened. Robert flicked
two hummers straight upward into the opening jaws.
A claw like a scythe caught Robert under his up stretched arm and
shredded his armor. The blow set him spinning like a top on the icy surface. As
he slithered aside, he heard the griven's scream change pitch as it tried to
swallow the razor-sharp hummers. Then Robert piled into a stack of boulders,
and his head cracked against something hard. Sight and sound faded.
***
When Robert came to, he was lying on furs in a hide tent. Yellow lantern
light flooded the space, and Jakar knelt at his side, busily stitching a wound
that had exposed his ribs.
"What happened to the griven?" he asked.
Thinbar laughed. Robert rolled his eyes to glimpse the small Warrior in the
shadows behind Jakar. "After getting a taste of your hummers, it decided we
weren't such good eating. It left," Thinbar said.
"Was anyone hurt?"
"Bull was killed," Brom said flatly, as he pushed into the tent. He was
carrying a bucket of water. "Like you, he got too close. Everyone else has a
few bruises and scrapes but none worse than your ribs. Charging the way you
did was reckless." Brom's voice held an edge.
"I didn't mean to be reckless," Robert said. "I was too scared to think."
"Most people get out of the way when they're scared."
"I started to . . . something wouldn't let me . . . all of you were fighting."
"It was right to fight," Brom's voice softened. "Only you need to be more
careful. You should think about the merits of living to fight again."
"I wanted to help."
Thinbar chuckled. "If we go into battle again, I'll not mind having you at my
side."
Robert felt his face warm. But he knew he had been overly zealous. He
knew, too, that had his hummers missed he would not be having this
conversation. When Jakar finished stitching him and a bandage was in place
around his ribs, he joined the others at a meal prepared by Thinbar.
"When you're finished eating," Brom told Robert, "look to your gear. Your
armor needs repair and we'll be heading out at first light tomorrow."

***
Four days later, the party encountered their second snowy griven. After
crossing the pass where they met the first griven, they rode for three days
through lush green meadows, pocketed between soaring, snow clad peaks.
Then their route took them upward again, into the snow fields. They spotted the
griven at noon, as they rounded a wind-swept outcrop near the top of a shallow
pass. The horven were stepping through knee-deep snow on a broad, gentle
upward slope. The griven angled down from higher ground, moving toward the
saddle made by the pass between two peaks.
"Griven on the left!" Thinbar sang out.
Brom and Jakar were riding far ahead and did not hear. Robert was leading
the string of pack horven and Thinbar yelled to him, "Get the horven over the
pass!"
Ulf and Kon, who were bringing up the rear, immediately swung their
mounts to position themselves between the string and the griven. As they did,
the griven spotted the horven and charged.
"Gee-up!" Robert yelled and kicked his horven. In the heavy snow it took a
moment for the string to get underway, but the horven were strong and ran well.
Thinbar unlimbered his bow and joined the droids.
Snatching quick glimpses behind, Robert saw that the griven was no more
than half the size of the one that had attacked them earlier. Yet it was an
impressive beast to have on one's tail, and he urged his horven to a full gallop.
Near the top of the pass, wind had swept the slopes clear of snow, and the
running horven picked up speed. Brom and Jakar, unaware of what was
happening, did not turn until they heard Robert's shout. Then they rode out to
either side and formed an escort for the pack string.
Powerful as the griven was, it was no match for horven in a long race, and
after a brief chase, it gave up. Standing on its hind legs, it bellowed its
disappointment. Robert reined back and turned to study the magnificent animal.
It looks like a polar bear, yet even this small one must be much larger.
Through the wild ride, he had kept the pack string together. The droids had
done their job well, for all the lashings held, and no gear had been lost.
"That'll keep us on our toes," Thinbar said as he rode up, flanked by Ulf
and Kon.
Across the pass, they dropped into a string of snow-free mountain
meadows. Brom found a sheltered spot where they could camp near a small
lake. "We can replenish our firewood here," he said, pointing toward a small

copse of trees. It was the first wood they had found since entering the icelands.
While the droids set up the shelters, Jakar and Robert went to gather wood.
They were bent to the task, when Jakar suddenly paused, then spun about with
her axe held ready. Robert looked up. Less than a hundred yards away, five
mounted Warriors were approaching, their horven moving at a slow walk.
Jakar voiced a war cry, alerting the camp, and Robert uncoiled his tagan.
The riders stopped and one raised a hand in the Warrior's greeting. His crest
showed he was an honorable Warrior, sixth level. The four with him were
droids. Robert relaxed and Jakar lowered her axe. The Warrior leader was
human, of bulky build, with tanned white skin and red hair. His face was
shrouded in a red beard.
"I'm Clemmon," said the red beard.
"I'm Robert; this is Jakar," Robert said. Then he turned to Jakar and added,
"I'll get Brom."
Clemmon slid from his horven. "Did you say Brom?"
"You heard right, you old dog!" Brom, who had been alerted by Jakar's cry,
came through the trees. "Last I heard, you were on the way to Riven with
Fraghorn!"
"Never got there. We were ambushed by wolven out of Woren. Fraghorn
was torn up too bad to finish the trip. I headed out on my own when I got wind
of other possibilities. You know I'm a born wanderer - something like you,
Brom. Where have you been of late? I haven't seen you in a long time."
"Camp with us tonight and we'll catch each other up. What's it been, a year
since last we were together?" Brom's voice showed his excitement.
"Longer than that," Clemmon laughed. "We haven't crossed paths since
Oasib." Clemmon barked orders at the four droids, and they led the horven
toward the lake where Ulf and Kon were setting up tents and preparing a
fireplace.
After a sumptuous meal enlivened with fresh greens collected and prepared
by Thinbar, everyone crowded around a large campfire, the first for either
party in many days.
"What brings you into the Snowy Mountains?" Brom asked.
"Hunting," Clemmon replied.
Brom looked surprised. "Hunting? Not for food or hides, I'd say. What
game does a hunter value here?"
Clemmon grinned. "Snowies." He paused to watch the effect on his

listeners.
"Snowy grivens? You hunt snowy grivens?" Robert asked, his voice
cracking.
Clemmon roared. "I've always been a bit crazy. Brom'll confirm that. Old
Scrogs in Woren wants a snowy griven pelt. He offered a thousand ralls for
one."
"Wow! We almost killed one a few days back," Robert cried. "It was
huge."
"Hold on, Robert," Brom said, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure we
almost killed it or did it almost kill us? Remember, it killed Bull." He turned to
Clemmon. "Bull was one of our droids."
"It killed Bull but we left it with a dozen arrows and a couple of hummers
to remember us by," Thinbar put in.
"Haw! Maybe that explains it," Clemmon said. "We came across a snowy's
tracks a few days ago . . . found blood and followed awhile. We found these."
Clemmon dug in a belt pouch and extracted a pair of hummers. "The beast
apparently dislodged them with gorge and coughed them up. It had shed arrows
like a chicken molting all along its trail. We figured there must be another
hunting party after the same quarry as we. Is that what you're about? You heard
about Scrogs' offer and are out for griven?"
Thinbar chuckled. "It's not we who were doing the hunting. The snowy was
hunting us, I'd say."
Clemmon shook his head. "I wish it had come after us. We haven't seen
anything more than tracks in two weeks."
"It's just as well you didn't find that one," Brom said. "It looked to be the
daddy of them all."
As he listened and remembered, Robert wondered that anyone would hunt
such huge and dangerous game. And he felt something of a pang as well,
remembering the blood that had streaked the snow-white fur of the giant
carnivore. When it had stood, trumpeting, the sight had thrilled him to the core
of his being. As he thought about it, he wondered if even a thousand ralls
would be fair trade for such a sight.
***
Clemmon camped with Brom and company for a day, then returned to his
hunt. He headed west, in the direction griven had last been seen, while Brom
continued east. Robert had welcomed the day of rest, lounging in the sun,
soaking the last soreness from his ribs. Two days later, the group paused on a

high, ice-covered plateau and looked into the thundering mass of Fariver, the
great river of Faland.
"We'll follow the river north," Brom said, pointing along a vast, curving
arc of stone. "Thun is river's source." He shook his head and added, "Must be a
big cave to spew forth such a mighty flow."
Robert tried to gauge the river's heaving volume. The scroll given him by
Thinbar at Sapro's Inn said Thun contained a jewel of surpassing beauty. But
the jewel's value lay not in its beauty but in the power it gave a Rune-reader.
Robert read the scroll again as he sat his horven in the thin air of the Snowy
Mountains. "In the light of the green stone taken from the place of thunder the
gray runes can be read." The scroll said nothing of what the gray runes were,
or where they might be found, or what purpose would be served by
deciphering their message.
When Robert returned the scroll to its case, he saw Brom already riding
north along the stone scarp. He trotted to catch up. Late in the afternoon, they
spotted mist rising ahead.
"Spray from a waterfall," Thinbar observed. "I can hear it from here."
As they rode nearer, the roar of falling water grew until it became hard to
speak above it. Even the ground, though mostly solid rock, shook with the
intensity of the sound. Then, rounding a rock outcrop, the party caught sight of
the fall. From a gash, high on an iron-gray cliff, a gout of water leaped
outward, then fell hundreds of feet into Fariver gorge.
Robert sat in wonder. It looked as if the mountain had become swollen
with the waters of Faland and had split. The water rushed out through the
rupture, making a sound like that made by the snowy griven magnified a
thousand fold.
Brom nudged his horven away from the defile. He rode down a long slope
into a narrow valley half a dozen legons west of Thun. The other riders
followed, putting a shield of rock between themselves and the thunder of
Fariver's birth. Next to a small stream lined with scrub trees, they found a
place to camp. A biting wind had begun to blow, and when Robert looked up,
he saw thick clouds scudding overhead. The air got colder as he worked,
cutting firewood to stay warm.
When the fire was going well and Thinbar had a rich stew bubbling in an
iron kettle everyone settled next to the warmth. The fire had been built in a
makeshift compound, protected on two sides by large boulders, and on the
other sides by the hide tents. Robert was grateful to be out of the wind.

"How can we enter a cave with about a zillion gallons of water flowing out
of it?" Robert wondered.
"Didn't your message say?" Thinbar asked.
"No," Robert admitted. "The message says only that I'm to go into the Cave
of Thun and find the means to complete my mission. It doesn't say how to get
in."
"We probably have to come down from the top," Thinbar said. "Lower
ourselves down the cliff and go in over the water or maybe there's a passage
alongside."
"Sounds dangerous," Jakar said. "The top of the cliff is a good climb and
it's snowing."
Scattered flakes had begun to appear, swirling into the space above their
heads. Robert held out his hand and felt the bite as a flake melted on his open
palm. Soon the snow came more thickly, sizzling and crackling as flakes
dropped into the open flames. Thinbar and the droids stretched a canvas over
the space between the boulders, partially sheltering the fire. Everyone retired
to the tents to eat stew and worry about what the next day would bring.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Snow fell all night and all the next day, driven by strong north winds that
piled huge drifts in the still air alongside boulders and tents. The second
morning dawned clear, but it took an hour to dig out.
"Oh, my," Brom said, when he saw how deeply snow filled the small
valley in which they were camped. "It may be a while before we can travel
again."
The horven shrugged off the cold but heaved and struggled to move through
breast deep snow. The droids broke trail for them and moved them across the
valley to wind-swept slopes to the south. There the horven found sparse
grazing among stunted grasses.
Robert itched to get out. Two days in small hide tents had done nothing for
his, or his companion's, nerves. While Brom and Thinbar went hunting for
fresh meat, he persuaded Jakar to go with him and set out to find a route up the
great cliff from which Fariver's water belched. They headed north up a steep,
rocky slope pocketed with patches of fresh snow. The snow was light and
fluffy, the temperature well below freezing, and the going slow. However, they
soon topped a high, bleak ridge that angled steeply upward to the northeast.
Snow had not clung to the ridge and they climbed easily over exposed rock,
rapidly reaching extreme elevation where thin air made them gasp. Without
wind, in spite of the cold, exertion warmed them and they removed their heavy
furs. In the clear air, they saw snow capped peaks rising to the limits of vision.
The sound of the great waterfall grew stronger.
"There!" Robert yelled. He was climbing above Jakar and had paused on a
rock ledge that bisected the ridge. He pointed to his right. Vapor boiled above
the rocks and sound struck him in waves, like blows from a great pulsating
hammer. Opposite his pointing finger, water roared from the cliff. Veils of ice
hung from the surrounding slopes where vapor had frozen.
"Let's climb higher!" Robert's pulse raced and he could not restrain
himself. Without waiting for Jakar, he pushed quickly upslope, angling to get
above the waterfall. The rocks grew treacherous with ice, but he ignored the
danger.
When lack of air forced him to stop, his chest straining, he had lost sight of
Jakar. While his breathing quieted, he scanned in the direction whence he had

come. He did not see Jakar. Yelling, he knew, would be useless. No voice
could carry above the roar from the great fall. He hesitated, torn between
returning and pressing on to see more of the magnificent spectacle that lay
before him. He decided Jakar could not be far away and would undoubtedly
soon catch up. He moved ahead, drawn by the wild terrain's irresistible allure.
Soon he forgot Jakar. Climbing steadily, he attained ever more thrilling
views of the fall and the vast canyon that lay below. The rocks grew steeper
and the ice thicker. It became necessary to lean forward and find handholds to
steady himself on the rock. A glance to the right revealed the cliff's edge only a
few feet away. Steep down-sloping ice covered the ribbon of rock that
separated him from a drop of several hundred feet.
"Yawp!" His foot skidded. He clutched at the icy rocks, got a hold, then felt
his fingers slip as ice melted beneath his warm hands. He began sliding
downward, hands and feet clawing for holds.
Empty air surrounded him!
"Yunch!" Robert felt a sledgehammer hit between his shoulders. He
coughed and water streamed from his eyes. With deep sobs, he struggled to
pull air into his deflated lungs. When he could breathe, his mind began to
work. Though slightly stunned, he felt no pain. Sky and gray cliff rose above,
so he was lying on his back. He rolled cautiously to his left.
"Yipes!" He stared straight down into depths made hazy with distance.
When the shock subsided, he scooted to a sitting position. He had fallen
only a few feet and had landed on his back on a narrow ledge. His pack,
stuffed with his furs, had absorbed most of the impact.
It was obvious he could not climb back up the cliff, but he wasn't worried;
the ledge was wide enough, three feet or so, and long enough to be reasonably
comfortable. Jakar was, no doubt, already looking for him. She would soon
discover his predicament, drop him a line, and hoist him out of there.
Warm sun shone full on the south-facing ledge. The air had warmed enough
to be almost balmy. Water dripped from overhead and he had food in his belt
pouches.
Might as well relax. He kicked back and studied the extraordinary
landscape.
It was awhile before he realized something quite remarkable about the
ledge on which he was sitting. "It's completely smooth!"
He rubbed his hands over the rock and found scarcely a rough spot. The
wall behind was as smooth as the ledge, at least to a height of several feet.

"This isn't natural! Someone made this ledge!"

Robert began to explore in earnest. The west end of the ledge terminated
abruptly against a blade of unworked rock, but the east end narrowed
gradually, petering to a width of a few inches. He discovered metal bars
extending in a row across the cliff face.
"Handholds! This is part of a trail!" He could hardly contain his
excitement. His first impulse was to follow the handholds, then he paused.
"This ledge must be the trail's end. Why would someone build a trail
across a cliff and end it at a short, narrow ledge? Especially one they had to
carve into solid rock? An observation platform, perhaps?" That made no sense.
The view from the ledge was no better than from the cliff top only a few feet
above.
Robert turned back along the ledge and studied it more carefully. He almost
missed a tiny, vertical strip of brass-colored metal, inlaid into the rock where
the smoothed surface met the unworked rock at the ledge's terminus. To a
casual observer only a small crack appeared, albeit one too geometrical to be
natural. At first, Robert thought the metal strip might be the edge of a doorway.
However, he found only one strip and nothing to suggest the outline of an
opening.
Noon had come and the sun was now almost directly at his back. It shone
into the crack and fell on the strip. Squinting, Robert saw irregularities along
the length of metal. Corrosion had made them indistinct and he drew his knife
and gently probed, scraping away the surface crust.
"Runes!" His pulse notched up. He saw, in vertical format, a series of
runes written in the old language taught him by Renri. They were inscribed the
full length of the strip. "I'm supposed to see this," he said. "I was sent here to
see this!"
Rendering the strip readable was painstaking work. Corrosion had worked
long at the metal. Gradually, Robert became aware of increasing chill. When
he looked up, he was startled to see the sun nearly behind the rim of the gorge.
Cold mist, blowing from the fall, drifted across the vast emptiness and drifted
upward to dampen his skin. So absorbed had he become that he had forgotten
all else. "Where is Jakar? She should have found me by now."
A thread of worry dulled his pleasure in the runes.
"One, three, five, two, seven, six, four." The lead runes spelled numbers.
Robert hastened to complete the message and read, "Opposite side, Knife-ofThun, seven holes."

"Seven holes, seven numbers. Must be a connection, but what is the 'Knifeof-Thun'?"
Shadow fell across the ledge. The dampness on his skin turned into beads
of moisture and he shivered. "Where is Jakar?"
He glanced at the handhold trail he had declined to follow earlier. It
stretched into misty gloom. The holds were wet with condensation, and he
knew they would soon freeze. He dug in his pack, extracted his furs, and
bundled into them, grateful they were waterproof. As light faded over the
canyon, he resigned himself to a cold, wet night in freezing drizzle. He huddled
in the enclosed corner of the ledge, and with his head pulled into his collar, a
fur cap covering his face, and lulled by the constant roar of the waterfall, he
dozed, awakened, and dozed again. In the pale light of Faland's moon, water
freezing on the cliff glittered like diamonds. From time to time when he
awakened he looked out and seeing the moon imagined it was day. Then he
started and opened his eyes more fully and realized night was still upon him.
The temperature dropped steadily, but the wind quieted, and he was warm
enough in his thick furs.
"Knife-of-Thun," he mumbled, fretting against the hard rock.
He opened his eyes with a start. The moon had set. Pale gray light dimmed
the vast swirls of stars overhead. Robert's eyes roved along the ice-covered
stone blade against which he was crouched. "Knife-of-Thun," he cried. "I'm
sitting against the Knife-of-Thun!"
Rising brought exquisite pain for his legs had stiffened. The ledge was
slick with ice, and he moved with great caution, fearful of the dark abyss
yawning before him. Wakefulness made him aware of hunger, and he rummaged
in his pack for dried devon meat. While the sun topped the eastern peaks and
flooded the cliff with welcome warmth, he ate. The ice melted, then moisture
steamed into the still air. His muscles limbered as they warmed, and food
restored his strength. He began to examine the stone Knife-of-Thun.
How do I get across? He noticed some small, nearly inconspicuous
notches he had ignored before. He saw that they had been shaped by tools and
led to the outer margin of the blade.
"Hand and footholds?" His heart leaped when he looked into the chasm.
"Am I expected to crawl out on that thing?" The conclusion seemed
inescapable. He looked upward. Why had Jakar not found him?
He took off his furs and armor to lessen his weight, and with his heart in
his mouth, edged onto the stone. It protruded outward only a few feet from the

ledge, but those few feet seemed like a thousand miles. As he neared the outer
margin, he had the illusion he was suspended in empty space. At the blade's
edge, he was forced to reach around and straddle the stone as though sitting on
a vertical sawhorse. Sun had not yet touched the far side, and he nearly lost his
breakfast when his foot slipped on black ice.
To his dismay, he found almost nothing to hang onto. The union between the
out thrust stone blade and the cliff was seamless, without crack or cranny.
Almost by chance, he spotted the seven holes arranged in a vertical line near
his groping left hand. He kicked ice from a foothold and snugged himself close
against the rock. The holes were small, not much over half an inch in diameter,
and separated from each other by, perhaps, an inch.
Robert had expected something larger, perhaps containing seven
fragmentary messages that might fit together as defined by the seven rune
numbers, but all he saw were empty holes he could scarcely reach. With his
feet braced in barely discernable holds, and his right hand clinging to a rock
nubbin no larger than a walnut, he explored each hole with the fingers of his
left hand. The openings were just large enough to receive his index finger. His
right arm began to shake, and he knew he must return to the ledge before his
muscles fatigued and made it impossible to cling to the rock. He started to
withdraw, then had a sudden inspiration. Starting with the top hole, which he
called number one, he inserted his index finger and pressed as hard as his
limited leverage would allow. Following a sequence determined by the seven
rune numbers - one, three, five, two, seven, six, four - he pressed each in turn.
Nothing happened.
"It was worth a try," he muttered and started to swing away again, then on
impulse turned back and repeated the operation, numbering from the bottom up.
He felt a faint pulsing in the rock. It ceased after a moment and he was not sure
if it had been real or imagined.
His right arm began to ache, and Robert withdrew, grateful to discover the
return made easier by the sun's melting and drying power. As he clambered
onto the ledge, he stopped in astonishment. A gaping hole yawned where the
knife's blade joined the main cliff. The perfectly circular opening was only
inches from the metal rune-strip, yet as closely as he had examined the cliff, he
had failed to notice any hint of such a door.
Although without a lamp, Robert was prepared for darkness. Since the
night in the Glu'me forest when he had waited in dread for a felven attack, he
had included in his gear a small bottle of lamp oil and a wick made by drawing

a string through a hole drilled in a small wooden plug. He assembled his

makeshift lamp, struck a spark with his flint, and watched the flare settle into a
small steady flame. Smiling, he donned his armor, bent double, and scooted
through the entrance.
Inside, the tunnel opened high enough for him to stand. The waterfall's roar
diminished and the sudden silence seemed odd. His silver amulet, worn
against his chest, remained cool, but he pulled it from beneath his armor and
examined it for any sign that it had begun to glow. He uncoiled his tagan and
with it in one hand, the lamp in the other, began to advance. The passage
looked well made - as good as the best tunnels in Blackwater Cave. For
several hundred feet, the way was straight, then abruptly turned. Looking back,
Robert saw the circular entrance lighted by sun shining against the cliff. He
fought the temptation to back out. Only the continuing coolness of his silver
amulet gave him the courage to go around the bend. He arrived at a stairway
that descended into darkness so black the light of his lamp was swallowed
without revealing the bottom. Muted rumbling gave him pause.
As he descended, the rumbling grew louder, and after what seemed an
interminable distance, the steps ended at a corridor glistening with moisture.
Robert stepped into the wet passage and was struck by a volume of sound that
took his breath. Ahead, he saw faint light and clouds of spume. Apparently the
passage led straight into Thun . . . the place of thunder!
With his heart rattling against his ribs, Robert walked into the spume. Mist
dampened his body and chilled him, but he scarcely noticed. With tremulous
steps, he emerged onto a broad, stone ledge above a leaping mass of water that
writhed below him like an enormous demented animal. Spray snuffed his lamp
and drenched his body, but looking to his right, he saw the opening of Thun and
was struck dumb. Sunlight poured into the cavern, streamed through the river's
spray, and split into rainbows that filled the space with iridescent fire. He
shook, pounded by sound that threatened to split his skull. Even the rocks
trembled beneath his feet. Inching along, he followed a path upward over the
torrent. His feet skidded on water-slick rocks and he clutched the wall. He
pictured himself falling into the river's foaming depths, only to be cast from the
mountain like spittle from a giant's mouth.
As he climbed, his eyes found a dark recess. Huddling with his back to the
spray, he cut off the wet tip of his lamp's wick, and after several tries with his
flint, relit it. With the lamp thrust before him, he crept along a tiny passage into
a small cavern, empty except for a low stone pedestal. On its top, softly

glowing, he saw a rectangular green shard. His eyes widened. Never had he
seen a jewel of such size. He touched its viridescent surface tentatively and
lifted it delicately. It lay the length of his palm and covered half its width. He
knew he was holding something of unmeasurable worth.
As he marveled, his eye was caught by a sudden gleam. Flaring upward,
brilliant light blinded him and he crouched, terrified.
"I'll put it back!" He reached with the emerald.
But when the dazzle left his eyes, he saw, shining on the ceiling above him,
a field of runes - runes addressed to him! Trembling, he read, "North, the TrailThat-Hangs-In-Air leads to Aul'kalee. Find the Seer of Oasif. By the light of
the Green Stone, you shall see."
Robert read the message through and through, committing it to memory.
Even as he read, the light dimmed, and by the time he finished, it was gone.
Only the feeble light of his lamp remained to illumine and empty cavern.
My adventure is not over. The runes on the ceiling were red, not gray.
He slipped the green gem into a pouch of his sirkeln, next to his body, and
vowed he would show it to no one - not until he was safely back in the
company of the partnership. Retracing his steps, he hurried through the
Fariver's thundering cave, climbed the steps, and hurried to the exit, still
lighted by sunshine. Jakar had still not come; his pack lay on the ledge,
undisturbed. He paused to eat and drink, slaking his thirst with meltwater that
ran down the face of the cliff. Then he donned his pack and set out along the
handhold-trail.
Compared with his ordeal on the Knife-of-Thun, the trip was easy
exercise. It led him to a cleft, then to an iron ladder that took him to cliff's top.
When he stood above the ladder and looked down, he shook his head. "I think I
found the entrance to Thun the hard way." He remembered his fall over the
cliff.
Moving north, he scrambled through a field of broken boulders, searching
for the ridge he had been climbing when he cut across to see the waterfall. It
would lead him back to camp. As he crossed patches of snow, he worried.
What happened to Jakar? Did she fall too? Has Brom left? Surely not in two
days!
Robert was almost trotting when he reached the lower end of the ridge and
spotted the narrow valley, still choked with snow, where they had camped. He
almost sobbed with relief when he spotted horven grazing in the upper end of
the valley.

"Robert!"
He spotted a diminutive Warrior, waving a bow above his head. "Thinbar!
Thinbar!" Robert ran toward him.
***
"I'm sorry," Robert told Jakar. "I thought you were following me."
Everyone was sitting near the fire. The sun had set, and stars hung overhead, so
bright in the clear mountain air they seemed like clouds of fireflies swirling
around their heads.
Jakar frowned, the furrows of her dark face highlighted by the glow from
the flames. "I was following you," she said. "But you got ahead and I thought
you had continued up the ridge. When I couldn't find you, I returned to camp to
organize a search."
"We searched for two days," Brom said, his voice edged with anger. "We
thought you were farther up the mountain. You caused us a great deal of worry."
"But I found the entrance to Thun," Robert said. "And nobody got hurt.
Please don't be angry."
"What's done is done, and none of us can change it. I, for one, am glad
Robert is safely back with us," Thinbar said.
"Well enough said," Brom agreed. "But let this be the only such
foolishness. I cannot take care of an irresponsible child who pretends to be a
Warrior."
The comment brought a blush to Robert's cheeks. It did not seem altogether
fair since the Master had trusted him with this mission, but he held his peace.
"You say you found the entrance to Thun?" asked Thinbar. "Did you find
what you were looking for?"
"I found a message that directs me to find the Seer-of-Oasif in a place
called Aul'kalee that can be reached by 'The-Trail-That-Hangs-In-Air,'" Robert
answered.
"Aul'kalee!" Brom exclaimed. "Aul'kalee is north of the great cliff. It's all
desert - hot and dry - barren, yet a place of dangerous beasts. Two years ago I
went there with Clemmon. We found the oasis called Oasib. We heard there
were other oases but did not find Oasif."
"Will you help me search?" Robert asked. "I promise not to get separated
again."
"Well," Brom said. "My contract to protect you is open-ended. I could not,
in good conscience, abandon you now."
Robert grinned. "Tell the truth, you love the adventure too."

Brom laughed. "Before we leave here, you must show me Thun. Then I will
take you north and we'll find 'The-Trail-That-Hangs-In-Air'."
That evening, Robert snuggled happily in his blankets, well pleased with
himself.

CHAPTER THIRTY

For five days, Brom led north along an abandoned road he found while
searching for Robert. Clearly the road once carried traffic to Thun. On the
morning of the sixth day, the party wound down switchbacks carved in the
flank of a granite mountain. Behind them, ice covered peaks stretched into hazy
distance, while ahead a narrow plain ended in a high, steep scarp that broke
away into an enormous wasteland.
"Aul'kalee," Brom said, gesturing toward the vast barrens. "We are nearing
Great Barrier Cliff. I didn't know it extended this far east, and I had never even
heard rumor of the road we just traveled. I think we're moving at the edge of
Faland's known world."
The party pulled aside onto a small promontory to study the view. Robert
glanced east into limitless distance. "You mean no one from Faland has ever
been east of here?"
"We're probably the first in a long while to come even this far."
"But there's so much empty land!"
Brom smiled. "I expect a few millennia ago it was like this on Earth. When
we came to Faland, we sort of traveled back in time, I think."
"Martin believes Earth existed a long time ago. He thinks we must have
traveled ahead in time, because the sky shows we are a long way from earth."
Brom shrugged. "I was speaking metaphorically. This is a primitive land the way Earth might have been. I don't think it actually is Earth."
"I don't know," Robert said slowly. "Faland doesn't always seem so
primitive."
Brom laughed. "You are a wise one. Perhaps you are right; this road
required some fine engineering."
As they descended, they left the cold of the mountains and entered a green
and lush plain. It reminded Robert of the fields around Or'gn except he saw no
sign anyone had ever farmed the land, nor sign of habitation. It was wild and
open. Only a faint path stretched toward the top of Great Barrier Cliff a dozen
legons away.
"Let's do some hunting," Thinbar said. "We can use fresh meat, and we
need to collect greens as well."
"Good idea," Brom agreed. "Take Robert with you. The rest of us will go

on to the cliff and make camp for the night. You can join us there."
Robert felt a flush of pleasure. Sending him hunting meant Brom did not
hold his earlier escapade against him, and a hunt gave him a chance to use the
bow given him by Jakar. He rode out eagerly with Thinbar. They worked their
way slowly northwest, bringing down rabir and squal as they went.
Late in the afternoon, laden with meat, they veered north and rode to the lip
of the scarp. The vegetation thinned, and rocky soil peeked through scrub
grasses. The land dropped abruptly, thousands of feet, to bleak barrens that
stretched north as far as the eye could see. Robert dismounted and walked to
the edge, awed by the majesty of the gnarled land.
Thinbar joined him and they studied the broken scarp. Abrupt though the
cliff was, the drop to the flat was not sheer. It consisted of waves of minarets,
spires, and stranded mesas carved from the highland rocks by wind and water.
Much of the rock was red, pink, or white sandstone, some sheer, some softer,
some yielding talus that reached many legons into the desert.
"Look!" Thinbar pointed toward a web-like formation that stretched, like a
gossamer adornment, between columns of rock far to the west.
Robert shaded his eyes against the lowering sun. "It looks like a bridge,"
he announced, though his voice said he was not quite sure he believed it.
"Could it be 'The-Trail-That-Hangs-In-Air'?" Thinbar wondered.
"Yes," Robert said. "I'll bet it is - the way to Aul'kalee."
The hunters mounted and began to pick their way east to rendezvous with
Brom and make camp for the night. It dawned clear the following morning,
though as the party rode west along the scarp, clouds began to gather. The
natural drainage flowed south, in the direction of Fariver, though occasional
washes ran north toward the scarp. Some of these, mostly carrying water only
during heavy rains, had cut deeply and forced long detours to the south.
"A road once followed this route," Brom noted as he sat his horven at the
edge of a deep gully. "There was a bridge here." He pointed to rockwork that
had once formed the support for a structure. "It does not bode well. If the socalled hanging trail is in an equal state of disrepair, I fear it will not be
passable."
Before noon, rain began to fall from a lead-gray sky. Unlike the rains in the
farmlands, it was persistent, soaking, and cold. The riders donned furs. Mud
began to slick the ground. As the clouds lowered, visibility dropped, and it
became difficult to see more than a dozen yards beyond the horven's noses.
Brom halted when the party stumbled on a spring tucked in the head of a small

wash. Ulf and Kon quickly set up the tents while everyone else scrambled
along the wash, seeking scraps of dry wood.
When Robert returned to camp, bearing an armload of wood, he found a
canvas already been stretched overhead, and a fire was burning on a makeshift
rock hearth. He dumped his wood on a growing pile, added to seconds later by
Jakar, and joined the others around the fire. Thinbar had already set rabir to
broil on spits, and vegetables were heating in an iron kettle hung over the
flames.
Pressed together in the small space beneath the canvas, each gathered heat
from the others and from the flames and felt cozily warm. As they ate and
darkness gathered, Thinbar told of his boyhood on a farm west of Forod.
Robert felt Thinbar's words carry him back to Trenel, the camps near Or'gn,
and the joys of the early days after the awakening.
When the meal was done and the fire had burned to embers, Robert felt a
call of nature and sought a place away from camp to relieve himself. The rain
had subsided to slow drizzle. He finished quickly and began to return to the
tents when a sound startled him. With reflexes well honed, he dropped to a
crouch, snatching a hummer from beneath his furs with his left hand while his
right uncoiled the tagan at his hip.
"Ho! You will have no need of those," a small voice croaked.
Robert shook rain out of his eyes and peered into the gloom where a gray
lump had begun to take shape. "Who is it?" he shouted, loud enough to alert the
camp.
"I be Efril. I seek shelter from the rain."
Brom's voice sounded, "Come slowly, Friend, and make no sudden
moves."
In the light beneath the canvas, Robert stared with frank curiosity at the
small figure. The only likeness he could recall was that of little people he had
once seen in a circus.
Efril shucked off a heavy outer coat, and with a peculiar, rolling gait
moved on stubby legs to warm his hands at the embers. Furs shrouded his body
from neck to ankles. Mokads, heavy as boots, covered his small feet.
"It's a sorry night to be out," he said affably. His face was the dark brown
of a Faland native. A beaded headband held long, orange-brown hair away
from his face.
"What brings you to this lonely place?" Brom asked. He had ordered Ulf
and Kon to stand guard and held himself alert to the possibility of other

intruders.
"You wouldn't happen to have a bit of that roast rabir you could spare,
would you?" Efril asked, eyeing the meat still on the spits.
"Sure," Thinbar said, grabbing a plate and ladling vegetables alongside a
chunk of hot meat. "It's a cold night to be without warm food." He filled a mug
with hot drog and handed it, along with the plate, to their small guest.
Efril squinted at Thinbar who stood hardly a head taller than he. "Might
you be from around here?"
Thinbar shook his head. "I'm from the farmlands, but my mother was small
like you. She told me she came as an infant from a land to the east, but I didn't
know where it was."
"Here I'd say," Efril laughed. "There are not many others like us."
"You're not alone, then?" Brom said. "Where are the others? How come
you're not with them?"
"Let me eat, then I will talk," Efril said, lifting rabir to his mouth and
tearing off chunks with strong, white teeth. He ate and drank with gusto, while
the others watched slightly bemused.
When he finished, Efril sank back on his fur coat and sighed contentedly.
"Your food is good," he said. "I'm grateful. I have been many hours on the trail,
searching for you."
"Searching for us?" Thinbar asked. "That seems unlikely, if you don't mind
my saying so. How could you have known we would be here?"
"I was informed and asked to find a Warrior with golden hair and
uncommon youth." Efril looked pointedly at Robert. "The lad here, though his
hair is more white than gold, seems to fit the description."
Robert's interest quickened. "Why were you asked to look for me? Are you
working for the Master?"
"Are you Robert?"
"I am Robert, a Warrior on the Master's business."
"I assume, then, that you're in route to Aul'kalee?"
"And Oasif," Robert said. "Do you know the way?"
Efril settled himself more comfortably on his coat and fished in his robes.
He withdrew a small cylinder and handed it to Robert. It was much like the
one given him by Thinbar at Sapro's Inn. "It contains a map," Efril said, "that
shows the way to Oasif. But before you can reach Oasif, you must descend into
Aul'kalee. I belong to Clan Gartral, keepers of the way to Aul'kalee."
"The-Trail-That-Hangs-In-Air?" Robert asked.

"Some call it that. It's a concession given us by the Master long ago. We
exact a toll from each who uses it, and in return, we maintain the way and keep
its bridges strong."
"How much must we pay?" Brom asked. "Why have I not heard of this trail
before?"
Efril laughed, his round little body shaking. "It's not a trail polite folk
would likely seek. Renegades and marauders are the bulk of our customers,
though in times past it may have been different."
"You don't look like you could compel tolls from a renegade," Brom
scoffed.
Efril laughed louder. "Do not be deceived, Friend. There are many of us.
We can defend ourselves. More important, those who might someday need a
way to Aul'kalee are not quick to attack the ones who provide it. Even the
Master does not pursue renegades in Aul'kalee."
"True enough," Brom affirmed. "It's a land where rules of honor have little
force. But you have not yet told us the price of passage."
Efril, his sharp eyes still sparkling with merriment, turned to Robert. "For
the boy with the golden hair, the way is paid. And for his friends as well."
***
From atop a pile of gear stacked high on the back of a horven, Efril called
out the route as the party made its way west. The clouds had lifted during the
night, and rain-wet fields glittered in the morning sun. Within a dozen legons,
the route widened and showed signs of increased use. Small stone or wooden
bridges carried the riders over the washes, and it was no longer necessary to
make long southerly detours to find a way around the deeper arroyos.
At midmorning the trail forked, one part continuing west, the other jogging
sharply north. Efril directed the group onto the north trail. Abruptly, it took
them over the lip of the scarp, and Robert sucked in his breath as his horven
followed Jakar's over the edge. The trail swung west, dropping steeply along a
sheer sandstone wall. Robert's head spun as he looked straight down, hundreds
of feet to broken rock. The trail, carved into sheer sandstone, was no wider
than the ledge on which he had been trapped above Fariver's gorge. Only now
he felt far less secure, perched high on his horven, his right foot hanging in
empty space.
Swinging sharply left, the trail ducked into a broad alcove, and Robert
forgot his anxiety as a remarkable scene opened before him. A broad level
terrace, guarded on its outer margin by a two-foot high sandstone wall, filled

the alcove to the edge of the cliff. Carved into the inner wall, which was made
up of vertical sandstone flutes rising a hundred feet or more, were dozens of
small caves. Intricate carved decorations surrounded each entrance. On the
open terrace, swarms of little people, mostly women and children, worked or
played.
"The home of Clan Gartral," Efril said, gesturing proudly at the cliff
dwellings. "We have lived here since the time before the measuring of time."
Efril bounced from his perch on the horven's back. "Get down. Stop awhile.
You will be my guests tonight."
"If it's all the same," Brom said, "I think we should go on. It's not even
noon yet."
"Can't be done," Efril said cheerfully. "You must stay. The way is long and
we must start early in the morning, before first sun, so we can be down by
dark. The trail is too hazardous to travel at night. Snoli! Flan! Ravil!" Efril
called to some nearby children. "Tend to the horven. These travelers will be
with us tonight."
The children came running, along with a dozen of their playmates. Though
the children appeared no larger than five-year-olds, they quickly got the huge
horven in tow. Ulf and Kon went with the animals, to unpack and stow the gear.
"Come! I will show you to your quarters," Efril said.
As he led them toward the cliff-homes, Robert saw the children take the
horven into a paddock near one end of the terrace. A huge haystack, piled high
to one side, swarmed with tiny children standing on top and forking hay down.
Though most entrances to the cave dwellings were less than five feet high,
the cave into which Efril led Brom and his followers had an impressive portal
with much higher clearance. Even Brom could stand easily, and the rooms
inside were spacious, though sparsely furnished. Lamps stood in alcoves in the
wall, and mats covered the floor. A low table, apparently used while seated on
the floor, occupied the center of the room.
"Make yourselves comfortable," Efril said. "There's a place to drink and
bathe at the end of the open, where water comes from the mountain." He
gestured outside. "A runner will fetch you for noon meal."
Robert set his pack on the floor near a mat. He took off his furs, for the air
outside had warmed and inside the temperature was pleasantly mild. He left
his helmet near his mat, but retained his body armor.
Eating was a preoccupation of the little people. They ate at noon, again at
midafternoon, at sundown, and yet again in the late evening, before retiring.

Each meal was sumptuous, consisting of a great variety of leafy and root
vegetables, of fruits, and of meat dishes prepared from rabir, squal, devon, and
flesh Robert had not tasted before, called porven. The fattiness of the latter
reminded him of pork.
The meals were jolly, almost riotous, with much laughter and shouting and
little attention to table manners. Women and children served the food, prepared
over open fires in huge hearths at one end of a large dining hall carved into the
sandstone cliff. Smoke from the fires exited through a chimney, several feet in
diameter, carved upward all the way to the flat plain above. Draft from the
fires drew air into the dining hall through windows carved in the north wall.
The room was so well ventilated it seemed almost like an extension of the
outside.
At the evening meal, Robert ate until he could hold no more. He felt as if
he had eaten more that day than in all the preceding week, and when he
returned to his quarters, he dropped onto his mat next to Thinbar and was
asleep in an instant. It seemed he had hardly closed his eyes, when Brom was
shaking him.
"Breakfast in ten minutes," Brom said moving on to awaken Jakar. Thinbar
was already up. It was dark outside, moonless, and the stars hung in milky
clouds over the cliff village. Robert, chilled by the morning cool, stumbled
sleepily to the dining hall. He had stuffed so thoroughly at the evening meal, he
felt he would never be hungry again, but he surprised himself by eating heartily
from the abundant breakfast Clan Gartral provided.
The horven were ready, packed earlier by Ulf and Kon, when Brom and the
others left the dining hall. Efril took his place at the head of the string. "You
will walk from here on," he told Brom. "A clansman will lead each horven. On
many bridges, horven must cross singly, though your Warriors may walk
together if they prefer."
Dawn light had blanked the stars, but the sun had not yet risen when the
convoy started. All the horven handlers were men, or boys near manhood.
They walked with Efril's peculiar rolling gait yet moved with surprising speed.
Robert found he could walk with a comfortable stride without overrunning the
leaders. He followed a hundred feet or so behind the first horven, walking
alone. Brom and the others had chosen to walk far back, behind the last of the
horven.
The trail left the village terrace on its west end, dropped steeply and
precariously along the sandstone cliff, then swung around a jutting rock

formation. Then it leaped breathtakingly into space, over the first of nearly a
hundred suspension bridges. Robert stopped while Efril led the first horven
across the swinging structure. The bridge planking hung within a cradle of
inch-thick ropes suspended from a pair of plant-fiber cables, each as thick as a
man's thigh. The span seemed impossibly long, more than a hundred paces. Yet
it appeared remarkably stable, guyed by dozens of long strands running fore
and aft from the bridge abutments.
When Robert's turn came, he stepped forward with some trepidation.
Though at first unnerved by the dizzying view through the rope fretwork, he
quickly steadied and found the experience exhilarating. Beneath his feet the
planks bounced and swayed yet gave a feeling of solidity that belied the visual
impression.
The switch backing trail descended quickly, repeatedly leaping on graceful
spider-web bridgework, between monolithic columns of red sandstone. The
convoy stretched out until several hundred yards intervened between each
horven, a distance determined largely by the time required to cross the longer
strands and the speed with which the handlers walked. Gradually, Robert
found himself walking alone, often losing sight of the horven that preceded him
on the twisting trail. He became absorbed in the shifting spectacle and
magnificent vistas that unfolded with each loop of the passage.
Thus occupied, he was startled and momentarily confused when he heard a
scream behind him. He had just crossed a particularly long bridge over a
rugged cleft cut deeply into the cliff, and was walking beneath a massive
overhang. He jerked around in time to see a horven, at mid-strand, rear and
lash out with its front hooves. Horven were normally rock steady, and he did
not immediately see a reason for this one's sudden skittishness. But he did see
the young handler lose his grip on the lead, and he saw the horven back
sharply, missing the planks with one hoof. The animal lurched sideways,
slamming into the support ropes. The impact started the flexible bridge
swinging. As the horven continued to flail, the swinging rapidly escalated into
wild oscillations.
Robert was still trying to figure out what had gone wrong, when he saw a
huge eagen slam into the handler, who was barely keeping his footing on the
heaving deck. The youth screamed as razor sharp talons closed in his flesh.
Robert dropped his pack and sprinted toward the bridge. Rippling like a
shaken rug, the planking twisted and bucked, whipped not only by the thrashing
of the entangled horven, but also by the battering from the eagen's wings.

Robert hit the boards at a run and was nearly thrown. Stumbling, he grabbed
the nearest guy line, adjusted his steps to the undulating motion and staggered
forward.
He saw that the handler, now firmly in the grip of the eagen, was Kran, son
of Efril. The boy would have been lost at once had there been room between
the bridge cables for the eagen's great wingspan. As it was, the eagen could not
shake free and become airborne.
The forebody of the horven broke through the ropes and plunged
downward. As it did, its hindquarters became securely tangled in the lines.
The plunge stopped and the three-quarter ton animal hung head down from one
side of the bridge, its terrified screams echoing in the canyon.
Wrenched by the skewed weight, the planking twisted on edge, and Robert
was tossed off the bridge. His grappling fingers closed on a strand and he
dangled in empty space. Powered by adrenaline, he hauled himself hand over
hand up to the main cable and wrapped his arms and legs around it. With a
twist, he wrestled himself upward to straddle the thick strand. The horven had
ceased to struggle, but the eagen's wings still beat the ropes, and staying
astride the main cable was a little like sitting a bucking horse.
"Help me!" Kran screamed. The eagen's claws were firmly embedded in
his thigh and streaks of red ran down his body.
"Grab the ropes!" Robert yelled, hitching himself along the cable. He
wriggled to within a few yards of trapped eagen's booming wings.
Kran, hanging almost head down, made a lunge for a guy rope. Robert
snapped a hummer into the eagen's breast, then another, and another. Screaming
with rage and pain, the eagen released its grip on Kran. Relieved of the extra
weight, the powerful motion of the great bird's wings carried it up and over the
main cable. It dropped into the canyon, then soared outward, its blood-curdling
scream echoing from the surrounding cliffs.
"I'm slipping!" Kran cried. The strand he was holding was wet with his
own blood, and it was sliding between his fingers.
Robert dropped from the main cable, grabbed a support rope, and swung to
the wooden deck, still held on edge by the weight of the dangling horven. "I'm
coming. Just hang on a little longer."
Steadying himself with the ropes, he worked along the planking edge until
he was directly over Kran, then dropped to straddle the planks. Kran's eyes
were shut tight, his face twisted with effort. Robert leaned and snatched the
boy's right wrist. Kran let go of the rope. For a moment, Robert teetered, the

weight pulling on his left arm nearly dislodging him from the planks. Twisting
his feet in a support rope, he hauled himself to a sitting position on the edge of
the bridge. With both hands on Kran's arm, he pulled the diminutive clansman
upward until the youngster could get a grip on the planks. Scrambling to safety,
Kran locked arms with Robert and the two clung together, gasping for breath.
Efril had heard the cries of his son and doubled back. At the bridge
abutment, he had watched Robert drive off the eagen and snatch his boy from
certain death. Now, he hurried onto the bridge, moving with astonishing agility
over the tangled course. Munbi, the handler who had been next in line behind
Kran, hurried from the opposite end. Together, the little men carried Kran off
the structure while Robert followed. The trail widened at the bridge abutment
and several little people had gathered there. Munbi took from his robes a small
horn and began to blow a series of resonant notes.
"I'm in your debt," Efril told Robert. The clan leader was shaking.
"And I," Kran added. "You saved my life."
"I did what any honorable Warrior would do," Robert said. "What you
would have done had the circumstances been reversed."
Efril shook his head. "What you did was more than honor requires, and
more than what many men would have done. You will be forever welcome in
the home of Clan Gartral, and the way to Aul'kalee will always be free to you."
***
Munbi's signal had alerted the village. Since the eagen attack had occurred
early, while the party was yet near the trailhead, a repair crew from the village
reached the site in less than an hour. The poor horven, unconscious and
dangling beneath the bridge, could not be saved. The workers cut it loose and
Robert recognized, as it fell, that it had been his. His heart wrenched as he
recalled Windrunner, and he felt tears on his face.
Twice - twice I have lost my mount.
With the weight of the horven released, the bridge snapped back to its
normal position. Robert watched with fascination as the repair crew swarmed
over it, replacing ropes and adjusting planks. In half an hour the bridge looked
as though it had never been damaged.
Brom, Thinbar, and Jakar had worked their way past the string of horven to
the bridge abutment. When the trip resumed, they walked near Robert. Efril
continued to lead though he sent Kran back to the village.
Robert continued to enjoy the unfolding vistas, but the edge was gone from
his pleasure. The walk became routine and finally tiring. As the trail wound

lower and afternoon came, it grew warmer. By the time they reached the
bottom, late in the evening, sweat had caught dust and streaked their bodies
with grime. Their armor had become an oven in which their bodies slowly
broiled.
Half a legon from the foot of the trail, Efril led them to a small alcove,
tucked in talus at the base of Great Barrier Cliff. Water trickled over shiny
rocks, then gathered into a small riffle, fell over a low waterfall, and filled a
pool just right for bathing. The little people organized a guard detail, and as
darkness came, set lamps in strategic locations. Brom ordered Ulf and Kon to
share guard duty while the rest of the group cooled off in the pool. When
Robert climbed from the water, clean and refreshed, it was time to eat. After
the meal, the weight of the day pressed upon him, and he rolled into his
blankets and was soon fast asleep.
Dawn came with high thin clouds. It had cooled little during the night, and
Robert had tossed aside most of his blankets. He awoke with a start. Brom,
Jakar, Thinbar and most of the little people were standing around the cooking
fire. He joined them, feeling guilty for his late rising, but no one seemed to
notice.
"Munbi will accompany us to Oasif," Thinbar told Robert. "It seems our
little friends are well acquainted with certain marauders who roam the desert
between here and there. Munbi's presence will assure us safe passage."
Robert's brow rose. "I thought the map Efril gave us was to be our only
guide."
"It was - until you saved Kran. The eagen attack and your quick wit have
served us well."
"That's not all," said Brom, who was standing nearby. "Efril has something
for you, Robert."
Robert turned in the direction Brom gestured. Efril approached the
campfire. He was leading a silver-gray horven mare with large round eyes the
color of the green stone Robert carried in his belt. He had never before seen
such a horven. Most were brown, or sometimes mottled with gray or black, but
none had the sheen of this one.
"She's beautiful," Robert said, his widening.
"She's yours," Efril said. "Her name is Gulner and is of the prize lineage of
King Mordat the Ancient."
Robert gaped and fell instantly in love. He had thought no horven could
replace Windrunner, but his heart said otherwise. With tremulous fingers, he

stroked Gulner's soft gray cheek. The mare bent her head and nuzzled his
shoulder. When he looked into her eyes, he felt as though he had tumbled into a
soft green pool. He tangled his fingers in Gulner's mane, than stroked her
shoulder and sensed the enormous power in her muscles.
Looking helplessly at Efril, he stammered, "It's too much."
"Nonsense," Efril said. "Against my son's life, Gulner is a mere token.
Besides, it's the least we can do. You lost your horven on the bridge when it
was under our care."
Robert had no words. No one had ever given him such a gift before.
***
During the next days, while Munbi led the party across Aul'kalee toward
the oasis of Oasif, Robert learned Gulner was more than merely beautiful.
Though hardly more than average in size, Gulner was without peer for
endurance. She ran tirelessly, hour after hour, in the hunt for porven, wily
shadow-animals of the desert, and could get by on the least wisps of forage.
She husbanded water as if she were a camel and was impervious to heat. In
spite of his vow not to become attached to a horven, Robert fell ever more
deeply under Gulner's spell. On the fifth day out from Great Barrier Cliff,
while riding with Thinbar on a hunt for fresh meat, a pack of desert hyen
suddenly attacked. Even larger and more powerful than forest hyen, the desert
predators struck fear into Robert's heart, not for himself but for Gulner, and he
saw again Windrunner down and torn by slavering jaws.
"Gee-up!" Robert yelled. The dark hunters came, many score, each a
hundred pounds of powerful legs and strong teeth. But to Robert's
astonishment, Gulner wheeled and met the onslaught with flashing hooves.
Hyen howled with pain. Uncoiling his tagan, he made it an extension of his
arm, slashing right and left.
Thinbar's horven, slower and less agile than Gulner, did not fare so well.
Though the small Warrior's bow took a heavy toll, Robert saw his besieged
mount in danger of falling. He pulled hard on Gulner's reins and swung toward
Thinbar. Striking like a snake's head, the tip of his tagan ripped flesh from a
score of hyen while Gulner's hooves took down a dozen others. In seconds the
predator pack broke and raced away in full retreat. Robert reined back, though
Gulner seemed eager to pursue, and trotted to Thinbar's side. Thinbar had
dismounted and was examining his mount's wounds.
"He took a few hits," Thinbar said, in response to Robert's questioning
look, "but he'll be all right."

Robert examined Gulner's legs and found only a few small nicks, and he
had not a scratch himself; Gulner had allowed no hyen close enough to touch
her rider.
"That mare of yours is a marvel," Thinbar said. "I believe she could have
whipped the whole pack on her own." Nine hyen lay with Thinbar's arrows
sticking from their carcasses. Another dozen, felled by hoof or tagan, dotted the
plain while many others carried away the wounds of their failed assault.
Four days after the hyen attack, tired, hot, and dusty, Brom and company
topped a rise and looked down on a patch of green surrounding a shallow lake.
Near the lake stood a small settlement, surrounded by orchards and fields.
"Oasif," Munbi said. "Our journey is at an end."

PART FIVE: NORTH FORTRESS

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Elwind's Repose looked even more shabby than John remembered. He sat
his horven, studying the tattered sign, and felt the bleakness of the place seep
into him. It deepened the depression he had felt since leaving Jason at Forod
two days before. "I haven't felt this blue since Nan died," he muttered,
remembering his Other World wife of forty-five years.
The sun had set but the sky still carried the soft, graying tones of early
dusk, and stars had not yet become visible. John swung his leg over his mount's
back and dropped to the ground. "Well, Jack. Guess you're due for a rest and
some extra grub. I've been pushing you pretty hard the last couple of days.
You've got the back for it, but I know I'm not an easy burden."
"Big John! Is that you?" A girl's voice came from alongside the inn.
John's white beard widened with his grin. "Ermille! Good to see you." His
spirits rose at sight of a familiar face. "Is Elwind here?"
"We've been expecting you."
"Really?"
"There's a man inside. Been waiting for you since early this afternoon."
"News does get around." John shook his shaggy head. He led Jack and
followed Ermille to the corral behind the main building. "I'd appreciate it if
you see Jack here gets extra rations."
"I'll let Penel know," Ermille said.
"I thought your brother was planning to go to Or'gn? Wasn't that the story
last time I was here?"
Ermille laughed. "Penel wants to leave. He had his sixteenth birthday two
weeks ago, but Father still won't let him go. He says Forod doesn't have a
Training-master worth his keep and Or'gn's too far."
John removed Jack's saddle and turned him into the corral. He stashed the
saddle in a shed alongside the corral, slung his saddlebags over his shoulder,
and followed Ermille toward the inn. Penel emerged from a side door as John
and Ermille climbed steps to the small porch.

The boy's brown face wrinkled into a grin. "Father said you were coming,
John! I could hardly wait!"
"How's my man?" John reached a thick hand to clasp the youth's
outstretched arm. "You've put on size since I last saw you."
Penel's grin widened. "I'm sixteen now."
"So your sister tells me. Congratulations."
"There's someone inside to see you. I can introduce you."
"No you don't," Ermille grabbed her brother's arm and turned him aside.
"You have work to do. John's horven needs feeding and brushing."
"Double rations for Jack," John said. "Don't worry, Pen. We'll talk later."
As John pushed through the door, his eyes swept the dining room. Half a
dozen natives, men and women, mostly farmers, sat at several small tables. A
man sitting alone near the back wall caught his eye.
Ermille led him toward the solitary Warrior. As John neared the table, he
sized up its occupant, a human with yellow skin, black hair, and black eyes. A
two-inch scar arced beneath his left eye. He looked no larger than Robert, yet
wore a level four Warrior's headband. His face, clean shaven, bore a blank
expression.
"Jiro, this is John, the one you've been waiting for."
The little man rose and extended his hand. John clasped an arm several
times thinner than his own.
"You have something for me?" John asked.
Ermille left. Jiro reached into a pouch on his sirkeln, took out a small metal
cylinder, and handed it to John. The two sank to chairs on opposite sides of the
table. John noted the Faland Master's seal, unbroken. He looked pointedly at
the little man. Jiro rose, his face still expressionless, and moved to a nearby
table, too far away to see the contents when John opened the cylinder.
At first it appeared empty. Then John noticed a coil of paper wrapped
around the inside. He fished it out with his index finger. Penned in English
were the words, "The Warrior who carries this message will guide you to
North Fortress. Find nine bronze amulets and take them to the Mentat Warrior
in Riven."
John frowned. It seemed a meager message. He glanced at the small,
oriental man and caught him staring back.
"I know part of the message," Jiro said. "I'm under contract to guide you to
North Fortress."
John's eyes narrowed. He had ignored the Warrior's skill-icons. Now he

saw that Jiro was a level six Scout. "You've been to North Fortress?"
"After nine years in Faland, few places remain that I haven't visited. North
Fortress is a ruin, sometimes called the mesa ruin. It's dangerous. The Cha'kur
people claim it lies in their territory. They aren't friendly to people who come
poking around. Last time I was there, about five years ago, Cha'kur turned back
the expedition before we could enter the ruin. "
John's brows shot up. "I was on expedition to the mesa ruin before orders
diverted me to Elwind's to meet you. I never heard of these Cha'kur people."
A flicker of smile crossed Jiro's flat yellow face. "I know. Engar was not
aware of their existence."
"You know Engar?"
"We've met. Everyone knows he trained you, and that he's been traveling
with the Mentat Warrior. He's a good Warrior, but with limited experience."
"His knowledge has proved sound thus far," John snapped. "And he's more
highly rated than you."
"I don't deny that. I only meant his experience with Faland is limited. I've
been a Scout for nine years; he has been here little more than one. He did not
know about the Cha'kur because he has never been to the mesa lands. If your
expedition had continued, it would have failed. You would not have found the
ruin."
John felt his temper begin to fray. "One of our partners is a skilled Scout."
"She has never been to North Fortress. Without help, I would not have
found the ruin myself. Nothing visible remains and no signs mark the way. All
that's left are the underground dungeons that once served to imprison the
enemies of Darc'un, the outcast Warrior who defeated King Mordat of the
Ancients. Some say he still guards treasure in the dungeons."
"Legends and myths," John said. "They mean nothing to me. A ruin is a ruin,
and the so-called demons of Faland have proved a feeble match for my blade."
"Perhaps, but the Cha'kur are not demons."
John's eyes narrowed. "It does sound like the Cha'kur are a greater threat
than Darc'un. Tell me, how powerful are these Cha'kur?"
"Powerful enough. If they discover our mission, they'll try to stop it, and
they'll probably succeed. A magnificent fighter led the expedition that took me
there five years ago, a woman named Etuniad. She had hired Froven, one of
Faland's best scouts--"
"I know Froven," John said. "He was Scout trainer in Or'gn when I took my
training. He seemed very capable."

"He was good, and he warned us about the Cha'kur. However, Etuniad
decided it was worth the gamble to probe the ruin for treasure. She had a cool
head and wasn't afraid of a fight - you don't make fifth level unless you know
what you're doing - but she turned us back without a fight, at the brink of the
ruin. Half a hundred armed Cha'kur appeared out of nowhere. They surprised
even Froven. They let us go when Etuniad decided not to challenge them."
"How do you intend getting past the Cha'kur this time?"
Jiro shrugged. "Maybe we'll get lucky. Anyway, my contract is to take you
to North Fortress. Getting in is your affair. Incidentally, I'm ready now. Soon as
you get your things together, we can start. I've arranged supplies and three pack
horven."
John studied the man's bland face. He talked a good story and his headband
said he was competent. Not real friendly, though. "I'll be ready by first light,"
John said.
Jiro rose to leave but John stopped him with a further question. "You've
been here nine years; where did you come from in the Other World, if you don't
mind my asking?"
A wrinkle appeared in the smooth space between Jiro's brows. "I don't like
to think of the Other World. I was fourteen when I woke one morning in the
training building in Or'gn. My life changed . . . mostly for the better. My family
came from Japan, but I was born in San Francisco. I grew up on the streets, in
the mission district, after thugs murdered my father. We were many children
and not much food. I was sick and hungry most of the time. A few days before I
woke up here, pneumonia hospitalized me in a charity ward. I think I was
dying." Jiro spoke in a clipped monotone.
"Like the rest of us," John said quietly. "Have you eaten?"
"A while ago, but you have not. I'll leave you now. After you've eaten and
rested, we'll talk again." Jiro turned and John followed him with his eyes as he
crossed the dining room, then he signaled Ermille and ordered a meal.
While he was eating, Penel shyly approached his table. The boy was
juggling a plate of food, mug of drog, and a food handler. "Would it be all right
if I sat at your table?"
"Sure," John waved at the chair opposite. "I always enjoy your company."
Penel grinned, plunked his plate on the table and slid into the chair
previously occupied by Jiro. Though only a youth, he was a head taller and
fifty pounds heavier than the oriental Warrior.
"Well, Pen," John began, "Ermille tells me you've still got your sights set

on being a Warrior."
"You bet," Penel said. "Only Father doesn't want me to leave home. He
said I could when I reached sixteen, but now he keeps making excuses. Says
Or'gn is too far and he doesn't like the trainer in Forod. There's only one . . .
Sharix is her name . . . and she doesn't have a strong reputation. That's why I
want to talk to you."
"Oh?" John looked up.
"You're a Weapon-master. You could be my trainer."
"Hold on, Pen. I'm not staying. I'll probably be leaving in the morning."
"I know," Penel said. "I want to go with you."
"Elwind wouldn't hear of it."
"He might. He knows I'll leave sooner or later, and he trusts you. You're the
best."
John's brows rose. "You flatter me. My business is dangerous. It's not for
an untrained Warrior."
"I'm not afraid," Penel said. "You serve the Master. It's what I want to do. I
learn fast. I promise, I'll do everything you tell me, and I've already started
training. I have armor and a sword. Besides, I could take care of the horven
and the supplies. I'm a good cook and Ermille says I'm good enough at suturing
to be a Healer. I would be useful. I'm strong. Please, if I can get Father to say
yes, will you let me come?"
"You're quite a salesman." John looked into Penel's shining eyes. "But I
think your father will not be easy to persuade."
"Does that mean you'll take me if he says yes?"
John studied Penel's face closely. The boy was strong, healthy, and eager.
He was also a good deal older and heftier than Robert who was already off on
a quest of his own. "Well, I guess I could use a cook."
Penel's grin split his face. "You won't be sorry. I know I can get Father to
say yes." Penel rose so quickly he toppled the chair. "Thank you! Thank you!"
He darted from the dining room, nearly colliding with a farmer seeking a table.
"Slow down!" Ermille dodged her brother while balancing a tray of food.
"Where are you off to?"
Penel was gone.
John shook his head and wondered if he had made a promise he would
shortly regret.
***
Sun steamed dew from the grasses. Prairie fragrance filled the air. John

and Jiro had started early, and Elwind had given permission for Penel to join
the expedition. John refused to hurry, though Jiro pressed for greater speed.
Instead, John took advantage of a leisurely journey in the farmland's safety to
begin Penel's training. The youth moved with strength and agility, and though he
lacked formal training, already had a good feel for a sword. Obviously, he had
spent many hours practicing against wood and straw dummies or with
neighboring farm kids. John found him, however, impetuous.
"No! No!" John pressed the tip of his sword against Penel's breast plate.
"You're too eager for the kill. You should have parried my thrust rather than
trying to step past it. Your armor stops my sword, but I could as easily have
thrust for your throat. A sword through the throat is as deadly as one through
the heart."
Penel stepped back, abashed. "I thought I saw an opening. With a little luck
I would have had you."
John's eyes flared. "Luck! A Warrior who thinks to live on luck will soon
be dead!"
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to win."
"I know," John said. "Wanting to win is a good emotion for a Warrior, but
remember this about emotions: they're fine motivators, but poor masters. Let
your heart stand you to battle, but let your head guide your sword." He was
quoting Engar.
Penel raised his sword. "I'll do better." He prepared for another match.
"Enough today," John said. "It's time for evening meal."
For five days, John halted in midafternoon and spent several hours with
Penel. Late on the fifth day, as the sun was dropping below the horizon, they
moved toward the tent which Jiro insisted always be set up. Penel was
gathering dry grass to start a cook-fire. John watched him, more pleased with
the youth's swordsmanship than he let on. Penel had also proved a creditable
cook, justifying his earlier brags.
As the fire flared, Jiro rode into camp from his evening scouting trip. He
was carrying a brace of rabir. "Tomorrow," he said, "we'll leave the
farmland."
"I suppose that means vacation's over." John chuckled.
"We could have been out of the farmland two days ago," Jiro said.
"But with a less well prepared apprentice."
"Humph!" Jiro had made no secret of his opposition to having the youthful
Penel along. He had argued that the boy, far from being an asset, might

endanger the entire mission.

Penel heard the derisive snort. "You haven't given me a chance," he told
Jiro. "Stand in a match with me and see!"
"No!" John roared. "Warriors on mission don't challenge one another, and
unrated Warriors don't challenge those of level four."
Penel's mouth dropped. "I didn't mean a real challenge. Just practice - like
you and me."
"Jiro is not your trainer nor your practice dummy," John said.
A rare smile touched Jiro's lips. "I don't mind. I'll stand a practice with
him. No harm will come to him, and it would do him good to sample another's
technique."
John glared at Jiro.
"Let me. Please!" Penel pleaded.
John's eyes narrowed. "All right. Perhaps Jiro's right. A taste of another's
methods might benefit you." He also thought, it might be interesting to see Jiro
in action. As yet, he had no feel for the little Warrior's ability.
The practice match took place the next morning. It had rained briefly during
the night. Everything sparkled with fresh moisture as the sun's rays touched the
open fields. Penel faced Jiro with confidence. The smaller man's fourth level
rating obviously did not impress him. He drew his sword and stood ready, his
eyes bright. Jiro stood passively, his face revealing nothing. His drawn sword,
specially made, was lighter than a standard war sword, though of the same
length. He held it canted downward and slightly to his right.
"Ready!" John called. "Begin!"
Penel rushed forward, then stopped, his eyes widening with bewilderment.
He looked down to see Jiro's sword jammed firmly against his breastplate; his
own sword was lying in the grass several feet away. In a move faster than the
youth's eye could follow, the small Warrior had flicked the tip of his sword
upward, catching Penel's weapon just distal of its hand guard, and had flipped
it from his grip. With only a slight backhand motion, he had brought his sword
to the boy's chest. The match had lasted less than two seconds.
John knew he should have been angry, for Penel's improvident rush had
violated all that he had tried to teach him. However, when he saw the look on
Penel's face, he could not help laughing. The boy stood helplessly, his brown
face turning the ruddy color of banked coals. He picked up his sword and
retreated to the camp.
Jiro turned to John. "Maybe you'd care to give me a lesson?"

John's laughter turned to surprise. Then he looked closely at Jiro's face.

Within its studied passivity he saw a look of faint amusement, but also
carefully controlled excitement. He grinned. "This is what you wanted all
along, isn't it?"
Jiro said nothing, but the two squared off. John held a war sword, not his
usual brodsrd since the latter was not considered a fair dueling weapon. To
take Jiro with it, John knew, would risk serious injury to the smaller Warrior.
"Are you ready?" Jiro asked.
"Begin," John said.
Jiro danced in lightly, his sword moving like a wand of light. John backstepped, keeping his own sword close, using strictly defensive parries. Even
Engar had not moved with such speed. Yet the little man did not have the
power to do more than tickle John's sword. Twice Jiro tried to disarm John
with the trick he had used on Penel, but trying to flick a sword from John's grip
was like trying to flick a tree from its moorings. Gradually, Jiro's speed eased.
Unable to take John in a sprint-attack, he settled for the long haul and shifted
from pure offense to mixed defense.
John quit backing and began to circle. In spite of his huge size advantage,
he knew Jiro's speed made the match nearly equal, and his earlier fights had
taught him to rely on endurance as much as strength. Patiently, he bided his
time, careful never to allow Jiro an opening. When he sensed the little Warrior
beginning to tire, he opened his swing slightly, giving his opponent a line of
attack to his body. Jiro moved in.
Fast as he was, Jiro had underestimated how quickly his bulky opponent
could respond. John side-stepped and let the blade graze the outer edge of his
body armor. He stepped forward and jabbed his knotted left fist against Jiro's
breastplate. Jiro went backwards, a foot off the ground, then hit on his behind
and tumbled heels-over-head.
"Are you all right?" John rushed forward. He had not meant to use so much
force.
Jiro sat up, shaking his head. He got slowly to his feet and tested his limbs.
"That was not fair," he said. "I had only a sword. You had a sword and a
mace."
John laughed, relieved that his companion had suffered no serious damage.
"I think, perhaps, we have tested one another enough. You are as fine a
swordsman as I've faced."
"And you have more tricks than I suspected for one so new to Faland." Jiro

was uncharacteristically grinning.

Penel had watched silently. He went about his tasks soberly as they broke
camp, more thoughtful than was his norm. By noon, they entered an open, arid
land crossed with parched gullies and dotted with small, eroded hills. Their
route turned westerly and took them to the edge of an enormous cliff.
"The Great Barrier Cliff," Jiro said. "A couple of hundred legons to the
east is Biclif."
"Waydn is west of Biclif," Penel added, with a knowing air. "My father
says it's the only way to the northern desert."
"To Aul'kalee," Jiro said. "I've been there - to the oasis Oasib. We will not
be going to Aul'kalee this trip."
Below the cliff stretched a desolate, waterless plain. Even on the rim,
water was scarce, but Jiro led them to a small spring in a rocky sandstone
canyon half a legon from the cliff. There they set up camp, bathed in the clear
water of a smooth-walled pothole, rested, and planned.
For three days, the trio worked west, following Great Barrier Cliff until it
swung in an enormous arc to the north. "Barrier Bend," Jiro said, gesturing
toward the jumbled cliffs and spires that marched north and east. "It's our
reference to North Fortress."
"Is it far, yet?" Penel asked.
"A few days."
John halted Jack on a rise where he could see the enormity of Aul'kalee on
his right. Ahead, in flat relief under the noon sun, rank on rank of flat-topped
mesas marched to the limits of vision. "Reminds me of northern New Mexico."
Penel looked puzzled. "Is that near Oshan?"
John smiled. "It's an old memory . . . from long ago and far away."
"From the Other World?" Penel's question was hesitant. Elwind had
cautioned him not to speak of the Other World, especially not to Other
Worlders. Many Falandians did not believe there truly was another world.
"I'll tell you about it sometime," John said. "But now, we better catch up
with our Scout." Jiro had continued riding and was half a legon ahead,
dropping down a long descent toward a complex of small canyons. John had
closed half the distance when he spotted riders, three at first, then four more,
coming from a side canyon to his left. Almost at the same instant, he heard
Penel's cry and, turning, saw half a dozen more riders emerge from a boulder
field on the right. "Ride, Pen!" he yelled, slapping his heels against Jack's
flanks. Penel kicked his mount and rattled after John at full gallop, the pack

string trailing behind.

Jiro headed for a stand of thick brush at the base of the slope. His mount
had barely come to speed when a dozen new riders emerged from the brush in
front. He wheeled and reined hard. John and Penel closed rank with him.
"It's an ambush!" John pulled his brodsrd from the scabbard on Jack's hip.
Two dozen riders closed around the trio, coming to a stop in a ring twenty
paces away.
"Cha'kur," Jiro said, his voice a low hiss. "They don't plan to fight. They'll
talk first."
The riders were tall, well muscled, all men. They wore no body armor,
only loincloths. Elaborate necklaces, armbands, and wristlets of brightly
colored stones and painted wooden beads adorned most.
Indians, John could not help thinking.
They had the broad faces of Faland natives but their skin was the silvergray color of weathered wood. Large round eyes, as gray as his own, stared at
John with expressions as blank as Jiro's. The gray-skins carried spears or
lances, bows and arrows, and knives sheathed on their hips. None had swords.
John's eyes focused on one who was different. This one wore the armor of a
Faland Warrior. He sat erect, astride a horven, and John judged his height at
two or three inches over six feet and his weight a good two hundred fifty
pounds, all muscle. A red Warrior's crest, bearing the uffs of level seven,
swept his black hair from a deeply tanned, Caucasian forehead. Wide-set eyes,
black as his hair, peered from under bushy brows. The Warrior detached from
the circle and rode toward John. Penel shifted uneasily and the pack string
fidgeted on his lead.
"Easy," John said to Penel, his eyes never leaving the approaching
Warrior's face.
The rider stopped with his mount's nose hardly a pace from Jack's. His
face looked vaguely familiar. "Your failure to remember me is not surprising."
His expression was one of amusement. "I passed you once, though you hardly
noticed. You're John, trained by Engar, Weapon-master to the Mentat Warrior. I
saw you when I was leaving a hunter's camp near Or'gn. Your Training-master
had just cheated me of victory in a fight."
John lowered his brodsrd. "I remember. I glimpsed you as I rode into
camp. I recall your match with Engar. Way I heard it, it was a fair one, between
equals, and could have gone either way."
"You heard one side," Merdeln said. "But it's a small matter. You can put

away your weapons; you won't need them."

"What's a Faland Warrior doing with the Cha'kur?" Jiro asked. His face
remained blank but his voice held a barely detectable edge.
"These people are my friends," Merdeln said. "I find their company
felicitous."
"No doubt. Yet you wear the crest of an honorable Warrior."
"Easy, Jiro," John warned. "We've no reason to question anyone's honor."
He slipped his brodsrd into its scabbard and motioned Penel to sheath his
weapon.
"I have no quarrel with you." Merdeln addressed Jiro. "You might think
carefully about your position before you decide to change that."
John heard the threat in Merdeln's voice and did not miss the cold glint in
his eye. "What business have you with us that causes you to stop us with such
urgency?"
Merdeln laughed. "I apologize for my friends. They have a flare for the
dramatic. This is their land and they are naturally curious about uninvited
visitors."
"I didn't know we needed an invitation," John said cooly.
The cold glint returned to Merdeln's eyes. "Now you know." His voice was
flat. Then his laughter returned. "But you could not have known before.
Besides, it no longer matters. You will be guests tonight at my camp."
"Your camp? Do you speak for the Cha'kur?"
"In some things. I'm their War Chief. The Cha'kur appreciate my talents and
the skills I bring them."
"Ah," Jiro nodded, "you are their War Chief. Do the Cha'kur have so many
enemies?"
"The power to make war has many uses," Merdeln said. "Sometimes it
even encourages friendship. Enough of this! Let's ride. We will feast well
tonight."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Cauldrons of boiling vegetables steamed over a central fire. Biven, devon

and sturk roasted on spits alongside. As John rode into the Cha'kur camp,
escorted by Merdeln and his men, he wondered if the food preparation had
been ordered on his and his companion's behalf. If so, Merdeln must have
expected them and prepared for their arrival in advance.
Merdeln's reference to the settlement as a camp had been understatement; it
more closely resembled a village, set in a broad, green valley, between two
flat-top mesas. Gray-skinned children, with sleek, lightly clad bodies,
swarmed among hide-covered dome dwellings. Women worked at their chores
with an air of familiarity that suggested long habitation.
Cha'kur boys took the newcomer's horven to a corral and turned them in
with the village riding stock. Penel went along and unpacked the string. He
stowed the supplies in a shelter assigned to the trio for the night.
Feasting began immediately. Women served mountains of food in wooden
bowls. Everyone ate together, with no attention to etiquette, seated or lounging
around a huge outdoor communal fire. The common hearth served for cooking
and as a focal point for singing, dancing and storytelling. Boisterous children,
ignored by the adults, laughed, talked, ate and ran through the serving area,
kicking up dust that got in the food. John found Cha'kur speech, a combination
of halting English and rapid sing-song patter, difficult to follow. However, the
Cha'kur rarely addressed their guests, ignoring them as completely as they
ignored their own children. Only the serving women paid attention, plying
everyone with endless streams of roast meat and boiled vegetables.
John ate hugely, finding the food delicious. He noted with satisfaction that
Penel also ate with good appetite. The boy's eyes still shone with excitement,
but his fear had given way to curiosity. Jiro ate with stolid indifference,
maintaining the blank expression John had come to recognize as a long studied
pose.
The Cha'kur War Chief bustled around camp, laughing and joking, showing
an apparent mastery of Cha'kur sing-song. He, like the natives, appeared to pay
little heed to the guests, yet John was sure his attention never strayed far from
them.
By the time the feast ended, stars burned like the eyes of night predators in

the moonless sky. Merdeln disappeared, but John saw guards near small fires
all around the village. Though no one overtly restricted their movements, he
suspected an attempt to leave would be challenged. With Penel and Jiro, he
retired to their assigned dome, a structure made of wooden poles arranged in a
circle with radius of ten or twelve feet. Embedded in the ground, the poles had
been bent and fastened at the top-center. Animal hides, stretched over the
frame, made the structure water and wind proof. Cords worked a ventilation
flap at the top. Even John could stand, with distance to spare above his head,
and the dwelling was spacious enough to accommodate a large family.
"Are we prisoners?" Penel asked.
"Maybe," John said. "We appear to have the run of the village but I doubt
we'd be allowed to leave."
"We could sneak out," Penel said. "The corral is poorly lighted. I didn't see
anyone near it awhile ago."
"Perhaps you have forgotten, it is the dark of the moon," Jiro said, faint
derision in his voice. "And there are guards at fires around the village. We'd
have to carry lighted lamps to protect ourselves from felven. How hard do you
think it would be to track a lighted caravan at night?"
Penel's face darkened in the yellow light of the lamp. "I didn't think of
that."
"I don't know what Merdeln has in mind," John said. "He hasn't yet asked
us why we're here."
"He knows what we've come for," Jiro said. "And I don't trust him even if
he is an honorable Warrior."
"He makes me a bit uneasy as well," John said. "But we're here at least for
the night. Let's get some sleep. I have a hunch Merdeln will let us know his
intent tomorrow."
***
John rose at first light. As he stepped into the clear, pale morning, he saw
Merdeln squatted near the common hearth, a cup in his hand. The sun had not
yet risen and his form was dark, silhouetted against the glowing coals.
"I'm glad to see you're an early riser," Merdeln said. "Grab a cup and join
me."
John took a cup from a rack near the hearth. He dipped the metal mug in a
steaming, open kettle of drog. Low humidity had allowed the air to cool during
the night, and John savored the hot liquid, waiting for Merdeln to speak.
"I know why you're here," Merdeln said. He waited for John's reaction but

the big Warrior said nothing.

"Even here, news arrives quickly," Merdeln said. "I've talked the Cha'kur
into letting you enter the mesa ruin. I know that's why you came; to find the
treasure. I will go with you. If the legends are right, there's more than enough
treasure for both of us and I can make it easier for you."
"That's mighty decent," John said. "But why haven't you gone after the
treasure on your own? Wasn't that your purpose when you moved in with the
Cha'kur?"
Merdeln smiled. "A fair question. And you're right; it has been in my mind.
But the Cha'kur are a superstitious lot. They're afraid of a demon they think
lives in the dungeon. They won't let anyone enter for fear the demon will get
angry and take it out on them."
"So why the change of heart? If you couldn't talk them in to letting you go,
how did you convince them to let me?"
"They're impressed by your great size. And I told them you wield a magic
brodsrd."
John snorted. "You're big and carry a brodsrd. Why didn't you tell them
yours is magic?"
"Ah, but that's not all," Merdeln said. "The Cha'kur have heard of the
Mentat Warrior and his partners. They know you were with them in the battle
against demons in the catacombs beneath Slavhos and again in Blackwater
Cave. Reputation is everything in Faland. It wasn't hard to convince the
Cha'kur that you were the strong arm the Mentat Warrior used against the
demons."
"Okay," John said. "Say the Cha'kur let us into the ruin; will they let us
leave with the treasure afterwards?"
"They'll want a cut, of course. Even the Cha'kur know the value of treasure.
But they'll let us go. And, unless I miss my guess, with riches enough to pay us
handsomely. I've cultivated my relationship with them carefully. After all, I am
their War Chief. They respect me."
"Where I go, my friends go," John said.
"Of course," Merdeln said. "But any treasure they receive will come from
your share."
John nodded. "Okay, when do we start?"
"As soon as you're ready."
***
Merdeln generously offered to provide all the provisions for the

expedition, but John insisted his pack string and supplies accompany them. He
told Merdeln he did not want to return to the Cha'kur village, two days out of
his way, after dividing the treasure. Though obviously displeased, Merdeln
agreed.
Four Cha'kur Warriors accompanied the expedition. Merdeln explained
they were for added protection against renegades, though John suspected that
was only an excuse to allow the Cha'kur War Chief to bring his bodyguards.
On the second day, Jiro rode close to John and whispered, "We're being
shadowed, a short distance back."
"How many?" John asked.
"Half a dozen," Jiro said. "Maybe more."
"You think renegades?"
"They're from the village," Jiro said. "I slipped away and got close enough
to recognize one."
"Treachery, perhaps?"
"I'd say so," Jiro said. "Merdeln's or someone else's."
John nodded. "Don't let on we know."
Late on the afternoon of the third day, the expedition inched up a narrow
trail to the top of a broad mesa. Many legons in extent, the mesa commanded a
view of broken, convoluted land, dominated by red, mauve, green and gray
mesas that stretched everywhere to the limits of vision.
"Last time I was here, the Cha'kur stopped Etuniad in the valley at the base
of the trail," Jiro told John. "This is my first time on top. I see this mesa's value
for a fort, assuming there was something worth protecting in the surrounding
country."
"Or a fort here might serve as refuge in case of defeat elsewhere," John
said. "I wonder where they got their water? It seems a long haul from the base
of the mesa, over a route difficult to defend."
A sparse stand of conifers covered much of the mesa. Poor stony soil
supported patches of coarse grass in open areas among the conifers. Merdeln
stopped in a shallow flat with better than average grass.
"The Cha'kur will go no farther," he announced. "We will set up camp here.
Entrance to the dungeon is about half a legon away."
John chose his tent site as far from Merdeln and his men as possible
without arousing suspicion. He used the sparse forage as excuse, pointing out
to Merdeln that the horven needed to graze separately if they were to have
enough to eat, yet they should be hobbled near their owner's tents.

Penel unpacked the horven while Jiro set up the tent. John helped Merdeln
build a common hearth midway between the two camps. When the evening
meal was finished, and stars again filled the sky, they built small fires around
the tents, brought the horven within the lighted ring, and posted guards.
"Only Merdeln and I will go into the dungeon," John told Penel and Jiro
when the three were seated together in their tent.
"No!" Jiro protested. "You'll need backup. I' ll go with you."
"You and Penel must guard the camp," John said. "There are four Cha'kur
here who will not enter the dungeon. I can handle Merdeln if the need arises,
and I don't want to come out and find the supplies and horven gone. Have you
seen any sign of the shadow riders?"
Jiro shook his head. "Not since climbing the mesa, but they could be here,
waiting."
"If they're after the treasure, they'll wait until Merdeln and I return," John
said. "But if they're part of a plot by Merdeln, they may strike while I'm away.
You must be on guard."
"But if they attack," Penel's eyes had grown large in his brown face, "we
can't fight off so many."
"Tonight, under cover of darkness, we'll make a cache of food and
supplies," Jiro said. "Tomorrow I'll watch from the scrub while you watch the
camp, Penel. If an attack comes, we'll leave the tent, take the horven, and find a
hiding place in the scrub. The cache will protect our supplies."
"On this barren mesa, a hiding place might be hard to come by," John said.
A smile touched Jiro's lips. "I can find cover where others think there is
none."
John took morning watch and was at the fire when Merdeln arose. Faint
gray light touched the eastern horizon. By the time the gray light turned the
color of a fair maiden's blushing cheek, John and Merdeln, in full armor and
burdened by heavy field packs, stood at the brink of a dark passage. Open to
the elements, the entrance to the man-made passage had become a repository
for wind blown sand. It piled in irregular drifts on steep stone steps. Water
from infrequent rains had wet the steps and worn small grooves and gullied the
sand.
John lighted the lamp strapped to his helmet.
"From the look of it, it's been a long time since anyone's used these steps,"
Merdeln said. "I talked the Cha'kur into letting me scout the area a few weeks
ago but I didn't go inside."

As John descended, the hair on the nape of his neck stiffened. He wished
he had Robert's silver amulet. In moments, the steps ended at a massive iron
door. "I hope you brought the key," he said.
Merdeln studied the flat black slab. "It's supposed to slide open, I think." A
heavy vertical iron bar, attached on the left side of the door, served as handle.
Merdeln put his weight to it. "Don't just stand there," he grunted. "Give me a
hand."
John put his hands to the handle, jammed his feet against the opposing wall,
and joined his great strength to Merdeln's. With grinding jerks, lurching and
caterwauling like a tormented cat, the iron slab slid a few feet to the right, then
wedged securely.
"It's wide enough," Merdeln said, blowing to get back his wind.
John slipped through the opening behind Merdeln. Something hard hit him
almost instantly. Staggering, he snatched his brodsrd from its scabbard. He saw
Merdeln lurch in the darkness ahead and leaped forward, swinging his brodsrd
through the slight clearance above his head. The blade caught the apex of an
eight-foot bipedal beast, cleaving the hapless creature to its chest. He stepped
around the fallen attacker, brodsrd raised, and strained to see in his lamp's pale
beam. No other creatures attacked and he lowered his weapon.
"Damn!" Merdeln grunted. He had been knocked flat and rolled to regain
his feet. "I should've been more alert."
"You all right?"
Merdeln shook himself and ran his fingers over fresh dents in his armor.
"My body shield stopped the blow, but those talons could have done major
damage had they struck bare flesh." Merdeln pointed at the three inch claws on
the fallen beast's hands.
John knelt beside the crumpled mass. "It's a robot."
"Robot?"
"Like the demons in the catacombs. Faland demons are robots. This one's
different from those I encountered in the catacombs but it's built along the same
principles." John got to his feet. "Look around. Must be a station somewhere
near; a place where it got its power. The demons are electronic machines."
Merdeln laughed. "A machine? You mean that's it? That's the demon of the
dungeon?" Merdeln's laugh increased. "It didn't manage much of a fight against
you. Maybe I wasn't far off when I told the Cha'kur your brodsrd is magic."
"Don't crow too soon," John said. "Where there's one there are likely more.
In the catacombs they were stationed in pairs."

Merdeln lit his lamp and drew his brodsrd. "I won't be taken by surprise
again, but I don't feel much threatened by a machine that can be wrecked by a
single stroke."
Past the iron door, the passage leveled. John found the station where the
robot guard had stood, connected to its power receptacle for years that may
have stretched to centuries. A second robot, intact stood silently in its alcove.
"Probably malfunctioned. No telling how long these things have been
here."
Merdeln raised his brodsrd and plunged it through the robot's body. "I don't
want it waking and coming after us," he said when he saw the look in John's
eye.
John examined the socket where the robot had drawn its power. It's design
was unfamiliar. He rocked back on his heels, his brow knotted. "Socket must
be powered. I wonder if it could be tapped?" He went to the robot still in its
alcove. "If it's still connected, maybe we can see what the plug looks like."
"That's all very interesting," Merdeln said, "but hardly what we came for.
Let's go. You can play with your robots later." He started down the passage.
John hurried to catch up. Abruptly, the passage opened into a circular
chamber large enough to house a football field. John stopped. Emptiness
swallowed the light from his lamp. At first he saw nothing, then overhead
caught the glint from a distant, hemispheric ceiling surfaced with black stone.
The floor was of polished stone tiles expertly fitted to form a complex,
endlessly varying pattern.
"You could house a village in here," Merdeln said.
"There's a hearth in the center."
As black as the ceiling, the hearth was nearly invisible in the feeble light of
their lamps, yet it was built on a scale to match the room. As they walked
toward it, even their soft mokads struck the tiles hard enough to coax sounds
that echoed in the vast chamber. The oblong hearth was choked with the black
coals of an ancient fire. When the fire was burning, a metal hood, hung from the
ceiling above the hearth, had funneled smoke into a vertical chimney that
vanished into the hemisphere's distant apex.
"It's blocked." Merdeln peered upward into the rubble-clogged shaft that
was the chimney. Several large boulders had dropped into the bed of coals.
"Must have been a conference room, or perhaps a theater," John said. "I see
a raised platform opposite the entry. It might have served as a speaker's
platform or a stage."

"There are kettle-hooks over the fireplace and sockets for spits around the
periphery," Merdeln said. "The fire pit is laid out like a Cha'kur cooking
hearth."
Within all the vast room, they found nothing more. However, they did find
four passages in addition to the one by which they had entered. One each was
located at ninety degrees to either side of the main entrance, the others joined
the room behind the speaker's platform.
"Let's start on the right and take the passages one by one," Merdeln
suggested.
They spent most of a day exploring many additional passages and side
rooms. Apparently the owners of the enclave had abandoned it in an orderly
manner for they had taken everything, in some cases even the doors from the
rooms. In every passage, alcoves were found where robot guards had once
been stationed, but other than the two at the outside entrance, all were empty.
"It's been cleaned out," Merdeln said with no attempt to conceal his
disappointment. "If there was a treasure, someone beat us to it."
"There may be more here than meets the eye," John said. "The entry guards
were not likely left to guard emptiness."
"Maybe it wasn't always empty," Merdeln said. "I've seen no place to
conceal anything."
"I'm not ready to give up," John said but did not tell Merdeln the reason.
The Cha'kur War Chief knew nothing about the bronze amulets, and he
preferred to keep it that way. "I think we should return to camp, rest and return
again tomorrow. Now that we've eliminated the entrance guard, perhaps your
Cha'kur friends can be persuaded to join us. Jiro and Penel can also add their
eyes to the hunt. With more looking, we can search more thoroughly."
Merdeln agreed and the two returned to camp. When he saw John coming,
Jiro rose from the rocks, appearing so abruptly it appeared he materialized
from the air. His cover looked inadequate to hide even a squal, yet had
camouflaged him and a trio of rabir he had bagged earlier. "Dinner," Jiro said,
holding up the rabir.
"It's been quiet all day," Penel said, yawning elaborately as John and Jiro
approached.
"Maybe so, but there are riders on the mesa," Jiro said. "Two dozen are
camped three legons north. They've been in contact with Merdeln's men."
John's brow furrowed, and he rubbed a thick hand through his white beard.
"You think Merdeln knows?"

"No way to tell," Jiro said. "They didn't move against us while he was
gone. I take it you found no treasure?"
"Not yet," John said. "We killed a guard - a black, flat-headed, eight foot
monster."
"Only one? A robot I presume."
John looked surprised.
"Talk is, the demons are robots," Jiro said. "Someone overheard remarks
you and your friends made after leaving the catacomb."
Penel's eyes had grown wide. "What's a robot?"
"A machine," John told him, "made to serve its maker. I think Faland's
demons may all be machines, either man-made or built by some other
intelligence."
"Then the demon is dead?" Penel asked. "You and Merdeln destroyed it?"
"We did," John said. "Tomorrow, we will return to the dungeon and make a
more careful search. Merdeln and I found only empty rooms, but I believe there
must be more. I'd like both of you to come along. Merdeln is going to try to talk
his Cha'kur Warriors into joining us as well."
"What about the mesa riders?" Jiro asked.
John shrugged. "I don't know. If Merdeln is plotting with them, nothing is
likely to happen until we find the treasure. Even if he knows nothing about
them, they will likely wait to see if we succeed before making a move."
"Shouldn't we warn Merdeln?" Penel asked. "In case he doesn't know
about them?"
"That's not a good idea," Jiro said. "If they are Merdeln's men, tipping our
hand too soon could get us killed."
"Jiro's right," John said. "Now, I suggest we join Merdeln at the fire and
get our supper cooked. Tomorrow is likely to be a busy day."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Everyone gathered in the great room at North Fortress. The Cha'kur were
still nervous and had refused to enter until John and Merdeln dragged the fallen
robot guard back to its alcove and concealed it there. Now the men insisted on
setting extra lamps near the hearth and at the mouth of each passage.
John stepped to the speaker's platform. His white hair cascading to his
shoulders and his white beard reflecting the yellow flames from a dozen
lamps, wreathed his face in light and accentuated his great size. The Cha'kur
looked on him with awe, a look mirrored in Penel's face.
"Merdeln and I have searched the passages and the rooms. You'll find
nothing obvious. Look for small things: raised or incised patterns, unusual
colorations, irregularities in joins between pavers, anything that might suggest
something out of the ordinary. If you find something, no matter how slight, make
a note of it. Take your time; we can spend several days if necessary. If
something is to be found, the more careful our search, the greater our chance of
discovering it. Spread out. We'll search the central chamber first and meet here
at noon to compare findings."
The searchers set out into the vast dark space, carrying lights that moved
like scattered stars in the emptiness. They reckoned time by their lamps, using
built-in sight-gauges to see how much oil remained. At noon they gathered and
looked into one another's discouraged faces. Nothing had been found.
"We're wasting time by all sticking together," Merdeln said, his voice
gravelly with irritation. "Let's split up and speed the job."
The Cha'kur immediately began to mutter and turned angry eyes on their
War Chief. "We stay together," one said. "This is a bad place."
"Humph!" Merdeln's lip curled. "Superstitious nonsense." He turned to
Martin. "What about you? We can search more if we go separate ways."
"Okay with me," John said. "Jiro, you and Penel take the south passage.
Merdeln and I will explore the tunnels behind the hearth."
Merdeln sent the Cha'kur, all four together, into the north tunnel while he
and John moved into separate tunnels beyond the hearth. John had walked his
tunnel the day before but had made only a cursory examination. Now he
carefully studied the seamless dark walls. Rectangular flagstones, laid with
monotonous regularity, paved the floor. In contrast to those of the central

chamber, these were not polished. Depressions worn in their surfaces spoke of
much traffic, yet the hallway was dust free, as clean as if freshly broomed.
After a hundred feet, John reached the first of many doorless side chambers
that opened both ways from the hall. The interval between rooms varied with
room size, but all were rectangular, empty, and with black plaster walls and
clean stone floors.
How is this place ventilated?
He moistened a finger and held it up. Slight coolness told him air was
streaming along the hallway toward the great room. Must be exit vents in the
dome. Probably partially blocked like the chimney. But where does the air
enter?
John took a coil of rope from his pack and cut a short length. He touched
one end to his lamp. The rope flared and he blew out the flame. Coils of smoke
rising from the charred rope flattened against the ceiling and streamed toward
the central chamber. Stepping into a side room, John watched the smoke stream
out the doorway. Squinting, he noticed a narrow crevice at the top of the wall
opposite the door. About two inches wide, it extended the length of the room.
He judged the ceiling height at perhaps twelve feet. Removing his pack, he
leaned his brodsrd against the wall, and clutching the smoldering rope between
thumb and palm, leaped and caught the crevice with the tips of his fingers.
Hauling himself up, he thrust the smoldering rope into the narrow opening,
gratified to see smoke blow into the room.
"Remarkable - the ventilation system still works."
He heard a slight cough behind and snatched up his brodsrd. He spun
quickly and saw a thin white wand reach out of the darkness. It touched his
wrist with a sound like popping corn. He yelped and felt his brodsrd fall from
nerveless fingers.
"Sorry," a small voice said.
John stared speechlessly at a white-robed dwarf with a stomach as round
as a ball, stubby arms and legs, and a face as wrinkled as crumpled paper.
"Your hand will be okay in a minute," the little fellow said. His white hair and
sideburns, white beard, and eyes the color of blue chalk made him look like a
pastel drawing.
John's fingers tingled. "What is that thing?"
"A purely defensive instrument suited to a small creature such as myself. I
didn't want you taking a swing with that meat cleaver of yours." The round
belly wobbled as the dwarf chuckled. "You might have separated my halves

before you knew who I was."

"Yeah, I might've. Who are you?" John retrieved his brodsrd, keeping a
wary eye on the slender white wand in the dwarf's pudgy hand.
"Janil, at your service." The dwarf bowed low. The hem of his white robe
touched the floor; the white wand vanished from his hand. "Follow me," he
commanded.
"Wait!"
The dwarf disappeared through the door, and John grabbed his pack. In
spite of short legs, the dwarf moved so quickly John had to run to catch up.
Appearing to float over the stone floor, Janil drifted into the central chamber
then rose to the speaker's platform. John thumped up the steps.
"There!" Janil pointed dramatically toward a spot on the back wall.
"Push!"
"Push?"
"Yes! Yes! Push!" Janil stamped his foot and bounced upward a foot or so,
his robe fluttering. "Don't just stand there, push!"
John dropped his pack and pressed lightly on the wall.
"No! No!" Janil's voice rose to a shrill pitch. "Use your muscles! Push like
you meant it!"
"Okay, okay." John hunched his shoulder against the wall and bore hard,
feeling his feet slide on the smooth floor. Janil pulled his wand from his robe
and touched John's mokads. John felt his feet lock in place, and beneath the
pressure of his shoulder, he felt the wall yield. An enormous slab pivoted and
suddenly he was facing an opening a dozen feet across. "Wow! You could
drive a truck through this door."
Janil drifted through. "Hurry! Before the others return - get your pack and
sword."
John snatched his gear.
"Shut the door and follow me."
John put his weight to the door and heard the solid thump as it locked shut.
Janil's feet shuffled in a peculiar gait, more slide than step. He floated
smoothly and efficiently along the stone floor and in a moment arrived at a
faintly illuminated side chamber. On a sturdy wooden table, John saw a black
object a foot or so on a side and two inches thick rigged with harness-straps
like a backpack.
"Put it on," Janil said..
"What is it?"

"A power pack; you'll need it."

John grunted as he lifted the heavy pack and wrestled with the straps.
"You're long on commands and short on explanations. I'd feel more
comfortable if I knew what this is about."
"That's the trouble with humans," Janil said, taking a message cylinder
from his robe. "Here, check it out. You've always got to know everything. It's
much easier working with droids. They do as they're told without a lot of
folderol."
John noted the seal of the Faland Master.
"It won't tell you much," Janil said.
John extracted a small paper. "Maybe, but at least it introduces you. Says
you'll help with my mission. While I get into this contraption, why don't you fill
me in. Why are you here? What is this blamed thing for?"
"Take it easy with that!" Janil said. "Here; let me show you." The dwarf
grabbed the wire harness. "Humans! If you break the wires, it won't work.
Bend over."
John leaned. Janil pulled the harness over his head, arranging it so the pack
rested on his back, then stretched the connecting mesh around John's armor,
fitting it like a coarsely woven elastic outer shirt. The sleeves ended in halfgloves with small black pads in the palms. When finished, Janil retrieved a
small folded scrap of wire mesh that had dropped on the floor. This he
wrapped around the handle of John's brodsrd, stretching it over the hand guard
and around the join between handle and blade. He reached a stubby finger and
pushed a small lever on the power pack. "Test time. With your brodsrd strike
the table a sturdy blow."
John adjusted the mesh until it fit smoothly, then hefted his brodsrd. With a
quick stroke he brought its edge against the plank table. Fire arced and the
table exploded in flame and smoke. He stared at his sword, then at the
fragments of table scattered on the floor.
"Good! Good!" Janil chuckled. "It works splendidly!" He punched the
lever on the pack. "This is the switch. You only get a score or so of pulses so
use them judiciously."
"That's impressive! What do you expect me to fight, King Kong?"
The white dwarf's bearded face wrinkled in a grin. "I don't know King
Kong, but you'll have a worthy opponent for a change; not one of those child's
toys you've been playing with." Janil scooted. "Come! I'll show you the way,
then you're on your own."

John slung his pack over his shoulder, relit his head lamp, and hastened
after his pallid guide.
"Drop chute ahead," Janil called. "It'll take you to Scrabid's chamber.
Scrabid guards the bronze amulets. Remember, use your power sparingly;
you'll need some to cut through the gate to the treasure room. Take the amulets
and follow the passage from Scrabid's chamber to an exit on the mesa. Outside
you'll find a horven. Ride south. Merdeln and his men will try to stop you, but
you must not let them seize the bronze amulets."
John was running to keep up with his small companion. Between breaths he
asked, "If Merdeln is an enemy, how is it he wears the head crest of an
honorable Warrior?"
"He has not yet turned renegade," Janil swung into a narrow, crudely
fashioned side passage, "but he will. Darc'un has his tentacles in him."
"Darc'un? I thought tales of Darc'un are myths." He ducked under a rock
and continued in a half-stoop.
"Darc'un's more than myth, but he's not your immediate concern."
The passage widened.
"We've arrived," Janil announced as they entered a small, stony cavern. In
the center was a dark pit. "The drop chute," Janil grinned. "Jump in feet first.
The walls are smooth and you'll slide into a passage leading to Scrabid's
chamber. Be on your toes when you reach the bottom of the chute!"
"I'm not crazy enough to jump into that hole!"
"Of course you are." Janil gave John a shove. "All will be clear, my
friend," he called as John tumbled into the chute. "Don't worry about your
friends. They are safe."
John slid against walls as slick as glass, not quite vertical. After a
breathless moment, his feet slammed against something hard that gave way. He
crashed through an opening , was airborne an instant, then struck a stone floor
with his fanny. Air punched from his lungs, and he shook his head.
Be on my toes, Janil said. Hard to do when I'm flat on my butt!
He scrambled to his feet and saw to his gear. His lamp had survived and
even remained lit. Its amber light glinted from the stones of a smooth-walled
passage. A faint line marked the drop chute. Apparently his feet had opened a
door which had then swung shut behind him. To his left, the tunnel ended
abruptly. Faint illumination outlined an exit in the opposite direction. John
walked toward the illumination. What manner of thing is Scrabid? I assume
something more than an eight-foot tall robot guard.

The tunnel opened into a large hemispherical room. From holders high on
smooth, dark walls, torches filled the space with saffron light. This great
cavity contained neither hearth nor dais. Three passages led away at right
angles. Two were barred with grillwork. John studied the third, a dozen feet
wide and half his height. It was a quarter turn around the room from where he
stood. His neck hair stiffened when he saw motion. Something large took form,
and he darted into the open to avoid being trapped in the narrow tunnel.
A flat black snout bulged from the side passage followed by fifty feet of
segmented body. It slithered into the room on dozens of scrabbling legs that
drummed against the flooring with a sound like the rush of wind through tall
trees. "Great scallywags, that's gotta be the granddaddy of all centipedes!"
Enormous jaws opened and flame belched into the room. Rosy fire washed
around John. He backed as tons of verminous nightmare charged. He heard the
hiss of the jaws opening and hurled himself sideways as another wall of flame
streaked toward him. In a single motion, he shucked his pack, sent it spinning
across the room, and drew his brodsrd. Cutting at right angles, he put on speed,
watching Scrabid out of the corner of his eye. Its head swung to follow his
motion, its jaws gaping. Within its throat, flames flared. Reversing direction,
thigh muscles straining, John ducked the stream of ruddy fire. Quickly, he
decided he could not long dodge the incinerating breath of his multi-legged
playmate so he charged straight at it.
Scrabid's dozens of legs slid on the polished stones as it tried to turn its
massive, armored structure. Twisting its head, it focused on its fleet opponent.
John raced alongside, leaped and felt his feet touch heaving surface. Sprawling
on the segmented back, he groped and found a grip at the join between two
segments. He got to his fee and flailed with his brodsrd. The only result was a
metallic clattering as his blade rattled against iron plates.
"The switch!" He reached over his shoulder. A wall slammed into his face.
As he hurtled backwards, his brodsrd ripped from his grip. Scrabid had darted
into its lair, flicking him off like scraping scum from a crab's back. Dazed,
John heard the hiss from Scrabid's chamber and rolled sideways as orange
flame erupted from the opening. Fire singed his legs and set his mokads
smoldering. An instant later, Scrabid's long body slithered again into the open.
John raced to the wall beside Scrabid's chamber, and saw the huge body
slide by. Confused, the great beast churned in a wide circle. John spotted his
brodsrd and ran for it. Before Scrabid could turn, he was again on its back.
This time he flipped the switch on his power pack, and with lightning strokes,

rained half a dozen blows on the segment behind Scrabid's head. Flame arced
from his blade and coils of electrical fire rolled along Scrabid's armor. The
vermiform arched, heaving John high into the air. He twisted, landed at an
angle, and tumbled half way across the chamber.
Scrabid convulsed, bucking and thrashing. Deafening squalls accompanied
fountains of fire as its jaws opened and closed. John retrieved his brodsrd and
got as far as possible from the writhing giant. When the racket diminished and
Scrabid's movements slowed, John recovered his pack and circled to the
nearer barred-passage. He had lost his headlamp and dug the spare from his
pack and lit it.
The bars were metal, an inch thick, solidly installed. Stepping back, John
delivered a powered blow with his brodsrd. Fire flashed and half a dozen bars
sundered. John entered a tunnel that took him a hundred yards to a round hole.
Another drop chute.
Janil had said nothing of a second chute, so he backtracked. The multilegged worm was still silent. He crossed to the second barred tunnel and used
his powered brodsrd to cut an opening. It took extra blows and John realized
the energy-pack was nearly exhausted. This passage ended at a closed door
fastened with a single bolt. A quick blow cut through, and John entered a small
room resplendent with jeweled-amulets and pendants. His eyes widened. He
had found the treasure of North Fortress.
He allowed himself a moment of temptation, then remembered Janil's
warning that haste was essential. Sorting quickly, he found among the amulets
nine made of bronze and ornamented with elaborate runes. "I could make my
fortune here," he murmured, and reached for a gaudy gold pendant.
A sound nudged his consciousness. "Oh, Lord!"
A dark shape loomed. Even as he sprinted, John heard hissing and barely
cleared the tunnel as flame exploded around him. Rolling, he felt flames lick
his flesh. His lamp skittered away. He staggered up, and with the smell of his
singed beard in his nostrils, loped toward the second passage with its drop
chute. Scrabid wheeled to cut him off.
I took too long. The foul beast was only stunned!
He saw Scrabid's jaws widen and flung up his arm to ward off the fire.
Cutting to the side, he dodged under the spray of fire and leaped. Prepared for
the motion of Scrabid's great body, he kept his feet on the heaving armor plates.
He hammered on Scrabid's plates with his brodsrd but had too little power left
in the energy-pack to do more than raise sparks. Scrabid slithered toward its

den. John dropped his backpack, stripped the energy-pack, and at the last
minute leaped clear of the dark body. It slithered into its hole and John hurled
the energy-pack into the opening, then raced across the cavern. Scrabid's blowtorch roared, followed by a muffled explosion. He had guessed rightly,
Scrabid's flaming breath had detonated the energy-pack releasing its residual
energy. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Scrabid scrambling out of the
flame.
"You're a tough old devil," he yelled.
But the diversion had yielded precious seconds, and John reached the drop
chute ahead of Scrabid. Flame belched and the walls brightened. John dove,
fire licking his heels. He plunged downward, crashed through a swing-door,
and piled against a stone wall. Slowly he untangled himself. It was pitch dark.
His ears rang with Scrabid's muffled roars. Groping, he dug out his last lamp,
pulled the flint from his belt pouch, and struck a light. Yellow flickers reflected
from mineralized walls.
Singed, battered, with blisters puffing, John hobbled along the dark way,
climbed steeply on crudely carved steps and inched along a stony incline. In
half an hour, the tunnel brought him to an iron door. Crouching at the door, he
fished frenwort from his first aid kit, mixed it with water, and bathed his
burned face, arms, and legs. He dug into his pack for food and water.
The iron door was like the one through which he and Merdeln had entered
the dungeon. He put his back to it and heard the groan as the seal broke. When
the opening was wide enough, he slipped through and looked into a sky
glittering with blue stars. Moonglow turned rocks and pines into silver
silhouettes, bright enough to guide his steps. He was near the mesa's edge and
saw a forested valley below. He settled among the rocks to wait for sunrise.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

John awoke with a start and glanced around anxiously, guilty at having
dozed so carelessly. Halos of brightness outlined the mesas to the east,
dimming the stars though the sun was still below the horizon. A dozen feet
away, a sleek little animal, reminiscent of a chipmunk, balanced on its
haunches atop a rock. It eyed him with round, dark eyes. It flicked its tail,
cocked its head to one side, and examined its viewer with attentive curiosity.
John thought it rather handsome and dignified in its red coat with white stripes
down either side.
"Well, professor, you and I seem to be the only two here." The professor
twitched its nose, winked knowingly, and disappeared among the boulders.
John stretched, groaning as he bent his stiffened limbs, and raised himself from
his stony bed. Cool air brought a shiver. He scanned his surroundings and
when satisfied he was alone, climbed onto a flat rock and watched the sun
climb over the mesa rim. He worked kinks from his cramped muscles and blew
the last dregs of dungeon from his lungs. Peeling skin marked subsiding blisters
as already his body had begun healing.
He grimaced when he examined his armor and clothing and saw the
charred ruin Scrabid's fire had made of them. His mokads were so badly
burned they had split and his toes bulged through. He drew his brodsrd and
examined its surface, pitted and scarred from fire and hard contact with iron
plates and bars. At the brink of the mesa, he found a place in the sun, and while
eating a breakfast of jerked devon and vegetable scones, honed his blade with
an oiled stone. A sound alerted him, and he dropped the stone, raised his
brodsrd, and turned. He drew in his breath. Standing before him, with head
held high, he saw a great shaggy beast of noble mien. Its yellow-white fur was
the color of cloud dipped in gold, and it looked at him with steady clear eyes
as gray as his own. He had never seen such a magnificent animal.
"Is this a horven?" John's voice quavered. "Is this the horven Janil
promised would be waiting for me?"
The huge animal, regal as a king, walked toward him, its broad hooves
maneuvering among the boulders as surely as a mountain goat. As it
approached, its size seemed to grow.
"I didn't know a horven could be so large and so beautiful!"

The animal extended its muzzle. John reached, almost afraid to touch the
creature lest it disappear like a leftover phantom from his dreams. When his
hand made contact, the white horven nuzzled his fingers and nickered softly.
"You're real." John stroked its soft muzzle. He circled the horven and saw
that it was a stallion, standing nearly as tall as his head at the shoulder, which
meant its weight must approach a ton. Cinched to its back was a white leather
saddle with gilded saddlebags, and slung behind the saddle was a war bow,
made of silver and black metal strung with cabling woven from red metallic
strands.
"I see, my friend, you come equipped." He stroked the stallion's flank as he
took the bow. His own been left outside the dungeon "Compound." His voice
filled with surprise. "The first I've seen in Faland." He stroked the cables and
fingered the wheels. "Well made; a high tech machine, definitely not from
Or'gn's shops."
He pulled and grunted at the enormous force required. "Two hundred
pounds, if it's an ounce!" Yet, at full draw, he found it as easy to hold as his old
bow with half the draw weight. The arrows were an equal wonder, some
heavy, others lighter. John drew a heavier shaft from its quiver. He had not
seen such an arrow before; its steel shank was four feet long, tipped with a
blade five inches wide. It seemed almost like a small spear. He nocked it to the
bow-string, sighted on a gnarled pine thirty yards away and drew, pleased that
he could hold the draw steady.
He released.
The arrow whined outward, its polished shaft blinking in the early light. It
followed a nearly flat trajectory and struck its target with a sound like a heavy
axe splitting oak. The eight-inch trunk shattered, its halves toppling outward.
Passing through the gap, the arrow lodged deep in the trunk of a second tree.
"Wow!"
To recover the arrow, John was forced to hack it free. When he finished the
task, he turned and saw that the horven had followed him. As it trotted into the
open, the rising sun struck its fur and formed a spray of golden fire in the long
guard hairs.
"Skyfire!" John cried. "I will call you Skyfire!"
John went to the stallion, stowed his bow, and mounted. Skyfire held
steady under the weight of his new master. Sitting so high, John could see for
legons across the open mesa, and the first thing he saw was a cluster of two
dozen riders approaching fast from the north.

"Merdeln!" He had almost forgotten.

"Gee-up!"
The great stallion, though burdened by John's weight, leaped ahead as if it
carried nothing at all. In seconds they were sailing over the mesa in a rolling
gallop. Then John spotted more riders, these coming from the south, and others
from the west. He cursed softly, regretting his careless slumber. Merdeln's men
had trapped him, cut him off on three sides with the edge of the mesa on the
fourth.
Reining sharply, he sized up the knots of approaching riders. The fewest
came from the north. He swung his bow up, nocked one of his lighter arrows,
and at a hundred fifty yards, swept a Cha'kur Warrior off his horven. He
dropped three more before their swift charge brought them to sixty yards, and
they began to return fire.
Drawing his brodsrd, John urged Skyfire to a gallop. The stallion sensed
what was needed and ran, weaving and dodging among boulders and gnarly
trees. Arrows dropped fore and aft. Roaring with his best imitation of Jason's
Kroll war cry, he closed, sweeping through the Cha'kur cavalry like a scythe
through wheat. Those left standing milled in panic, trying to turn their mounts
out of the path of the giant white stallion and its murderous rider.
As John cleared the detachment he saw ahead half a hundred fresh
Warriors, Merdeln at their head. A glance over his shoulder showed those from
the south and west converging on him.
These bronze amulets must be valuable indeed.
He swung his mount, seeking a way out. The only avenue was east to the
mesa's edge
"Well, Skyfire, I hope you can fly!"
He kicked the animal's flanks and bent low over its neck. Skyfire did not
hesitate. At the cliff's edge, at full gallop, horven and rider went over the rim
without missing a stride. They dropped onto a near vertical, rubble strewn
slope. Dancing and twisting as delicately as a ballerina, the giant stallion
threaded its way around huge boulders and through knee deep scree. Clouds of
dust rose around them. John's riding skill was tested to the limit as he strove to
maintain his seat.
In seconds the slope lessened. Skyfire's gait smoothed as he took his rider
into the timbered valley at the foot of the mesa. Glancing up, John saw Merdeln
and his horde clustered at the mesa's edge. None dared the drop.
John whooped. His voice echoed from the cliffs. "Match that, Merdeln, my

not so true friend!" He raised his bow in his right hand and galloped into the
sheltering trees. Hour after hour, the white stallion ran, carrying his rider far
south. John knew no ordinary horven could catch Skyfire, and after a time, he
ceased to glance back to see if Merdeln was following. Late in the afternoon,
he pulled up at a small pond sheltered between two high mesas. A trickle
dropped from rocks into the pond. Skyfire was blowing softly, but clearly not
near his limit. However, shadows were lengthening and John decided to camp
for the night. He unsaddled Skyfire, led him to water, then set him loose to
graze. He did not hobble the animal for he knew Skyfire could have left at any
time on the mesa, yet did not.
In his saddlebags he found ground cloth, tent, new mokads, ukelns, first aid
kit, oil, lamps, food, two full canteens, tools, a dozen hummers, kalard, even an
atla and a tagan. "I'll not want for supplies, and what have we here?" He drew
out a small purse. Inside he found eighty ralls. "It would seem Janil thought of
everything."
John took out the atla and laughed. It was obvious the steel shanked heavy
arrows, one of which he had launched from his bow, were actually the short
spears intended to be thrown with the atla. He poised the weapon along his
right arm, laid a spear on it, and with a swift forward thrust, hurled it eighty
yards into the trunk of a large tree. He smiled with satisfaction.
After recovering his spear, he set up his tent, gathered wood, and built a
small, smokeless fire. While water heated, he bathed, cleaned his armor, put on
a fresh ukeln, and discarded his ruined mokads. The new mokads fit perfectly.
He dropped meat and potans, found in his saddlebags, into the simmering kettle
and seasoned the mix with herbs he found growing near the pond. After eating,
he lounged by the fire and drank drog while stars, a few at first, then in great
numbers, appeared in the sky. Skyfire rummaged nearby, gleaming white in the
dark. John rolled into his blankets, well satisfied with his circumstances.
***
At dusk the following day, when growing dark made finding a camp
imperative, John spotted flickering light in a grove of trees near the path he had
been following. Half a dozen horven had recently preceded him along the path,
so he pulled up, sequestered Skyfire and continued on foot. Cautiously he
approached the campfire and through the trees saw a dark figure silhouetted
against the glow of the flames. Crouched low , he began to creep nearer.
Something sharp jabbed the back of his neck and a low voice commanded,
"Don't move!" Instantly, he rolled forward, twisted onto his back and brought

his mailed left forearm against the blade, swiping it aside while his fingers
reached for the hand that held the weapon. As part of the same movement, his
right hand drew a dagger from his belt and thrust it forward. In an instant, the
attacker became the attacked, his right arm held in an iron grip while a dagger
pressed into the flesh at the base of his throat.
"Jiro!" John let go of the little Warrior.
Jiro rubbed his wrist. "Impressive, but I could have killed you from afar
when first you approached."
"I'll remember that," John said. "Your camp is not one to approach
carelessly." He stood. "I thought it might be you camped here but I wanted to
be sure." Then he added wryly, "Lucky for me it was you and not some equally
skilled Cha'kur Scout who guarded this camp."
"I doubt they can match my skill anymore than they can match your sword,"
Jiro replied. "How did you get away? Merdeln was planning a major surprise
when you emerged from the dungeon."
John gave a short whistle. The white stallion appeared. For an instant,
Jiro's face lost its usual composure, and his mouth dropped. "I see," he
murmured.
"What about you? You seem none the worse for wear."
"I had ample warning," Jiro said as he led into the circle of fire light.
"Some Cha'kur tried to follow but we eluded them."
"John! What, ho!" Penel clasped arms with his mentor. "We were worried."
"No need. I had the help of a powerful friend."
Penel's eyes bulged at sight of the white horven.
Now that John was in the light, Jiro cast a critical eye on his armor and the
reddish patches of peeling skin on his face and arms. "Looks like you've seen
some action since last I saw you."
John grinned. "You could say that. I'll tell you about it later, but now I hope
you've something good to eat. I've been riding all day and my stomach is
complaining."
"I'll fix more." Penel pulled a spitted porven hindquarter from the fire and
offered it to John. "You can start on this. Jiro was lucky at the hunt this
evening."
"Haw," Jiro snorted. "I'd think you'd know by now an experienced Warrior
does not depend on luck."
"True," Penel said, more seasoned than when first he had heard this
argument. "But a little luck goes a long way toward making experience look

good."
John laughed. "Well said. I, for one, am always willing to accept a turn of
good luck."
***
In two days the travelers left the mesas and turned east on the rocky trail
along Great Barrier Cliff. Three days later they were in the farmland. "We
separate here," John told Penel. "You must return to Elwind's Repose and I
have business in Riven."
Penel's face fell. "But, I want to stay with you. My training is not finished."
"Nor will it ever be," John said, "as is true for me and all other Warriors.
But you've learned enough to earn your Warrior's headband. You can go to
Forod and test for first level whenever you want. You've more than enough
skill to qualify."
"You really think so?" Penel's face lighted.
"I know so. Your father needs you now. Next time I stop at Elwind's I'll
expect to see you wearing your crest."
Penel turned south, leading the pack string which now included John's
former mount, a gift to Elwind in exchange for the supplies he had provided for
the expedition. John and Jiro continued east, toward Biclif.

PART SIX: SHENDUN'S EGG

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The day after Korvu gave them their instructions, most of the partners left
to begin their separate journeys. But Susan stayed in Or'gn an extra day
because Engar had some last minute business and could not immediately escort
her to Shortbriar. She spent the morning alone going over her gear again,
assuring herself she had everything she needed. When she looked at the little
campground in the village green, she felt as though her heart would break. She
had been unprepared for the feeling of desolation that descended on her when
her friends left. In all her life she had never been alone. Other children had
always surrounded her in the group-home before she came to Faland, and since
the awakening she had been with Carol and the others every minute.
Only three horven remained, her own Dancer, Engar's Thor, and Martin's
Renegade. Even Pecos had been boarded out. She hugged Dancer and buried
her face in the little mare's shaggy coat. "You're my only friend now."
When the sun climbed high enough to bring heat, Susan dried her tears and
decided moping around camp was too depressing. She spent most of the day
drifting around Or'gn, revisiting the shops and stores she had once found so
exciting. Walking eased her loneliness, and after a while she cheered herself
by thinking the trip she was about to begin would not last forever, and soon she
would be back with her friends.
"I'm sorry for the delay," Engar said when he returned to camp in the
evening. "I boarded Renegade for Martin when I found out he left Or'gn last
night. I also learned we're not the only ones on mysterious journeys in Faland. I
saw Brom. He was leaving with a war party, on contract to the Master, and
was not free to discuss his mission."
After returning from her solitary meandering, Susan had cooked a
scrumptious meal of roast squal, baked potans, sauteed vegetables, and honeynut cake. She listened to Engar with interest as she spread the dishes on a
ground cloth and poured mugs of drog. "I thought we ought to have something
good on my last day in Or'gn," she said.

"Lucky for me I get to share it," Engar said. "Having extra chores was my
good fortune."
Susan smiled. The thought of another day before being completely on her
own, while Engar escorted her to Shortbriar, pleased her.
***
They left early, with the sun barely above the horizon. "It's a long ride to
Shortbriar," Engar said. "I want to make it before dark."
Riding east, the gold ball of the sun was directly in their faces. Susan
ducked her head against the light, but the air warmed quickly, and she enjoyed
traveling without armor or helmet. She settled comfortably to Dancer's rocking
gait and for a while things seemed quite normal. However, when they stopped
at noon, her stomach churned uncomfortably, and she had no appetite for the
leftovers she had packed especially for this lunch.
"I'll stay one night at Shortbriar," Engar said, his eyes on the young girl's
face. "Before I leave, we'll know your mission. I'm sure it'll be something you
can easily handle."
"I wish I didn't have to go alone. I don't like being alone."
"Working alone is always hard," Engar said. "But cheer up, you'll likely
find new friends along the way. After all, you've been sent to Shortbriar to
meet someone."
Susan did not feel cheered, and late in the afternoon, on the trail skirting the
Glu'me forest, her heart climbed into her throat. "Will we go into the trees?"
Her eyes had turned the color of dark emeralds.
"Yes" Engar said, as he turned Thor onto a narrow, well worn trail. They
wound south along a small canyon separating the forest from the farmland. A
creek gurgled in the bottom. "This path is called Edge Trail; the creek is Edge
Creek."
"How much farther to Shortbriar?"
"A few hours. We better pick up the pace; it's getting late."
Mountains appeared to the south and grew as the afternoon wore on.
Trickles flowing east from the farmland dropped through steep gullies into
Edge Creek. Small wooden trestles crossed the side streams. Late in the
afternoon, Engar stopped at one of these, and while they watered the horven,
they sponged dust from their faces and drank cool water.
Engar squinted at the sky. "We'll be in Shortbriar before dark. How are you
holding up?"
"A little scared."

"Understandable. It's okay to be afraid, but try not to let your fear show.
You'll meet a rough lot in Shortbriar, but you'll be safe in town. Kletts are
pretty good at keeping order."
Engar's words offered scant reassurance, and Susan felt her legs trembling.
An hour later the trail wound through a low defile between rocky hills and into
the fringe of the southern forest. Susan glimpsed a rickety gate, hanging half off
its hinges.
"Shortbriar," Engar announced with a slight grimace.
Susan's jaw fell. Shortbriar's palisade was barely intact, and as they rode
through the gate, she saw loutish boys and seedy men lounging along an avenue
lined with shabby shops and slum-like dwellings. Her nose wrinkled. Humid
air, flavored with the smell of sewage, hung over the street. Dust, kicked up by
scuffling feet, made her eyes water.
Two rough looking, grubby native men, were cursing and swinging clubs at
one another in the middle of the street. Susan and Engar reined back. A third
native - a woman wearing a saffron robe and a black headband - hurried up
and grabbed one brawler's club. "Break it up, Hogburn! You, too, Flebag!" She
swung the captured club, catching Flebag on his right forearm. He dropped his
club and howled. "Go on! Get out of here! If I catch you scrapping in my town
again, I'll boot your sorry carcasses out of Faland!"
Engar's face took on a slightly amused expression. "Hello, Mavil."
The rugged lady turned to the strangers on her street. Stockily built, of
average height, she peered at Engar with gimlet eyes set in a broad brown face.
"Do I know you?" Her voice sounded like gravel crunching underfoot.
"I'm Engar. I was through here near a year ago with Brom."
"Oh, yes!" Mavil's sharp eyes lit. "You were on your way to Fragaz."
"That's right. I didn't get there, though. Got a better offer."
"What brings you to this hole? And who's your skinny friend?"
Susan flushed.
"Susan." Engar put a hand on the youngster's shoulder. "A Warrior on the
Master's business."
Mavil's frown raised a thick knot between her brows. She inspected the
girl for a long minute then said slowly, "I've been expecting you. I thought
you'd be bigger and more seasoned. I wasn't informed you'd come with an
escort."
"Are you my contact?" Susan asked.
"No, little lady, I'm Shortbriar's Klett, but there's someone waiting for

you." Mavil pointed a robed arm down the street. "He's staying at Catocol's
Inn, half a dozen buildings down, on the right."
"Thanks, Mavil," Engar said. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep an eye on my
friend while she's in town. I'm only with her until morning."
The Klett's eyes flashed. "This hole may not be much, but your friend's safe
here as long as I'm in charge - as are you," she added, bitingly.
"I wouldn't imply otherwise," Engar said, grinning. "Not many are willing
to try your arm."
"Don't you forget it," Mavil growled as she took her leave.
Susan and Engar nudged their horven forward. In a moment they pulled up
at Catocol's. "We'll take rooms here," Engar said, pulling the saddlebags from
Thor. He slung them over his shoulder and headed for the door. Susan
followed, dismayed at the dingy appearance of the two-story log building. The
weight of her saddlebags bent her knees as she banged through the door behind
Engar. A counter ran along the left of the lobby; wooden chairs rested near the
opposite wall. Directly ahead, Susan looked through double doors into a
dining room filled with guests. Next to the dining room entrance, stairs led
upward to the rooms. Susan was pleasantly relieved to find the interior clean
and well kept.
A native woman, tall, spare, with an uncharacteristically narrow face,
peered from behind the counter with eyes like flint. A boy a little older than
Susan was with her. The woman introduced herself as Catocol, owner of the
inn, and the boy as Snelly, her son. Beyond that, she said little and offered no
information when Susan inquired if she knew someone who might be waiting to
see her.
Engar paid for adjoining singles and tipped Snelly to take the horven to the
stable and unsaddle, water, and feed them. "You may have to stay awhile," he
told Susan as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. "I rented separate rooms,
so when I check out in the morning you can keep yours without registering
again."
Susan's heart thumped.
They examined their rooms, small but clean, left their saddlebags and
returned downstairs to dine. "How am I going to find my contact?"
Engar scanned the room. A dozen people, mostly hard looking men, were
eating. At one table, five men, all wearing battered and grubby armor, ate from
a huge common platter and conversed loudly in coarse language. Engar
selected an empty table near the back. "We'll eat and wait awhile. I'd guess

your contact will know who to look for."

Susan edged into a chair and tried to look casual. Her heart was beating so
hard she was afraid it could be heard even above the clatter in the room.
"Don't look so worried," Engar said, but his own face belied his words.
Snelly took their order. The boy was as silent as his mother and grunted
barely enough words to conduct the transaction. When he left, Engar asked
Susan, "How are you fixed for cash?"
"I've got the thirty ralls we each got when we split the partnership money,
and I already had fifteen so I've got forty-five ralls in all."
"That should be more than enough, but you'll have to be careful. Don't let
anyone know you've got it. Renegades have killed for a tenth that."
Susan's face blanched. "It's hidden. Some in my mokads, some in the band
of my ukeln, some in my helmet, some fastened under my armor, and only two
ralls in my coin pouch."
Engar laughed.
Snelly came with trays of kurduc, brown bread, fruit salad, and drog. It
smelled good and Susan realized how hungry she was. She had been too
depressed to eat at noon, but now, in spite of less than ideal surroundings, she
ate with good appetite. She had finished and was watching Engar mop the last
of his kurduc with a thick chunk of bread, when she caught a movement out of
the corner of her eye. She saw a stooped figure approach with the shuffling gait
of an ancient, so bundled in nondescript rags as to be almost unrecognizable as
a person. From beneath a cowl, two bright, cinnamon-colored eyes fixed her
with a steady gaze. "You are Susan?"
The words startled her. They were spoken in youthful tones, not those of
age. She nodded and glanced quickly at Engar who was staring fixedly at the
ragged figure.
"I'm Tserof of Navlys Elad," the voice said in perfect English. "I bring you
a message from the Master."
Susan saw a ripple of motion beneath the rags and a thin brown hand,
smooth as a child's, shot out. It held a small glass ampule, stoppered with a
wooden cork wrapped in paper. The paper bore the Master's seal. Susan took
it, the surprise on her face turning to amusement. This ragged old one, who on
close inspection looked and sounded like a child, seemed almost comical.
"How old are you?" she asked as she took the vial. She caught a look of
chagrin in the cinnamon eyes.
"It was my voice, wasn't it? I should've tried to disguise my voice, too."

"And your hand." Susan pointed at the slim fingers that still poked from the
rags. "You have quite a young hand for an old person."
Tserof snatched his hand back, then his cinnamon eyes turned merry. "I'll
bet I'm as old as you." He turned back his cowl, revealing a dark boy's face,
framed with straight brown hair bound with a brightly beaded headband. "I'm
fourteen, almost fifteen."
"Humph," Susan snorted. "Barely as old as I."
"That's old enough, isn't it?" Tserof said.
Engar, who had been narrowly watching the exchange, chuckled. "He's got
you there, Susan. But, I think it's time we left. We're beginning to attract
attention."
Tserof's face darkened. He flipped the cowl over his head. "Let's go to
your room. We must be careful. Some people might try to stop your mission."
They left quietly, but the odd trio had become the object of all eyes. Among
the five rowdy men across the room, Engar now recognized Hogburn and
Flebag, the two renegades Mavil had thumped in main street.
In her room, Susan turned on Tserof. "Why are you wearing those
ridiculous rags?"
"These aren't rags!" Tserof ran his hands over the fabric which, though it
had a tattered and worn appearance, proved completely intact. "They're
Forester clothes. I'm wearing enough for both of us." As he spoke he began to
shed outer garments.
"For both of us! You don't think I'm going to wear a getup like that, do
you?"
"You'll need to . . . for a disguise. You can't travel like you are; you'd be
spotted in a minute. Darc'un knows about your mission."
"Darc'un?" Engar's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about Darc'un?"
"Only that the Master's summons warned me to beware of dark forces. I
know that means Darc'un."
"What is this darken?" Susan asked.
"Part of Faland's mythology," Engar replied. "Darc'un is the name given the
Dark Prince who defeated Mordat in the demon wars, or so the legend goes."
"It's not a legend," Tserof said. "My father has told me the stories. Darc'un
has been waiting, held back only by the Faland Master. Falandians live under
the protection of the Master. When Darc'un comes again, he'll challenge the
Master for control of all of Faland. Already he rules the Kroll south of
Fariver."

Susan frowned. "If Darc'un defeated Mordat, how come he's not in control
now?"
"The Master came," Tserof said simply.
"Truth or legend," Engar said, "it seems the Master has summoned each of
us. I think it best we follow through with what we've begun. Now is the time to
read your message, Susan, and find out what's expected of you."
Susan still held the ampule in her hand. She broke the seal and withdrew
the cork. A tiny scrap of paper fluttered out. She snatched it as it fell to the
table. On it, penned in English, she saw a few short lines. "Shendun's egg is the
goal; Fragaz is the entryway. Tserof will get you there. Blend with the forest;
secrecy is your best defense."
"I told you we needed a disguise," Tserof said.
"Some disguise. Half the people in Shortbriar know who we are."
"You're right," Tserof said, his shoulder's slumping. "I should've waited
until you left the dining room to give you the message. But these rags, as you
call them, really are a disguise. In the Hileav Forest, where Fragaz is found,
most people wear clothes like this so we blend in with trees and bushes. Only,
I don't have enough for both of you."
"I won't be with you," Engar said. "I must return to Or'gn by day after
tomorrow. I have an idea, though, how you can get out of town unseen. That is,
if you're ready to leave right away."
"We can go at first light," Tserof said quickly. "I've nothing to stay here for.
My pack is ready by the trail where I hid it." He glanced at the saddlebags in
the corner of the room. "Are those yours?" he asked Susan.
"Yes. Dancer carries them."
"Foresters don't ride horven. You'll have to make a smaller pack."
"You mean I can't take Dancer?" Susan looked beseechingly at Engar. "I
can't leave Dancer. She's my friend."
"You can't take her," Tserof said flatly. "A horven would force us to stay on
the road and we'd be easy targets. Even if you weren't on a mission, you
couldn't keep her. Renegades would kill you and steal her."
Susan's face paled.
"We have to travel by forest ways; that's why I'm here," Tserof said.
"Tserof's right," Engar told Susan. "Without armed escorts you can't travel
in the open outside the farmlands. Come on, I'll help you with your pack. Don't
worry about Dancer. I'll take her back to Or'gn and board her with Pecos."
The bleak feeling returned to Susan. She slumped beside her saddlebags

and fought tears as Engar fashioned a backpack and began sorting and taking
out many things she had carefully selected. Tserof dropped alongside to help.
While he worked, he spoke to Engar, "You said you have a plan. What plan?"
"You should leave before morning," Engar answered. "It's the dark of the
moon and few travelers will be on the road. You can sneak out after most
people are asleep. Shield your lamp until you are well away from Shortbriar,
and you can pass unnoticed into the forest where the light of lamps does not
carry far. I'll go a short distance with you and climb a tree where I can watch
your back. If anyone sees you, and attempts to follow, I think I can discourage
them."
"Oh, my." Susan's brow furrowed. Everything was happening so fast. First
she had to give up Dancer and most of her supplies, now she would not even
have a night's sleep and breakfast with Engar before leaving.
"It's a good plan." Tserof gathered the layers shucked from his ragged
garments. "Put these on, Susan. Leave your helmet and armor; they'll only get in
the way. I'll get you a proper headband. I'll meet you in an hour by the gate. It's
best we not be seen together again."
Engar finished with Susan's pack while she unhooked the cinches on her
armor. She could not help the tears that formed in her eyes. "I never thought it
would be like this," she told Engar. "I might never see any of you again."
"Of course you will." Engar folded her in his arms. "You'll do fine. I know
you've just met Tserof, but he's like you, with unusual talent in spite of his age.
I suspect the Master would not have summoned him had he not the ability to do
what is needed. Now, dry your tears, you'll have no time for self-pity in what
lies ahead."
Susan slipped out of Engar's arms and managed a weak smile. "Okay," she
said, wiping her eyes.
"Good. Now let's see about the disguise Tserof left."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

All night they hiked uphill through the forest south of Shortbriar. Tserof
stayed near the trail, the Fragaz cutoff, but did not follow the track itself. He
seemed to know the route quite well, but Susan was not used to following a
stranger and tried, as best she could, to keep some idea of where they were. In
spite of Engar's endorsement, she did not wholly trust her young guide.
Tserof spoke little. In the dark beneath the tall trees, with the only light
coming from a single oil lamp the boy carried, Susan's view was restricted to
the ground underfoot and the shapes of trees pressing on all sides. Tserof
climbed swiftly over rocks and fallen trunks, and Susan became grateful for the
hours of physical training Engar had insisted on.
"There," Tserof said. He stood on an open promontory and gestured
downward. Susan climbed up beside him. Tserof had carefully set the lamp in
a creche in the rocks, where its pale beam barely illuminated them and cast its
light no farther than the reach of their own limbs. Stars, densely packed in the
clear mountain sky, swirled like streams of bright dust above their heads.
"It's beautiful," she whispered. Spread out to the north, glowing under the
blue light of the million stars, were the vast rolling prairies of Faland's
farmland, and almost at their feet, like a jeweled diadem encircling a dusky
head, were the palisade lights of Shortbriar, set to warn away felven.
Susan looked at Tserof. His face shone the color of dark honey where it
was touched by faint lamplight. As though he sensed her looking at him, he
turned his head to catch her eyes with his. She felt a quickening of her pulse.
His brown eyes, so deeply shadowed they appeared as black as the night, held
steady on hers. He turned, hopping from the promontory, snatched the lamp and
was gone through the forest, leaving Susan's head awhirl. She hurried, afraid
that darkness would separate her from him.
Hours passed, spent in ceaseless climbing, bashing through thick growth,
crawling over, under, and around endless barriers of stone and downed wood.
Susan's breathing became ragged, her lungs strained, and sweat beaded her
brow. Night ended and the sun climbed high enough to cast long shadows onto
a broad, green meadow near the crest of the mountains. From the trees, Tserof
studied the meadow. "Woodland Pass is to the south, over the rise at the end of
the meadow. Renegades are camped near the trail." His brown fingers pointed.

"How do you know they're renegades?" The figures were far away and she
could make little of them.
"The sun reflects dully on their armor, their horven are uncurried, and they
keep a messy camp. Real Warriors are too proud for that."
Susan squinted at the half dozen dark shapes milling near a smoky
campfire. She wondered how Tserof could see such details.
"I know a place a little farther along," Tserof said, "where we can rest and
not be bothered." He moved smoothly through the trees, angling southeast.
Susan's body ached. She would gladly have sunk down where she was and not
moved again for hours. Though he had said nothing, she noted Tserof's step
held less spring and his shoulders drooped too. It had been a long night, with
not a single stop for rest or food or drink. They had climbed thousands of feet
above the farmland.
In half an hour, they broke into a small glen. Sun streamed into the opening,
and midges danced above the green. Cottony fluffs, splitting from pods on tall
canes at the edge of the glen, whirled, light and dark, in the shafts of light.
Rock bounded the west side where water dropped into a small, sandy pool,
then ran along a riffle lined with wild flowers. The sight gladdened Susan,
especially when Tserof took off his pack and said, "We can rest here awhile.
Hardly anyone except Foresters knows this place. My father brought me here
the first time I traveled to Shortbriar to sell furs."
Susan eased her pack to the ground. Released from the weight, she felt as
light as the seed-parachutes dancing above her head. "Is that how Forester's
make a living, by selling furs?" She hunkered beside Tserof at the edge of the
pond.
"Some do. Some are woodcutters. Others live off game in the forest."
Tserof undid the belt holding his ragged Forester's coat and dropped the
garment over his pack. Underneath he wore only a ukeln and a shoulder pouch
in which he carried his valuables. "We can wash here; the water's really
good." He took off his shoulder pouch and waded into the pond. Without his
bulky coat, Susan saw that he was quite a slim youth, thinner than most natives,
finely muscled and graceful. She wondered if Foresters were generally thinner
than the farmland natives; perhaps Catocol and Snelly were also Foresters.
She took off the coat Tserof had given her and slipped out of her sirkeln.
She kept on her ukeln and mokads and retained the cloth binding around her
breasts. Since coming to Faland, she had noticed a rounding of her previously
boy-flat chest. Bertha told her that was the consequence of good health and

good food, reversing the effects of illness that had slowed her development in
the old world.
The cool water felt wonderful after the long, sweaty haul up the mountain.
She waded to the waterfall, sank her face in its bubbling froth, and drank
deeply. Tserof joined her, brushing her shoulder with his. His shoulder felt
warm, hard and smooth as polished wood. Susan raised her head. Tserof's
head came up, spilling water. His face shaped into a smile, and Susan looked
into his cinnamon-brown eyes and felt faintly disoriented. To cover her
confusion, she asked, "Where do you live, Tserof? Is your home in the forest
near here?"
"Call me Tez. My friends do. No, I don't live near. This is not good forest
for living. Game is scarce and there are few fruit or nut trees. I live with my
parents farther east, in the Hileav forest. You'll like it there. We'll pass by my
home in a couple of days."
"Tez," Susan said slowly. "That's a nickname. Sometimes people call me
Sue."
"Should I call you Sue, then?"
Without expecting to, Susan felt herself blush. "I . . . I guess so. No one has
since I've been in Faland."
"Sue it is." Tserof's brown cheeks broadened into a grin. "Let's get out of
the water, Sue, and get something to eat. I'm starved."
Susan followed Tserof to the packs and spread her coat on the ground as he
did. She put on her sirkeln, then sat next to Tserof. They rummaged in their
packs, and Susan dug out leftover roast squal, a baked potan, and some honeynut cakes she had packed in Or'gn only the morning before.
"I'll trade you," Tserof said, looking at Susan's nut cakes. "I'll give you
some demmon for one of those little cakes." He held out a chunk of something
Susan thought looked like part of a granola bar.
"Okay, Tez. What's demmon?"
"It's made from nuts and berries and dried fruit mashed with devon meat
and berven fat. You can travel a long time on it, but I doubt it tastes as good as
your cakes so I won't mind if you don't want to trade."
"I'll trade. I've never eaten demmon."
Tserof grinned happily. The cake disappeared almost the instant it reached
his hand.
"You eat like a pig," Susan couldn't help saying.
Tserof's face took on a comical look of chagrin. "I'm sorry. What's a pig?"

Susan laughed. "An animal that eats like you. You can have another if you
want."
"Really?" Tserof took the cake. "Are you sure you don't mind? You can
have more demmon."
Susan sampled what she already had, carefully rolling the food on her
tongue. Her brows rose. "This is very good. I'm surprised you don't like it."
"I like it. It's just that I have it all the time." He ate the second honey-nut
cake, this time more slowly. "We'd better sleep," he said, licking crumbs from
his fingers and glancing at the sky. "We'll start again at noon."
"Shouldn't we take turns sleeping? What about dangerous animals?"
"It's safe here. There are a few squir. They make a lot of noise but they're
harmless. Berven are dangerous but they don't come this far east. Later we'll
have to watch out for wolven, but they don't like pinen forests. Except the
felven, I don't know anything to fear near Woodland Pass."
Susan lay on her coat, resting her head against her pack. She felt easier
with Tserof than she had during the long night. Before she knew it, she was
asleep. Chattering, like someone starting a motorcycle, awakened her. For a
fleet moment, she thought she was back in the old life, waking to street sounds.
Then she saw a gray fur ball sitting on a limb at the edge of the clearing. A
squir, she thought, like a squirrel. Only, what a noisy fellow.
"They're here!" A boy's voice, high and strained, cut into her
consciousness. Susan thought at first it was Tserof, but when she turned her
head she saw Tez rising swiftly beside her, a look of shock on his face.
"Get up, Sue!"
She came to her feet.
"Snelly?" She saw the boy whose voice she had first heard. Dark shapes
came out of the woods behind him.
"Run!" Tez barked the word in Susan's ear. He snatched his pack in one
hand, her wrist in the other. Had she not seen the motion as Tserof grabbed his
pack, she might not have thought to reach for her own. She swept it up and
bounded after him. She heard a soft grunt and felt Tserof's step falter, then
steady again. Something brushed her ear and she heard a loud whack. Tez
dodged, twisting and turning with cunning speed, moving as adroitly as the
forest creature he was, never loosening his grip on her hand.
Crashing and shouting diminished. As Susan's mind began to work, she
recalled the dark shapes she had glimpsed behind Snelly. She was sure she
recognized Hogburn, one of the renegades she had seen fighting in the street in

Shortbriar.
Tserof pulled her into a space between a living tree and a dead one fallen
against it. His face had become the color of faded brown parchment and his
eyes were glazed. Susan drew in her breath sharply when she saw blood
streaming down his leg. "You're hurt!"
He sank and rolled on his side. "Something hit my leg."
Susan saw the ribbed shank of a hummer protruding from his thigh below
the border of his ukeln. She blanched, but her voice was firm. "We've got to get
it out."
"You'll have to do it." Tserof's breathing was shallow.
Susan knelt. "Bite on this." She held out a stout twig she had picked from
the forest duff.
Tserof took it in his mouth.
Susan gripped the blade by its throwing grooves, placed her free hand on
his leg, and pulled hard. The hummer tore free with a shower of blood. She
clamped one hand over the wound and groped in her sirkeln with the other.
Grappling out a vial of poma, she shook free its stopper and poured the
powder into the injury. The bleeding stopped immediately. Moments later, she
dusted in frenwort and saw the pain die in Tserof's eyes.
"The stories are true," he said, relief in his voice.
Susan pulled a clean bandage from her first aid kit and bound his wound.
"What stories?"
"About those who follow the Mentat Warrior. I know you are one of them.
Now, I see the stories are true. You are no older than I, yet you are already a
Healer."
"I'm not a Healer. I'm a Provo. But we all learn to take care of simple
wounds. Don't you have poma and frenwort."
Tserof shook his head. "Our village can't afford such things . . . except for
Healers. We bear our wounds until we get to the village."
"That's ridiculous!" Susan said. "What happens if you're alone and can't
travel?"
"If Letia - she's our Healer - can come to us, she treats us. Otherwise, we
die in the forest and return to the roots of our ancestors."
"What rubbish," Susan said.
Muffled voices sounded in the thick shadows beneath the trees.
"We must go!" Tserof shouldered his pack.
In spite of his wound, he set off with barely a limp and no diminishment of

his ambulatory skill. He worked through the forest, often doubling back,
covering their tracks, leading Susan along maze-works of fallen logs and
cautioning her to step where stones or slabs of bark would leave no mark. His
skill and thoroughness amazed Susan. "You may not be a Healer, Tez, but you
certainly qualify as a first rate Scout. I don't think anyone can follow us now."
"A good Forester could. Snelly's a Forester, but he's been away from the
forest too long. He was young when his mother took him to live in Shortbriar.
He's a traitor. I'll bet those renegades paid him to track us. He wouldn't have
found us if he hadn't known about the glen and guessed we might stop there. I
should have heeded your warning and taken turns sleeping."
"It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known Snelly would betray us, and
we were both very tired."
They passed downward through steep, dense stands of pinen trees
southeast of Woodland pass. Shadows thickened as the sun sank toward the
western horizon. Tserof's wound began to take its toll. His steps slowed and
his face became pinched and drawn.
Susan said, "We need to find a place soon for the night. I haven't heard a
sound behind us for a long time."
Tserof lifted his head, listening. After a moment, he veered purposely from
the path he had been following. They came to a tiny glade where a small spring
gurgled from the forest floor. A dozen yards from the spring, Tserof found a log
fallen across a boulder. He hunkered beneath it and began to scoop away
debris. "I wish we had our coats. We'll have to make do here."
Susan joined him and soon they had a nest cleared beneath the log. Tserof
found silky stems growing near the spring and began to gather them. Susan
helped and they lined their nest with soft grass. They sat near the stream, eating
from the food in their packs as shadows deepened into darkness. Susan lit a
lamp and put it close by the entrance to their nest, where its light would not be
seen more than a dozen feet away. They drew close in the gathering cool.
"I'll take first watch," Susan said. "You need to rest so your leg will heal
faster."
"I'll be fine," Tserof said. "But I am tired. Don't let me sleep too long."
Almost before the words had passed his lips, he was asleep.
Susan felt the warm weight of him against her body and was reassured. His
breathing was deep and even. Slowly she relaxed and felt herself nodding.
Vaguely she heard something, then felt warmth against her cheek, soft rhythmic
moving, and identified the muted sound of a heartbeat. The beating heart was

Tserof's, the rhythmic movement his breathing, the warmth that of his skin
against her face. She came to with a start, flushing. She had dozed and let her
head drop against Tserof's chest, but it wasn't the sound of his heart that had
awakened her. Something was rustling in the darkness. Her breath came in with
a squeak, and her eyes widened as they took in, hardly two arm lengths away,
twin orbs burning with the dull red heat of banked coals. Each giant eye, the
size of two doubled fists, blazed with unfathomable malevolence. They seemed
to float in space, ten feet above the ground. Slowly Susan become aware that
the eyes were surrounded by a black shape, a darker dark against the ebony of
the forest. Unbreathing, she reached a hand and wicked up the lamp.
The eyes flared. Enormous jaws opened and ten-inch fangs, gleaming like
molten steel, jutted downward. Other fangs rose to meet them, forming a picket
of death around a cavernous throat. From the throat issued a snarl that turned
the blood in Susan's veins to ice. She felt Tserof's body jerk, rigid as stone in
her arms. The huge jaws swung shut and a great black shadow shifted
sideways. Never had Susan imagined such a monumental destroyer, yet
enormous as it was, the black shadow vanished with hardly a whisper.
"F . . . f . . . felven!" Tserof gasped. His teeth chattered so hard he could
barely shape the word. The remainder of the night, the two youths clung
together, so tightly wrapped in one another's arms they could hardly draw
breath. They did not again shut their eyes. When they crept from their shelter in
the gray light of morning and went to the spring to drink and eat, they found
paw prints so large they could sit cross-legged in them and have room to spare.
"I've seen prints before," Tserof said. "But never before did I see one of the
giants. Among my people it is said that no one sees the felven and lives. We
have a tale to tell!"
Susan shuddered. "I never heard such a sound before. Those teeth . . ." Her
voice trailed off.
"It came so close! It must not have seen our light."
"We set the wick too low. It almost went out." Susan's face turned the color
of paste as she realized how close they had come to being felven food. "It was
my fault. I fell asleep when I was supposed to be watching."
"It was nobody's fault," Tserof said. "It's too hard to stay awake when
you're tired and there's nothing to watch, but I'm truly grateful you woke in time
to turn up the lamp. I've always wondered why those great creatures are afraid
of such a tiny light, but were it not so we would not be speaking these thoughts
now."

In spite of the near sleepless night, Tserof's wound had improved. When
they detected no sounds of pursuit, he took them back close to the Fragaz
Cutoff, even following it for some distance as they hurried southeastward. By
noon, they left the conifers and entered the giant broad-leaved trees of the
Hileav forest. Walking beneath the spreading limbs was a new and wonderful
experience for Susan. The forest was filled with light and music, sun streamed
through the verdure, and birds fluttered in profusion through the massive limbs.
"I told you, you'd like it," Tserof said seeing the smile on Susan's face.
"Oh, Tez, it's beautiful, and the birds make it sound so cheerful. It doesn't
seem like anything hurtful could be living here." She felt like singing, then
laughed. "If Jason were here he would sing with the birds and make new songs
out of theirs."
"Does Jason follow the Mentat Warrior?" Tserof asked with a note of envy.
"Yes. He's a Song-master. He's gone away somewhere, like me. I miss him
and Robert and all the others."
"Look!" Tserof halted. A thin brown child, half Tserof's size, flitted among
swollen tree trunks. Glancing up, Tserof pointed. Susan saw two more
children, wrapped around branches high above the ground. When they saw her
looking, they tried to hide, moving among the limbs as easily as squirrels. "I
see you, Tamika and Jonel," Tserof shouted, then turned to Susan. "They're my
sister and brother. We're almost home." He began to trot, tugging her with him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Susan and Tserof stayed two days at Navlys Elad, the Forester village that
was Tserof's home. Not all Foresters were as slim as Tserof, but as Susan had
suspected, Foresters generally had narrower faces and thinner builds than their
farmland counterparts. In spite of their primitive lifestyle, they also spoke
better English and seemed better educated than many farmland peasants.
Tserof's parents warmly welcomed Susan into their log home. The small
cabin nestled so closely among trees that it was nearly invisible. Unlike other
settlements, Navlys Elad had no surrounding palisade. Nor were there any
shops or market places. Business was conducted in limited fashion among
individuals, but little money exchanged hands and everyone shared freely of
their modest resources. Tserof's family, including five children, treated Susan
with friendliness but were frankly curious about the differences between Other
Worlders and Falandians.
"Do all Other Worlders have skin as pale as yours?" Gomlock, father and
head of household, asked while they hunkered beside a low table laden with
food. Susan, sandwiched between Tserof and his younger brother, Jonel,
helped herself to slabs of devon and had her first taste of roast berven. She ate
it with flat bread made from sanden flour ground from nuts that grew
abundantly nearby.
"Not all," she answered, around a mouthful of bread and meat. "Some are
dark, like the berven fur you gave me to sleep on last night. Others are as
brown as you. Some are yellow, like sunlight, and others have red skins. We're
all different. Our hair is of different colors and our eyes too."
Gomlock shook his head. "So many differences. Isn't it confusing? Brown
skin, brown eyes, orange hair; all Falandians are alike."
"Not really," Susan said. "I've not seen farmers as thin as some of you
living here in the forest, and your skin is more earth-colored, less chocolaty
than theirs. Your eyes are lighter, too."
"What's chocolaty?"
Susan's brow wrinkled. "Well . . . let me think." She tilted her head and
frowned. "It's sort of a dark color, between black and brown. You wouldn't
know about it. Maybe it's a little like the color of your Forester coats. What are
these things made of anyway?" She pulled up the hem of the coat Trena,

Tserof's mother, had given her to replace the one lost to the renegades. "It looks
like some kind of skin with pieces sewed over it."
"It's devon hide," Trena answered while she chopped meat to feed her
youngest child, a boy of perhaps two or three years, "covered with scraps of
wolven to make it hard to see in the shadows."
"Sort of like camouflage. When I first saw Tez's coat, I thought it was made
of rags."
"It's getting late." Gomlock glanced through the cabin window. "The sun is
down and we have to be up early tomorrow if we're to make Fragaz by
evening."
Susan glanced at him, surprised. "Are you going too?"
"Of course. While it's true Tserof is the one called to duty by the Master
that doesn't mean the rest of us can't help. I've asked a friend and his son to join
us. Renegades will think twice before attacking a party of well armed
Foresters."
"I don't want Tez to go," Trena said flatly. "He has done enough."
"But I must," Tserof protested. "The Master sent me. Sue's letter says I must
guide her to Fragaz."
"Nonsense!" Trena declared. "You've done your job. And all you've got is
a wounded leg to show for it. It'll take time for your leg to heal and you're not
going anywhere until it does. The Master asks too much of a child. He should
have sent your father."
"But he didn't," Tserof said, his voice sharp with anger. "He chose me, and
my leg doesn't bother me. Sue's a Healer and fixed me up as good as Letia
could've done. The wound's almost healed, see!" Tserof got up from the table
and stamped around the cabin, dancing on his wounded leg.
"You'll do what your told!" Trena said sharply. "I'll take no back talk.
You'll stay home tomorrow and that's final." Trena began to clear dishes from
the table.
Tserof looked pleadingly at his father, but Gomlock only said, "Go to bed
now, son. Your mother's right. You've done well, but the Fragaz Road is no
place for a boy with a wounded leg."
Tserof's eyes smoldered, but he left without further argument.
First light had not yet lifted the gloom from the forest when Susan was
awakened by sounds of activity in the cabin. She rose and quickly joined
Gomlock and his family for breakfast. Even the littlest had been roused, but
Susan saw no sign of Tserof. When she finished breakfast she asked Gomlock

where his son was.

"Tez is still angry," Gomlock said. "He's gone to sit by himself in the high
branches. He'll be all right."
"He saved my life. I want to say goodby and thank him again."
"I'm sure he knows. He was very proud when the Master called him to
service. No other from Navlys Elad was called. It goes hard with him that he
could not carry his mission to the end."
"You better hurry," Trena interrupted. "I hear Nanof and Obanof in the yard.
I've already packed food for both of you in your shoulder pack, Gomlock,
enough to get you to Fragaz. You'll need to get supplies there for the return."
While Gomlock shouldered his pack, Susan hurried to get hers, glad she
had readied it before eating. Outside, pale gray light filtered through the high
trees. She drew her lungs full and smelled fungus and damp earth mingled with
a sweeter smell from the pale blue flowers of sanden trees. She smiled up
through the leaves. The sky was filling with light.
Gomlock introduced Susan to Nanof and his son, Obanof. The two men
shook hands with Susan, almost shyly but with strong grips. Except for the light
beard Nanof wore, the two looked almost identical. Obanof, Susan guessed,
was at least two or three years older then Tserof.
"Is everyone ready?" Gomlock asked. He hardly waited for a reply, but
swung away quickly, following a thin track through the trees. Susan looked into
the high branches, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tserof.
In a very short time, they reached the Fragaz Cutoff and swung along it.
Few words passed among the Forester men and even fewer were directed
toward Susan. She concentrated on trying to match the smooth, swinging gait of
her guides. They seemed almost to glide as they walked, and when among
trees, moved as quietly and unobtrusively as shadows. She made more noise
than all three men combined.
Pleasant hours passed as they moved swiftly over gently sloping hills
through open forest. Everywhere she looked, Susan saw brightly plumaged
birds soaring or chattering among the trees. She lost track of time as she
watched the birds flitting against the darker tones of the forest like splotches of
paint spattered from a palette of scarlet, ruby, indigo, emerald, saffron,
turquoise, and a hundred other hues. It was with surprise that she noted the sun
almost directly overhead when Gomlock called a halt near a small stream
running clear over smooth stones.
"We'll eat and rest for a while," the leader announced. "We'll make the

Rooden-Woren crossing by nightfall if all goes well."

Nanof and Obanof dropped to the ground beside the stream, opened their
packs and began to pull out food. Gomlock joined them and bade Susan come
too. In moments a spread of cold meats, vegetables, breads, and sweet pudding
had been assembled that rivaled the Forester dinner Susan had enjoyed the day
before. She discovered a keen appetite and dug in with relish. Large quantities
of clear, cold water from the stream washed the food down.
The Foresters were as reticent during the meal as on the trail. The only
information Susan gleaned was that Fragaz was about thirty legons east of the
Rooden-Woren crossing, over good road with few steep hills, and they should
make it by evening of the following day.
Gomlock allowed a few minutes extra rest after the meal. Susan stretched
on her back and listened to the whimper of the stream as it sucked and gurgled
around worn stones. She closed her eyes and let herself drift, feeling, for a
moment, at perfect ease. She heard a bird singing and then voices mixed with
the birdsong.
"Get up!"
Something whined past Susan's ear. Not again!
"They're coming out of the woods!" The voice was Obanof's.
Susan rose to see an arrow thud into Obanof's side, and suddenly she was
wide awake.
"Run, Susan!" Gomlock grabbed her arm and raced with her across the
road into thick brush, then down a steep gully in which a thin trickle of water
flowed.
"What's happening?" Susan yelled.
"Kroll!" The single word was torn from Gomlock's throat.
Susan felt her heart leap crazily, then heard an ear-splitting scream. A manlike figure appeared in front of her as though materialized from the forest itself.
He was naked except for a loincloth. Patches of green and brown paint mingled
on his smooth, hard body, forming a camouflage that made him nearly invisible.
If not for the red eyes glaring from his painted face and the yellow fangs
dripping spittle behind his curled lips, Susan might not have seen him at all.
Only dimly did she recognize the scream. It was the war cry of the Kroll, first
brought to her ears from Jason's throat.
Hard hands shoved her aside. She watched a spear, intended for her, pass
through Gomlock's body. She screamed.
"Run, Susan!" Gomlock sputtered, his hands pulling at the shaft. "You must

get away!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Susan saw a blur of green and brown paint.
She stumbled, caught her balance, and began to run. She heard a thin scream
behind, then she was sprinting, leaping over fallen logs, ducking under tangles,
swerving around massive tree trunks. A dark form launched itself at her. She
tried to duck, but a thick cloak fell over her head and she went down,
thrashing. A body covered hers and pressed her downward. Grappling arms
encircled her, pulling the covering cloth tight, cutting off her vision. She felt
like she was suffocating.
"Lie still!"
She tore at the cloth.
"Lie still! It's me, Tserof! Please, lie still!"
Susan's heart fluttered. Panic had washed her mind clean.
Tserof pulled back the cover. "Don't make a sound, Sue! The Kroll are
near!"
"Oh, Tez!" Susan buried her head against his breast.
Tserof pulled her into a hollow beneath a rotten log. He covered them both
with his Forester cloak. How long they lay, Susan could not tell. She was
conscious first of shaking, then of feeling numb, then of aching stiffness. She
heard Tez's breathing and felt him shift. His arms held her as tightly as
bindings.
A faint sound came to Susan's ears and she felt Tserof's hold ease. Slowly,
she unfolded from his embrace and saw him lift his head. They peered into a
forest filled with the thickening gloom of coming night. A small yellow bird
fluttered upward from where it had been scratching in the forest litter.
"I think they're gone," Tserof whispered. "We'll move into the trees. We
dare not light a fire and I have no lamp."
Susan realized she had left her pack.
"How did you get here?" Susan's voice was shaky.
"I sneaked away and followed. I stayed close in the forest all morning.
Even my father didn't know I was following."
"Oh, Tez!" Susan's eyes widened as she remembered. "Your father . . . I
saw . . . is he . . .?"
"I don't know. Nanof killed the Kroll who speared him, but I couldn't wait.
Nanof will take care of him. I must get you to Fragaz." Tserof found a huge tree
and studied it closely in the dim light. "This will do. I hope you can climb."
"Tonight I can climb anything," Susan said.

"Give me your foot and I'll boost you." Tserof cupped his hands to make a
step for Susan. She put her foot in his hands and felt his strength as he lifted
her. Her grasping fingers caught a branch, and she hauled herself up. Tez was
up before she could even turn to help him.
"Let's climb higher." Susan shinnied up, competent and quick enough, but
with nothing like Tserof's skill.
"We'll tie ourselves," Tez said, settling in a fork a few feet from Susan. He
rummaged in his pack. "Take off your coat and I'll show you how to make a
tree bivouac."
Susan slipped off her Forester robe and watched Tserof gather the cloth
into a large sack, lashing it securely to an overhead branch. It hung freely, only
inches from where she sat.
"Wait until mine is done and I'll show you how to get in." Tserof fashioned
his coat into a like sack that hung so close it brushed Susan's. When he
finished, he tossed his pack in, then grasped the knot from which his bivy hung.
With a single, fluid motion, he drew up his feet, thrust them into the opening
and dropped like a lump into the bottom of the bag. In an instant, his head
appeared at the top. Susan could see his white teeth where his face was split in
a grin. "It's easy. Try it."
Susan glanced down. The ground was hidden in shadow, thirty or forty feet
below. Wobbling, she stood on the limb and grasped the knot above her sack.
Tserof steadied the fabric as she drew up her legs, and though a bit awkward,
made the transfer more easily than she had expected.
"See. Snug and warm," Tserof said. "We'll be invisible from the ground and
can sleep without worry. Are you hungry?"
"Yes," Susan said. Thirsty, too, she thought and realized she should have
gone to the bathroom before climbing the tree.
Tserof handed her a demmon bar which she munched slowly. "Tez?"
"Yes."
"I thought the Kroll lived much farther south."
"They do. That's why my father wasn't ready for them. I wouldn't even have
known they were Kroll if I hadn't heard stories about them since I was a kid.
The last time they raided this far north was in my grandfather's time. There
must be something big happening."
"I think it has something to do with my mission. I think the Kroll are after
me, and I don't think they'll stop. They'll keep hunting for me." Susan's voice
shook in spite of herself. "You'll be in danger too."

"It's all right, Sue. I'll protect you. I'll get you to Fragaz and I'll stay with
you no matter what."
"Do you know anything about Shendun's egg?"
"I never heard of it until you opened your message cylinder."
"Do you thinks Shendun is a person?"
"I don't know. We'll find out when we get to Fragaz."
"I hope your father is all right."
Tserof was silent a moment, then said, "We better sleep now. Voices carry
at night. It's best we stay quiet until morning."
***
Birds awakened Susan. Scarlet wings with emerald bodies flew in a noisy
crowd around the bivouac, chattering with unmelodious voices.
"Shoo!" Tez's voice came from outside.
Susan poked her head out. A green and gold canopy covered the sky. A
swirl of birds rose. Fragrance from cascades of yellow and white blossoms
filled the air. The birds scattered, gossiping and complaining.
"Chatterboxes!" Tez laughed. "They're curious about everything and never
know enough to keep their mouths shut."
"They're beautiful!"
"You're a sleepy head, you know. I was awake long ago."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"I didn't see a need. We'll have to make our way slowly to Fragaz. We can't
go near the road and I've not been through the forest beyond here. We'll have to
travel with care and hunt for our food along the way."
"Sounds delightful," Susan said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.
"We've enough demmon for today. I hope you're good with those hummers
you're carrying. I didn't bring a bow."
Susan discovered getting out of the bivouac was easier than getting in. It
took only minutes to untie the sack, climb from the tree, and restore the sack to
its original use as a coat. Susan sought a place where she could empty her
overfull bladder, then Tez led through the trees. They shared a demmon bar
while they walked.
"We're still too close to the road." Tez scouted the ground carefully. "Kroll
did not discover our hiding place, but they'll likely discover where we came
out of the tree. They are forest people known to be good trackers. We must
move carefully. You are not used to the forest so stay close to me. I'll show you
how to hide your tracks."

Susan paid close attention to Tserof, particularly when he showed her how
to place her feet to leave the least imprint and how to use a branch to brush out
even the faintest trace without leaving brush marks. Tserof stopped often to
climb a tall tree and study the surrounding terrain.
The forest was so light and friendly and filled with merry life, and Tserof
so pleasant, Susan would have enjoyed the trip completely had it not been for
constant fear of a Kroll ambush. As it was, she spent half her time looking over
her shoulder and the other half jumping at each unexpected sound.
At mid-day Tserof suddenly hissed, "Get down!"
Susan flattened, her hand snatching a hummer from her belt. Tserof
gestured. Susan's heart hammered as her eyes followed his point. She could
see nothing.
"By the sanden trunk, next to the fyr bush."
Susan did not know a fyr bush but she recognized the sanden trunk. Near its
base, she saw a small shrub with black berries.
"Rabir," Tserof said. "I'll circle left. If it runs this way, hit it with a
hummer."
Susan saw the rabir nibbling fruit. She relaxed, grateful it was not a Kroll.
She readied her hummer as Tserof disappeared into the brush. A moment later,
she saw a flash of motion and a spurt of dirt near the rabir. The creature bolted
straight toward her. While hunting on the prairie near Or'gn she had become
skilled at hitting rabir. She threw with easy confidence. The hummer thudded
harmlessly into a sapling and the rabir darted away.
Tserof appeared beside her. "We both missed, but we'll find more."
"It was an easy throw. I should've hit it."
"I'm the one should've hit it," Tserof said. "I had a sitting shot. You threw at
a moving target, and you're not used to the forest. Light and shadow make
throwing trickier than in the open where you come from."
Late in the afternoon Tserof had better luck and brought down a tarmen, a
chicken-like bird that dressed out meat enough for a good meal when combined
with greens and wild potans Susan found near a small stream. Tserof risked a
fire and Susan spitted the bird over low flames. She wrapped her potans and
vegetables in a planen leaf and roasted them in the coals. Smacking his lips
and licking his fingers, Tserof avowed Susan was as good as his mother at
making simple food taste good. She accepted the praise and stowed the
leftovers for breakfast the following day.
It took three days to reach the Rooden-Woren road. Tserof studied the track

before they emerged into the open. "We'll follow the road now. Wolven roam
the forest and without a guide it is too easy to get lost." They stepped onto a
roadbed hard packed and well maintained. It ran almost straight, north and
south, beneath great trees. "We can't be far from the Fragaz crossing," Tez said.
"It will be south of us, perhaps a few legons."
"Won't the Kroll find us if we stick to the road?" Susan's voice sounded
worried.
"This far north of their homeland, I don't think Kroll will risk open travel.
The road from here to Fragaz is well used, and Kroll moving openly would
quickly be discovered and would become the hunted rather than the hunters.
We have more to fear from renegades--"
Susan interrupted, "I hear someone coming!"
Tserof grabbed her and they dodged into brush beside the road. A wagon
pulled by two horven and driven by an old man, lumbered into view. Crates,
barrels, sacks, and bundles filled most of the wagon. A young man and woman,
armed with swords and bows, and lightly armored, perched atop the bales.
Tserof whispered to Susan, "Do you have any money?"
She nodded with a look of puzzlement.
Tserof stepped into the open and raised his arm in greeting.
"Whoa, whoa!" The old man hauled on the reins. The guards swung their
bows to ready and nocked arrows.
"We mean you no harm," Tserof called. "I'm Tserof of Navlys Elad
traveling with my friend to Fragaz. Are you also going to Fragaz?"
The old man glared. "So?"
"We'll gladly pay a rall to go with you. We got separated from our escort
and need protection from wolven and renegades."
The old man snorted. "Separated from escort?" He studied the two through
slotted eyes. "Where they now? Why they not search for you?"
"We got separated on the Fragaz cutoff two days ago. We strayed off the
track while hunting for berries and got lost. I'm sure a search was made. We
just now found our way here."
"You Forester?" the old man asked. "How Forester get lost?"
Susan could see the old man was not buying Tserof's story. She stepped
forward. "Please, we have to get to Fragaz. We have hummers for hunting but
are otherwise unarmed. We are no danger to you or your Warriors." She held
out her hand. "I've two ralls here, and I'll give you two more when we get to
Fragaz. Please, let us come with you."

"Oh, Father, let them come," the young Warrior woman said. "They're
childer. No harm from them."
Susan smiled. "You're right. We're young and mean no harm." Before the
old man could protest, she slipped along side the wagon and clambered up.
"I'm Susan."
"I'm Valik. This is Warl." Valik nodded toward the young man as she
reached a hand to assist Susan. Warl nodded.
"Come on, Tez. Climb up." Susan pressed the ralls into the old man's hand.
"Thank you."
"Yumpf!" He folded his fingers around the coins.
"What's your name?"
"Yusefl."
"We appreciate your kindness, Yusefl, and I promise we won't be any
trouble."
Tserof climbed onto the wagon with Warl's help.
"You're a Warrior, yet your father is a merchant?" Susan said to Valik. She
and Tserof settled on the baggage.
Valik laughed. "You are surprised, and with good reason. It's not usual, but
Father is a successful merchant and saved enough to send my brother and me to
Warrior school in Or'gn. He said he was tired of hiring unreliable guards."
"I see you're both level one fighters."
"We qualified at the last games in Or'gn, a few months ago."
"I was there too," Susan said. "I didn't qualify but . . ." She stopped. "I . . . I
mean . . ."
"You're a Warrior too?" Valik's eyes widened, then she looked more
closely at the stranger she had invited aboard her father's wagon. "You're not a
Forester, are you?"
"No," Susan admitted and pushed back the hood of her coat.
Valik's mouth dropped. "I know you! I saw you in the kom. You're an Other
Worlder!"
"What?" Warl suddenly spoke. "Let me see!" He twisted on the load.
"You're the girl with the green eyes!"
"I have green eyes all right, but I can't help it; I was born that way." Susan's
feeble attempt at humor could not mask her dismay at having so carelessly
obviated her disguise.
"You were expected in Fragaz several days ago," Valik said.
Susan frowned. "Expected? What do you mean?"

Warl became excited. "Do you think she's the one, Valik? Is she the Other
Worlder we were supposed to meet?"
"What? What is this talk?" Yusefl hauled on the reins of his team. "Who
Other Worlder? What meet? You not tell me?"
"I'm sorry, Father," Valik said. "We didn't tell you. You remember a few
days ago when we said we might not be home for a while?"
"Yes, yes." Yusefl's brow knotted. "But you say not go. Come with me
instead."
"We were supposed to meet someone in Fragaz, only the someone didn't
show up."
The old man looked bewildered. "Who . . . what . . .?"
"We took a commission from the Master."
Yusefl's mouth dropped. He sputtered.
Warl took something from a pocket on his sirkeln. "Do you know what this
is?" he asked Susan.
"Yes. I have one too." She withdrew her copy of the Faland Master's seal
and held it alongside Warl's.
"You are the one!" Warl said.
"Do you know about Shendun's egg?" Susan asked, suddenly as excited as
Warl.
"Yes. Well, not exactly. But we know where to find it. We are supposed to
take you there with the help of another Warrior and the herbalist, Quenayla."
"Listen! I hear a cart coming." Valik peered back along the road.
"It's the hide merchant we passed a while back," Warl said.
"We should be going," Valik said. "Come on, Father, we must get to Fragaz
quickly. I'll explain on the way."
Yusefl flicked the reins, and the horven started the heavy wagon into
motion.
"Let's run alongside," Valik said, dropping from the wagon. "If we lighten
the load we can move more quickly."
"You are in a hurry," Warl said, but he jumped down to join her. Tserof and
Susan did likewise leaving Yusefl alone on the cart. He urged the horven to a
brisk trot, and they soon reached the Woren-Fragaz intersection and turned east
toward Fragaz.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

All afternoon Yusefl, his children, and his guests hastened toward Fragaz,
overtaking and passing half a dozen merchants who looked disapproving,
perhaps wondering at the foolishness of a merchant who drove his horven so
recklessly. The sun sank, then finally left the sky. Valik lit the running lights on
Yusefl's wagon. Through breaks in the forest, Susan spotted the lights of Fragaz
well before they arrived at the gate. Despite hours of jogging, she was not tired
and paced easily beside Tserof whose leg had healed so well he showed no
sign of his wound.
"You'll stay with us tonight," Valik told Susan when the wagon rattled
through the gate. "It's late and no need for you to find a place at the inn."
Main Street, well lighted with oil lamps on tall posts, bustled with activity.
It was quite unlike the thoroughfare in Navlys Elad, where sundown brought an
end to the day's activities, and only a few lights warned away felven on
moonless nights. Susan and Tserof gawked, their pace slowed to a walk as
Yusefl reined back the horven.
"What is that place?" Susan pointed toward a brightly lighted building. A
gaudily painted sign, lighted by a row of oil lamps, bore the garishly lettered
words, Sundowner House.
"The Sundowner!" Valik spit the words. "A wagering house. People go
there to bet on games."
"Gambling?"
Warl laughed. "My sister doesn't like that word any better than
'Sundowner'. She doesn't approve of wagering, or gambling as you call it."
"I suppose you do?" Valik snapped.
"I don't risk a lot of ralls, if that's what you mean, but I do see the fun in it."
"Renegades and ne'er do wells - that's the kind drawn by wagering. Fragaz
would be better off without such ilk. You know we're the only village in
Faland that tolerates such a thing, and that's because Townmaster Sambolisher
finds it an easy route to wealth."
"Now, sister, you know he uses the money to pay Elkobur and her Warriors.
Elkobur is the best Klett anywhere in the forest villages. It's safer here than in
Woren, and if you ask me, Flevix of Woren might take a lesson from Sam."
As they spoke, the wagon rolled past the Sundowner, then turned into a side

lane. Yusefl drew up beside a long, low shed. "Warl, help with horven. Valik,
take guests to house. Get food." His commands were short, clipped, and
obeyed at once.
"Can I help unload?" Tserof asked as he jumped to the ground.
"Not now." Yusefl said. "Tomorrow unload. Tonight, eat, rest."
Tserof and Susan followed Valik into a two story log house beyond the
shed while Warl and Yusefl unhitched and stabled the horven.
***
Yusefl's and his children's arrival, and their two guests, did not go
unnoticed. Two pairs of eyes watched with particular attention, one from a
darkened alley, the other from the steps of the Sundowner House. The first
belonged to a small, bent figure, shrouded in a black berven-skin coat.
Moments after Yusefl's wagon passed, the shrouded figure scuttled along the
alley like a black crab and, silently as a shadow, slipped through the gate into
the forest. The second set of eyes belonged to a tall, black woman - an Other
Worlder - who recognized the red-haired pale-face striding beside Tserof. She
watched the wagon until it turned from Main Street then stepped from the porch
and strode rapidly in the direction of Fragaz Inn. She knew her wait in the
forest village was about over and decided to forgo another night at the gaming
tables.
***
Yusefl assigned Susan a small attic room where she slept soundly, coiled
on a berven fur thrown on the floor to serve as bed. She awoke blinking against
light coming through a small window set beneath a pitched roof. From the
window, she looked down into a neatly tended courtyard lined with beds of
dazzling flowers. The sun was high. Fresh air blew softly through the window
and she drew it deep into her lungs. As sleep-fog cleared from her head, she
wrapped her sirkeln around her waist and pulled on her mokads. In seconds,
she was trundling down a narrow wooden staircase toward the main rooms
below.
"Good morning! Sleep well?" The cheerful greeting came from Lalika,
Yusefl's wife.
"I slept wonderfully! You have a beautiful house and a lovely yard. I saw it
from the window."
"Thank. Thank. You ready breakfast?"
"Let me help. Please?"
Lalika laughed. "Valik should be so willing. Come, you help."

Susan's eyes widened with delight when she saw Lalika's kitchen. Pots and
pans, copper and steel, as beautiful as any from the Other World, hung neatly
from pegs set in polished plank walls. A black iron stove, already heated by a
wood fire, stood against one wall. Shelves held jars, cans, and boxes of flours,
nuts, dried berries, powdered condiments, baking powder, salt, and dried
leaves to steep for drog. Susan worked eagerly, thrilled to be in a real kitchen
again. She sang as she bustled about, her enthusiasm so infectious Lalika was
soon humming with her.
By the time Valik, her brother, her father, and Tserof, were up and had
unloaded the wagon, breakfast was ready, spread on steaming platters on a
gleaming oaken table. Lalika had set out mugs, plates, and food handlers for six
people. Susan helped Lalika bring out the last of the food.
"Wow!" Warl's eyes lit. "We should have company more often." He reached
for a platter of crisp fried porven then grabbed a handful of pungent herb
biscuits. Soon everyone was eating with a dedication that precluded speech.
When they finished, Susan broached the subject of her mission. "Warl, you
said another Warrior is supposed to go with us to see Quenayla. Who is it? Is it
someone here in Fragaz?"
"Quenayla? Warrior? What?" Lalika looked anxiously from Warl to Yusefl.
"It's okay," Yusefl patted his wife's arm. "Valik explain."
"I know only that we were to meet a woman Warrior and a young girl here
in Fragaz several days ago," Warl began, directing his comments at Susan.
"Neither showed. That's why Valik and I went with Father to buy merchandise
in Rooden. We wanted to check whether our contacts had gone there instead.
On the way back we met you. We have not yet seen the woman Warrior."
"Where were you to meet her?" Tserof asked. "Maybe she's waiting there
now."
"Who is Quenayla?" Susan interrupted. "Why do I need three Warriors to
take me there? Is this person dangerous?"
"No, but he lives alone, deep in Thorn Forest. Getting there is not easy."
"Thorn Forest! Bad!" Lalika cried. "You not go! Quenayla . . ." She shook
her head, a look of fear in her eyes.
"Now, Mother," Valik soothed. "Thorn Forest is dangerous only for
someone traveling alone. With three Warriors there's little to worry about, and
I hope you don't believe those silly old tales about Quenayla's strange powers.
You remember, I met him once. He's really a harmless old man who gathers
herbs. You'll see, Mother; it'll be all right. Besides, we've been called by the

Master. We must go."

"Valik right," Yusefl said. "Childer go. I proud. You proud, too."
"But, what about the woman Warrior?" Tserof asked. "We must find her
right away."
"What's your interest in this?" Warl asked. "I don't recall mention of a boy."
"I'm not a boy! I'm a Forester," Tserof said. "I was summoned by the
Master too."
"He's right," Susan said. "And don't doubt it. He was my contact in
Shortbriar. He saved my life and led me through the forest. He's a skilled
Scout." Then she added rather severely. "From your talk, I think you'd be glad
to have him along."
"I was only asking," Warl said, "but I have a navaid and a map that shows
the way to Quenayla. We don't need a Scout."
"Give them to Tez," Susan ordered, her green eyes snapping. "He's my
Scout and I'm the one must get to Quenayla."
Warl's mouth dropped. He glanced at his sister, but she grinned and
shrugged her shoulders. Warl handed over the map and navaid. Tserof took
them with a grateful look at Susan, then inspected the navaid, turning it in his
fingers, his eyes shining with pleasure. "Thank you. These will help."
"Be careful!" Lalika called.
They had scarcely reached Main Street when Susan saw a man, dressed in
a Forester coat, walking toward them. She blinked to assure herself her eyes
did not deceive her. "Gomlock?"
"Father!" Tserof ran toward the figure. "Father!"
The Forester raised his head, a look of joy on his face, then swept his son
into a powerful embrace. "Tez! I was afraid you were lost!"
"And I you, Father!" Tserof's face was wet. He swiped at his eyes when
Gomlock released him. "I don't understand. Why did you think I was lost? I
saw you speared, but I was hidden."
Gomlock smiled. "You're a good Forester, but not good enough to fool me.
I knew you were following. I saw you run into the bush even as Nanof took
down the Kroll who skewered me. Susan was not far behind, but where is
Susan? Did she escape?" Gomlock looked around anxiously.
"Right here. I owe you my life. That spear was meant for me. I thought you
were dead."
"I would have been, had it not been for Nanof." The smile left Gomlock's
face. "I'm afraid Obanof was not so lucky. A Kroll arrow reached his heart. He

died while his father was tending me."

"I'm sorry." Tears welled in Susan's eyes.
"It's all right." Gomlock placed his hand gently on Susan's arm. "Nanof will
be glad to see you're safe. He'll know Obanof did not die for nothing."
Warl's face had taken on a grayish tone beneath its normal deep brown.
"Did I hear you speak of Kroll?" His voice was shaking.
"You heard right," Gomlock answered. "Elkobur, Klett of Fragaz, is out
with her Warriors hunting them now. Nanof is serving as Scout. Had I been
stronger when they left, I would be with them, too."
***
From her seat in a wicker chair on the porch of Fragaz Inn, a black Warrior
witnessed the reunion between Gomlock and his son and the red-haired girl.
She also watched as they went with Gomlock toward the stable near the Klett's
office. She frowned. Much time had been wasted and she wondered at this new
delay. For a moment, she considered following, then shrugged and kicked back
in her chair. Might as well be patient, she decided, though inaction had begun
to wear on her.
***
"I wish you could go with us," Tserof told his father.
"I, too, wish it," Gomlock said. "But my wound was severe. The Healer
here is good and repaired the damage, but it will be some days before I regain
my full strength. Besides, I must return to Navlys Elad. Our friends must be
warned of the Kroll."
"Take care, then, Father."
"I will. And I'll not be traveling alone. Two Foresters arrived yesterday
from Rooden. We'll go together to Navlys Elad, and you, Son, must take care
too. See our young Susan safe on her journey."
After leaving Gomlock, Susan and Tserof rejoined Warl and his sister and
turned again toward Fragaz Inn. Half asleep, the black Warrior was reclining
in her chair in the sun. Still, she heard the footsteps on the flagstones and
opened her eyes. She saw the two young native Warriors, accompanied by the
Forester boy and the girl from the Other World, ascend the steps. When they
started to pass, taking little notice of her, she spoke, "Hello, Susan. It took you
long enough to get here." She grinned when she saw the astonishment on the
young girl's face. "Don't you remember me? I remember you, but then I always
remember good chefs."
"Florence!" Susan cried, sudden joy in her voice. "I certainly do remember

you! We met on the road to Oshan. You stayed the night with us."
"That's me." Florence's grin widened as she climbed to her feet and
reached a sinewy arm toward Susan. Susan joined in the Warrior's greeting.
"Are you here on the Master's business?" Warl asked cautiously.
"I'm here to meet two Warriors."
"I'm sorry," Susan said. "I should have introduced my friends. Warl and
Valik are helping me, and this is Tserof, our Scout. We are looking for a
Warrior who is supposed to join us."
Florence dug in a pouch on her sirkeln. "That would be me." She showed
them her Master's seal. "Let's talk. My room, if you don't mind."
With credentials verified, Florence took command. Since she was level
five, no one disputed her authority. Quickly, she outlined the task delivered in
her instructions. "I'm to lead an expedition to recover an object called
Shendun's egg. Susan is charged with securing the egg; the rest of us will
provide support then deliver her to Woren to rejoin the Mentat Warrior."
Susan's heart leaped. All she had to do was get Shendun's egg and she
could return to her friends. "Oh, I do hope it won't take too long," she could not
help saying.
"We'll leave tonight," Florence said, "as quietly as possible. I've kept my
eyes open since I arrived in Fragaz. I believe we're being watched. Last night
when you arrived I glimpsed a shadow watching from the alley near the
Sundowner. It slipped away after you passed. Talk of Kroll has been all over
town. I don't think they attacked you by chance, Susan. Someone intends to
keep you from completing your mission."
"That must be why the Kroll didn't pursue Nanof and my father after the
attack," Tserof said. "They were hunting Susan like she said."
"I've arranged horven and supplies at the stable. If we slip away unseen,
we might be get a few hours head start. We'll meet at the stable two hours after
sunset. Meantime, I suggest everyone get some rest."
***
Though main street was noisy and crowded, Florence knew side streets
that were dark and deserted. Coming on the town gate obliquely, they slipped
through one by one, each inconspicuous, just a casual traveler on a moonlit
night. Florence had acquired good horven and supplied them abundantly, and
Susan felt grateful to again be mounted. Tserof proved a passable rider and
took the lead with Warl.
Susan rode beside Florence. "You must have seen a lot of action since

Oshan. You were only third level then."

"True," Florence said. "I met Fraghorn shortly after our visit. I joined him
on an expedition to Riven, but we were ambushed by wolven not far south of
here. Fraghorn is a fine Warrior, but he was unlucky. One of the beasts took
him down, and before the rest of us could beat off the attack, he was badly
mauled and had to cancel the expedition. I earned my fourth level in the fight.
After that, most of Fraghorn's Warriors quit, but I stayed with him in Woren.
When he recovered we teamed up and went treasure hunting, following a lead I
got while he was laid up."
"I love treasure hunting," Susan said. "Where did you go? Were you
successful?"
"We tried Dre'cave."
"I thought you hated caves."
Florence laughed. "This sounded too good to pass up. Dre'cave is
supposed to hold a pile of rubies, but it didn't matter; we never found the cave.
Ended by taking a job with the Klett in Targ to chase down renegades that were
hurting settlement business."
"Fighting renegades." Susan shuddered. "I don't think I'd like that; not if I
didn't have to."
"It's not so bad. Beats doing nothing."
"Did you get them?"
"Seven nasty outlaws - I earned fifth level in the ruckus. Fraghorn took off
looking for Mordat's Castle, and I went back to the farmland. In Triod I saw the
contract posted for this job. I applied and here I am. But, hey, that's enough
about me. How did a kid like you get involved in this? Frankly, you seem
inexperienced for such a task."
Susan flushed. "The Master must think I can do it. I didn't ask for the job; I
was summoned. All the partners were. Martin and Engar think something really
big is going down."
"Could be," Florence said.
***
At dawn, Warl pulled up at the edge of Thorn Forest and motioned the
others to halt. They surveyed a barren, brush-dotted slope across a small seep.
"Doesn't look like much," Susan said.
"We'll water here," Warl said. A few large shrubs with a paucity of leaves
but many long spines were scattered along the runnel below the seep. "I was
here once with Father. I've never been beyond, but I'm told water is scarce in

the Thorn."
Tserof unfolded the parchment map Warl had given him. "Looks like we go
southeast a dozen legons, then east along a ridge to a valley. Quenayla lives
there, about two days ride."
"Take cover!" Florence shouted. "Movement up on the hill!"
Susan dove behind a rock, Valik beside her. They raised their heads,
listening, but the Thorn was perfectly still.
"Maybe it was nothing." Florence had drawn her bow and nocked an
arrow. She lowered it. "Let's get our water and get out of here; this is a wolven
watering hole."
***
Past noon they paused on a low ridge in an open, rocky area. Their bodies
were grimy with dirt kicked up by horven hooves and caught in their sweat.
"These skinny thorn trees make about as much shade as nothing," Susan
said. "I think I've already drunk half my water."
"What about the horven; we've--."
"Wolven!" Tserof cried.. "In the bush."
"I thought so!" Florence had her bow up, with an arrow nocked. "I did see
something at the watering hole! They've been shadowing us. Watch the flanks!
They attack in pairs, and generally more than one pair. Susan, put your back
against that boulder."
Two huge gray animals loped into view, their small mean eyes fixed on the
horven. Before the Warriors could react, the wolven's massive hindquarters
bunched and they charged, covering the ground in a breathless instant. Valik
and Warl fumbled with their bows while Susan stacked hummers in her left
hand. Tserof drew a thin dagger from his robes.
"On the left!"
Two more gray juggernauts charged from cover. The horven reared, and
Florence released, nocked, and released again. Two horven, loosely hitched to
a thorn branch, broke away and galloped off, their hooves clattering. The
wolven vanished like puffs of gray smoke.
"Damn!" Florence said.
"Get after the horven," Warl yelled and ran toward the brush where they
had disappeared.
"No!" Florence shouted. "The horven are lost! Get back here!"
Two wolven, as though generated from the rocks, appeared beside Warl.
He swung and saw an arrow crash into the nearest wolven. An instant layer

another arrow thudded into the second. Both wolven snapped at the shafts in
their flesh, then retreated. Warl returned to the others. "I'm sorry," he said.
"You're lucky to be alive," Florence said. "You wouldn't be if your sister
and I hadn't made good shots."
Warl hung his head.
Florence turned to Valik. "Which horven did we lose? What were they
carrying?"
"One was mine," Tserof said. "It was carrying a tent and some food, but I
took the water off as soon as we stopped."
"Mine was the other," Valik said, her face bleak. "I lost a full canteen and
most of my food. My sword was in the saddle scabbard, too."
"Not good," Florence said. "But it could have been worse; we could've
lost them all and got chewed up in the process."
"They came so fast!"
"I never even got a shot," Warl said, looking foolish and forlorn.
"Will they come back?"
Florence shook her head. "Not likely. We wounded two, and they'll have
their work cut out defending their kills. But others are out here. We can't afford
more losses."
"I don't mind walking," Tserof said. "I'm used to it."
Susan hated being on foot again, but she shrugged and said, "I'll walk with
Tserof. Engar always said we ought to walk part time anyway."
"We'll take turns," Florence said. "But if we lose another horven we'll go
back."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Two days after the wolven attack, the expedition arrived at a small stream
that flowed west below a rocky hillock beside a long, shallow valley. While
Florence kept lookout, everyone else knelt at the rivulet and sponged off dirt
and sucked cool water across parched tongues. She drank when they finished.
Tserof's Forester skills, with Warl's navaid and map, had guided them
accurately. "Should be no more than a legon upstream to Quenayla's," he said.
"I think someone's following us," Florence said as they relaxed by a thorn
tree and munched leftover rabir. Warl leaped to his feet and snatched his bow.
"I didn't say they're close," Florence said. "Take it easy. You've been jumpy
as a frog in a skillet the past two days." Warl eased back.
"I've seen someone too," Tserof said. "Yesterday and today - not an animal,
but a person good at tracking, almost like a Forester. I think there's only one."
"I've not seen a horven, nor have I spotted any tracks."
"The watcher is covering his tracks," Tserof said.
"You think its someone after me?" Susan's green eyes filled with alarm.
"Maybe a Kroll!"
"We ought to move out," Florence said. Valik and Warl unhitched the
horven.
"Our follower is not a Kroll," Tserof said. "I glimpsed a dark robe, and the
person inside is short."
They began to pick their way upstream. Shortly, Tserof pointed near the
streambank. "Mokad prints."
"Quenayla?"
"Maybe if he lives nearby."
They rounded a bend and spotted a small log cabin in a copse of thorn
trees. Susan's eyes lit as she noticed a well-tended garden and recognized a
dozen herbs that made splendid condiments. "This must be Quenayla's!" She
darted forward.
"Hold on," Florence yelled.
Susan ran into the garden, so excited she failed to see a black form appear
at the cabin's door. Light streaked and Susan felt her body lift from the ground.
She hit on her rump and cartwheeled. Florence snapped an arrow at the dark
form. Blackness, like a shadow, rippled along the cabin wall and vanished

around the corner.

"Sue!" Tserof kicked his horven's flanks and was at her side in an instant.
She was sitting among herbs, half dazed, clutching her shoulder. "You're hurt!"
Tserof plucked at a thin shaft protruding from her shoulder. "You've been shot!"
The bolt had penetrated Susan's armor. A trickle of blood ran down her
arm.
Florence knelt beside the girl. "We've got to get it out."
"Was that Quenayla?" Warl stared at the spot where the shadow had
disappeared.
"No," Valik said. "But it came from the cabin. I'm going to check it out."
"Hold steady," Florence told Susan as she gripped the bolt's metal shaft.
She pulled and the thin blade slipped from its hole.
"Tez! My frenwort," Susan gasped. "Get it for me."
The boy fumbled at her belt pouch.
"I've never seen the like of this," Florence said as she turned the metallic
shaft in her fingers.
"Quenayla's in the cabin!" Valik yelled. "He's hurt!"
Florence glanced at Susan. "Are you all right, Girl?"
Susan nodded, and Florence headed toward the cabin. She found an old
man lying in a clutter of broken vials, scattered implements, and shredded
plants. The air reeked of pungent concoctions. A book lay open near the old
man's outstretched hand, and Valik was kneeling alongside. The old man
stirred.
"I think he's hurt bad." Valik looked at Florence. "I don't know what to do."
"Susan," the old man murmured in a voice barely audible. "Bring her to
me."
"Susan's been injured," Florence said, crouching by the old man while
Valik tried to raise his head.
"You must bring her at once." The old man's eyes burned in his shrunken
face. He tried to rise, but fell back. "Please bring her."
Florence left the cabin and found Susan with Tserof finishing a bandage on
her shoulder. "Quenayla's asking for you. He's been injured."
"I must see him," Susan said. Wobbling, she got to her feet and felt
Florence's steadying hand. She felt pity when she saw the frail old man cradled
in Valik's arms. Kneeling, she looked into an ancient face, wreathed with white
hair, and when her eyes met Quenayla's, something tumbled in her head.
A withered arm lifted and a pale finger beckoned. "Bend low and listen

carefully. I have strength to tell you only once."

"Who did this?" Susan asked.
"Eschar, soulless servant of Darc'un. But that's not what I must tell you."
Susan shivered. "You mustn't talk. We must get you help."
A shudder passed through Quenayla. "No time." He raised his head. "The
book - get the book of recipes."
Susan looked around dumbly.
"Is this it?" Valik picked the open book from the debris on the floor.
Quenayla nodded.
Susan took it and leaned near. She could just hear Quenayla's words and
listened intently. When he finished, she no longer felt the frail elder's breath on
her cheek. She lifted her head, her face streaked with tears. "He's dead," she
whispered.
***
They buried Quenayla under a thorn-willow beside his herb garden, then
set up camp near the stream. Warl stood first watch after a Spartan meal drawn
from the herbs of the garden. As stars appeared in the pale heavens Florence
fingered the thin metal shaft pulled from Susan's shoulder. "It's strange," she
said.
"It's Mentat metal," Susan said.
"Mentat metal? What's that?"
"Martin has some. Mentats control it with their minds. They think
commands and it obeys."
"You're saying our attacker is a Mentat?"
"Must be."
"This is not good," Florence said. "I've never fought the like of that
shrouded-devil."
Tserof, listening with eyes grown large, said, "I've heard about Mentat
magic, but I didn't know it was real. Can Mentat's really do such strange
things?"
"Martin did magical things," Susan said, "but he said they weren't. He said
Mentat power is limited, and Mentats can be beaten by ordinary Warriors if
they know how and don't give up."
"Maybe Quenayla was a Mentat too," Valik said. "He did strange things
and many folks were afraid of him."
"It's possible," Susan said. "He looked like Horath."
"Horath was the Mentat Trainer in Or'gn as I remember," Florence said.

"Quenayla did look a bit like him."

"What did Quenayla tell you, Sue?" Tserof asked. "Did he tell about
Shendun's egg?"
"He told me what I have to do. Part is in the book, but part's only in my
head now."
"Can I help?"
"You can help - all of you can do, but mostly this is something I have to do
myself. Shendun is a bird; Quenayla called her the Guardian. She's big and
fierce and I have to become her child."
"Her child?"
"Shendun has no children. Since the demon wars she has been incubating
an egg that can never hatch. It was put in her nest by King Mordat, who used it
to trick her into protecting a talisman - Quenayla called it the first talisman it's in the egg. I must get the talisman and take it to the Mentat Warrior."
"How can you become Shendun's child?" Tserof asked. "How would that
help?"
"Shendun won't let anyone near her nest, but if I become her child, maybe
she'll take me there."
"That's ridiculous! How can she take you to her nest?"
"By carrying me," Susan said. "Quenayla said Shendun's wings stretch
twice the length of a horven's back. She carries her young on her back until
they learn to fly. If I become her child, I'll ride on her back."
Florence gaped. "Tell me, you're kidding!"
"I know it sounds like a fairy tale, but this is Faland. Many strange things
have already happened, and riding on a bird's back may not be any stranger."
"I've lived here all my life," Tserof said. "I've never seen a bird that big.
Besides I don't see how you could be Shendun's child; you aren't a bird."
"I can't, but Quenayla told me how to fool her. This book has a recipe."
Susan held up the volume Quenayla gave her. "I'm to make an herbal broth from
shen and add to it the essence of the north, south, east, and west winds. All are
herbs that grow in Quenayla's garden, and he told me how to recognize them."
She paused, a puzzled expression on her face. "He said I'd know them by their
taste and smell, but I've never tasted or smelled the wind. Shen, though, is the
large herb in the middle of the garden - the one with the big red berries."
"I saw it!" Tserof said. "I wondered if the berries were good to eat."
"This sounds flaky," Florence growled. "Even if you figure out how to
make this broth, how will you find Shendun? And if she's so big, how can you

take her egg away from her?"

"Quenayla said all is planned. I must bathe in the shen broth and drink
some, then I'm to go alone to a crag on the ridge east of here and wait."
"Wait for what?"
"Well, Shendun hunts near the ridge," Susan said. "She'll see me and come
to . . . to . . ." Susan's voice faltered. "She'll come to kill me."
There was stunned silence.
"But she won't," Susan added. "She'll smell the shen and think I'm her
child. Then she'll take me to her nest."
"Oh, Lord," Florence groaned, "This is insane. What if the broth doesn't
work?"
"Quenayla said it will."
"You don't even know for sure how to make it. What if you make a
mistake?"
"I better not," Susan said.
"What do you want us to do?" Tserof asked.
"Don't encourage her, Boy," Florence bellowed. "She's not going through
with this. I won't allow it."
"You have to," Susan said. "It's why Quenayla died; it's what I came here
for. I won't let you stop me."
"We'll see about that! I'll hog tie you and take you back to Or'gn if I have
to."
Susan paled. "Then that's what you have to do."
"You can't," Warl said. "You can't tie her."
"Just who's going to stop me?" Florence turned on the youth. "You?"
"She's a Warrior and she's not rated. If you attack her you'll violate the
rules of honor. You'll be outlawed."
Florence looked dumbfounded.
"Warl's right," Valik said. "We can't stop you, Susan, but please don't do it;
you might be killed!"
"I have to." Susan's voice was shaking. "I'm a Warrior on the Master's
business."
"Damn!" Florence growled. "What kind of master sends a child on such
dangerous business?"
"Will you help me?"
"Of course, we'll help."
Susan put her arms around the black Warrior. "I knew you'd stick with me."

"Tell us the plan," Warl said. "How are you going to get the egg out of
Shendun's nest?"
"That's where all of you come in. Quenayla said when Shendun takes me to
her nest she'll roll the egg out and put me in its place. The nest is on a peak and
the egg will fall on the rocks below and break. That'll free the talisman, then
when Shendun's asleep, you will bring the horven to the canyon below the nest.
I'll climb down and we'll get the talisman and be gone before Shendun wakes
up. Actually, it's all very simple."
***
"Simple indeed!" Florence grumbled for the next five days while she
helped Susan sample and test herbs from Quenayla's garden. Sorting subtleties
in odors and flavors, using information from Quenayla's recipe book, Susan
narrowed the possibilities to a handful. Still, she could not decide. She had
only a verbal description of the tastes and odors and found language a poor
guide. In a large kettle found in Quenayla's cabin, she prepared broth using
many combinations of likely herbs. For days, Tserof gathered, ground,
shredded, and steeped herbs, plying Susan with the results, while Warl, Valik,
and Florence prowled the area keeping a sharp lookout for the shrouded
Mentat. They also scanned the sky for a monster bird.
One day Susan stood, holding a dripping cup, savoring a bitter brew. "I
think this is it."
"You don't sound sure," Tserof said with a worried frown.
"I am." Susan straightened her shoulders. "I'm sure of it. It has a . . . a sort
of bird smell to it."
"You better right," Florence said. "I doubt you'll get a second chance."
"Tez, bring more herbs; I'll be ready in the morning."
***
In the dimness before sunrise, Warl and Valik built a large fire. Susan set
her kettle to cooking. Steam rising above made ghostly streamers as she stirred
and felt like a fairy-tale witch preparing a magic potion.
"There's still time to say no," Florence said as she helped Susan unbuckle
her armor and strip off her clothes. Blushing and turning his eyes aside, Tserof
added cooled tinctures of wind herbs.
"Florence is right," Valik said. "It's too dangerous, Sue; we'll find another
way."
"It's hot!" Susan wiggled a toe in the dark brew.
"I'll add more cool," Tserof said.

"No. It's right the way it is." Susan lowered herself slowly, scooping liquid
over her hair and shoulders. She scrubbed her face and ears and every part of
her body. As she grew used to the heat, she submerged, and with a grimace,
allowed liquid to slide down her throat. The musky odor, like mushrooms and
humus, was not unpleasant but the taste was foul. She soaked for half an hour,
unsure how long it took the liquid to do its work. While she wallowed, she
prayed, for no matter how positive her assertion, she was unsure she had found
the right mix.
At last she stepped from the vat, dripping, and watched vapor rising from
her body turn white in the rays of morning sun. "Wish me luck." She smiled and
added, "Don't look so sad, just be at the base of the rock tonight when I climb
down."
Entirely naked, she crossed the garden and slipped through the thornwillows, then began climbing through the rocky scrub. She was glad she had
often gone without shoes, for it was a comfort to have feet hardened and used
to the rocks.
"We've got to be ready tonight," Florence said as Susan's wraith-like form
disappeared into the scrub. "When the egg is out of the nest, we'll have to move
quickly. I doubt our Mentat shadow has left. Let's get packed."
***
In an hour, Susan spotted the crag where Quenayla told her to wait. She
tried not to think about possible failure, or that a savage predator's hooked
beak might tear through her body. She felt pebbles under her feet, thorns
scratching her thighs, cool air in her lungs, the frosty tingle as light wind drew
moisture from her brow. She felt how good it was to be alive.
A flock of small brown birds, wresting seeds from parched pods on a thorn
bush, attracted her, and she steered toward them. They scattered against the
brightness of the rising sun. Among them, she saw the image of a larger bird. In
a blink, it was gone.
She saw a crag silhouetted against the light. It looked too narrow to support
her, but she climbed toward it, her heart thumping. She searched for the great
bird, not sure she had seen it. Far below, tiny figures moved on horven. They
were her friends, circling the ridge.
"I can't turn back now." She struggled toward the rock-tooth rising into the
sunlit sky. The last bit required that she pull herself up by her fingertips, but the
top was not a sharpened spine. It was a platform a dozen feet long and half that
wide, comfortably large enough to rest upon. She looked upward into empty

blue sky and felt wind on her skin. She looked across higher crags to the north
and east, then into the vast thorn to the south and west. Legons away, on top of
the highest crag, she saw a soft blur. Shendun's nest!
Slowly she stretched on her back, unable to calm the pounding of her heart.
She cradled her head in her hands and stared until her eyes ached. When she
thought she could stand it no longer, a black spot appeared above, wobbling,
shifting, swelling. It dropped and she clenched her eyes shut. The great bird
landed with only a brief pulse of wind, a light thump, then a low chittering.
Susan felt pain in her chest and realized she was not breathing. She opened her
eyes and sucked air between her teeth.
Shendun blotted out the sky. She was black, except for two yellow eyes and
an orange beak curved like a scythe. Her feet bore talons gleaming like
polished ebony, each as long as Susan's arms. The bird tilted its head and
glared at Susan. A moan escaped her lips as she visualized herself snapped up
like a worm.
Shendun's beak vibrated, then nudged Susan. Susan got to her knees. The
giant raptor lifted her wings, spreading them like huge umbrellas, and hooked
her beak around Susan's narrow waist, drawing the girl toward her. Susan
grasped feathers with shafts as thick as her wrists, and climbed through silken
down until she was on the great bird's back. She settled between enormous
wings that gleamed like diamond in the bright sunshine.
Shendun thrust with her legs and fell from the crag into smooth flight. She
caught a rising thermal and swept upward over the sun-warmed valley,
climbing in long slow spirals. Wind whipped past Susan's face, caught her long
red hair and streamed it behind. Nothing in life or dream had prepared her for
such sudden exhilaration. The landscape unfurled below: mountains and
ridges, serpentine canyons floored with ribbons of green, rocky crags splashed
with yellow sunlight, thorn forest, and endless legons of desert. In a breathless
moment, the flight ended, and Shendun settled on a tangle of sticks and brush
atop a towering stone needle. She stooped and Susan slid through her feathers,
dropping into a down-lined nest. She bumped against an enormous, mottled
brown egg, nearly a yard in diameter.
With her curved beak, Shendun wrestled the egg toward the edge of the
nest. Susan wriggled out of the way. The egg toppled from the nest. Susan hung
her head over and watched it bounce and shatter. A rubbery ball split from
within and tumbled into thorn-scrub.
As Susan wondered how to get down, she felt Shendun's beak nudging her

back with gentle insistence. The great bird cudgeled her until she was safely
under a protecting wing.
I guess I'm Shendun's chick for sure.
Susan settled into the down nest. Being naked in a giant bird's nest seemed
strange indeed, but she felt so warm and safe that she soon fell asleep.
***
Susan reviewed a dream of soaring on the back of a giant bird.
It was no dream!
Startled, she looked out. Through Shendun's feathers, she saw a sky grown
gray with dusk. Shendun stirred, rustling her feathers, then sank more deeply
onto her nest, cuddling Susan briefly with her beak. Susan waited, hardly
daring to stir, until she saw through the veil of Shendun's feathers stars begin to
spread their milky glow across the sky. She began to creep from under the
bird's wing. Twice Shendun stirred, and with a quick thrust of her beak,
scooped her restless chick back under her wing. Susan began to fear she would
not get away, then she burrowed into the nest lining, heaping a mound of
detritus behind her, hoping to fool Shendun with the heap of down. Patiently
she crept toward the lip of the nest.
When she looked past the edge, she saw tiny lights bobbing far below.
Tserof's Forester skills had led him and her friends to the rendezvous. Moving
as quickly as she dared, she climbed onto the hard rocks of the crag. On solid
stone, she worked her hands and feet in clefts and crevices, descending
rapidly. Below, she heard the soft nicker of a horven, then the rustling of
people poking through the brush.
"Susan?"
"Quiet," Susan whispered, then saw Tserof.
"I found it," someone whispered. "It's big."
"Susan's here!" Tserof sang out.
"Shush! Do you want Shendun to wake up?"
"Is this it?" Valik climbed up lugging a large rubber ball.
"It came out of the egg," Susan said. "The talisman must be in it."
Tserof helped Susan down the last few feet, and led her to their campfire.
"Get me some clothes," Susan said as she entered the circle of light. Valik
hurried forward with a ukeln. Florence brought her sirkeln and armor and
Susan dressed, dabbing at thorn cuts on her legs and hips.
"Did you really ride on the back of that giant bird?"
"It was wonderful! I think it was the most exciting thing I've ever done."

"This ball is Shendun's egg? Doesn't look like an egg."

"Susan said it was in the egg. I think we ought to open it."
Susan drew her knife and began to cut away the ball's soft outer layers. It
took only a moment to open a hole into the center. Susan pulled out an oval
object.
"Another egg? A smaller one?"
"Must be the talisman," Tserof said.
Susan said held it near a lamp. "It has runes all over the outside. It looks
like a big pearl."
Warl said. "We better wait to look at it. When Shendun wakes and finds her
baby gone, I don't want to be anywhere near."
"Warl's right," Florence said. "We need to be well away before morning."
***
They had been traveling all night, and Florence called a halt. "We'll camp
here. Hopefully our airborne friend won't recognize Susan and try to get her
back."
"Our Mentat shadow is still with us," Tserof said. "I saw a black robe
among the scrub a short distance back."
"There's no help for it; we need rest," Florence said. "Half will sleep
while the others keep watch. Keep your weapons ready, and remember what
Susan told us: Mentats aren't all powerful. In fact, this one seems more afraid
of us than we are of it."
"I'll take first watch," Susan said. "I slept under Shendun half the day
yesterday, and I'm not tired."
"I'll watch with Susan," Tserof quickly said. "I'm not tired either."
"That so? Well, I think I'd better stay up and chaperon you two love birds,"
Florence said. "Valik and Warl can stand second watch. We'll sleep in three
hour shifts; I want us on our way by noon."
During their undisturbed rest, the black-robed Mentat did not reappear. A
pair of wolven poked their noses from the scrub but were alone and did not
attack. At noon, Florence woke everyone and got them on their way again.
Tserof's growing familiarity with the terrain made it unnecessary to scout a
route, so they made good speed and by late evening arrived at the Hileav
forest. Two days later, they rode into Fragaz. Yusefl and Lalika greeted them
joyfully and asked Florence, Susan, and Tserof to stay again at their home.
Susan grinned with pleasure when she returned to the small attic room and
curled up on the berven skin where she had slept before. Next morning, she

rushed down eagerly to help Lalika in her kitchen.

"Where will you go now?" Tserof asked Susan when breakfast was done.
His eyes were cast down and he spoke with agitation.
"To Woren to meet Martin," Susan said. "Come with me."
Tserof shook his head. "I wish I could, but I must return to Navlys Elad
with Nanof. Kroll are still marauding, and my family will need me. How will
you get to Woren? Who will go with you?"
"My contract with the Master is complete," Florence said, "but I've got a
hankering to see Woren. I'll be heading that way - probably later today - maybe
you'd care to join me?"
"Oh, yes! I would!" Susan said.
"I hoped so." Florence grinned. "I don't often get the company of such a fine
cook."
Susan laughed. "I'll try not to disappoint you. Only," she turned back to
Tserof, "I wish you could come. I'll miss you so much."
"Maybe when your mission is finished you can come to Navlys Elad."
"I'd like that. Maybe I can. It really shouldn't be such a long time."
Yusefl put his arm around Susan's shoulders. "Little daughter, I have
something for you."
"For me?" Susan said. "What could you have for me?"
"Come. Follow."
Everyone traipsed along as Yusefl led Susan outside across the flowerbordered yard to the paddock shed. "Wait here." Yusefl put a hand on Susan's
arm.
He went into the shed and came out leading a horven mare. His face was
beaming when he held out the lead to Susan. "It's little enough in return for your
service to the Master."
Susan's breath came short and her heart began to pound. She reached
fingers to a muzzle as red as her hair and looked into eyes, like hers, the color
of emeralds. She stroked the mare's soft cheek and felt tears on her own cheek.
"She's too wonderful," she said and threw her arms around Yusefl's neck.
"There now." Yusefl snuffled. "It's not from me; it's from all of us."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you, Lalika!" She hugged the mother. "Thank you,
Valik, and you, Warl. You're such good friends. I couldn't have completed my
mission without you."
"What are you going to call her?" Tserof asked.
"We call her Redwing," Valik offered. "She's named for the red-winged

birds of the Hileav, but you can call her what you please."
"Oh, I think Redwing's a splendid name," Susan cried. "And I'll love her
always, and when I ride her, I'll think of all of you."
"I've a gift for you, too," Tserof said and shyly pulled something from
beneath his robe.
"Oh, Tserof!" Susan flung her arms around him. "I don't need a gift from
you. I'll cherish you always."
Tserof's face turned a shade darker. "I want you to have this." He held out a
small wooden pendant. "I made it for you."
"It's beautiful!" Susan held up the small carving, amber-colored, shaped
like a bird, its wings spread in flight. "It is so fine, you must have worked on
this a long time."
"I did," Tserof said. "When I followed you the morning you left Navlys
Elad, I took along a piece from the maihon tree that grows near my village. I
worked on it to help me stay awake when I was on watch. I finished yesterday
and polished it this morning with shela oil. Look," Tserof took the carving from
Susan's fingers. "It's a friendship bird. On its back is the symbol of Navlys
Elad; on its breast is my own mark. Foresters everywhere will know it and
recognize you are my friend."
"Oh, Tserof, you are my friend!" Susan kissed him, and there were tears in
her eyes as she hung the pendant around her neck. "I'll wear it next to my heart
to remind me of you until we see each other again."
"Come on," Florence said gruffly. "If we're gonna get away from here
today, we better get moving."
"I really must go, Tez. Take care!" She mounted Redwing.
"Goodbye! Goodbye!"
Susan and Florence turned their mounts and headed toward the Fragaz gate.

PART SEVEN: MORDAT'S CASTLE

CHAPTER FORTY

The ride from Or'gn to Slavhos had gone quickly and it was barely midmorning when huge Bertha and little Linda passed through the gate into the
settlement. Bertha's face was streaked with sweat. Though she had worn
neither armor nor tunic, the sun had warmed the air to unusual heat and the
exertion of the ride had brought a flush to her body. The horven were lathered
and drew air in noisy gusts as the riders pulled up before the market.
"I'll talk to Kormax," Linda said as she slid from Perry's back. There was a
slight catch in her voice. "Jason thinks Kormax might be my contact."
"All right. I'll join you after I water the horven and tether them in the
shade." Bertha mopped sweat and dust from her brow. "It's hot, and I need to
cool down a bit before I conduct business. You go on now."
While Linda climbed the steps to the mercantile, Bertha led the horven to
the village green where the shade of tall trees moderated the heat. She bent
gratefully to lift cool water from the well to souse her face and head. When
Bertha joined Linda at the market, she discovered the youngster had already
established that Kormax was, indeed, her contact but was waiting for another
person - a Warrior named Surfyr.
"He's bringing instructions for Linda," Kormax explained. "I can't tell you
much beyond that, but I assure you I will look out for the young lady."
"You'd better," Bertha growled. "If anything happens to this little tad, I'll be
back for your hide - and that's a promise you can count on."
"I'll be all right, Bertha," Linda said quickly. "Don't you remember Surfyr?
He fought Engar in the kom when we first left the training hall. He's a good
fighter, and Engar liked him. You've got to go, now. I know I'll be safe with
Surfyr and Kormax helping me."
"I expect you're right," Bertha said, but her reluctance plainly showed. "I
remember Surfyr, and he seemed a good man." Then she sighed. "I suppose
you'll be safe enough, but I don't like leaving without knowing where you're
going or what you'll be doing."

"I know," Linda said, "but Surfyr might not get here until this evening, and
you have to go right away. It's a long way to Triod and no telling how far from
there to Finfal's den. Aren't you supposed to be there in three days?"
"You're right," Bertha said. "Take care, child. I want to see you again,
whole and healthy."
"You, too." Linda threw her arms around Bertha and the huge lady swept
the little girl into her massive embrace. When she let go, Bertha brushed
moisture from her cheek and left the shop quickly. She went to the green, and
without another look back, swung to the back of Buck and nudged the horven's
flanks. At a quick trot, she passed through the Slavhos gate and headed west
into rolling farmland. For several miles she rode as though under a cloud. The
day was shining with the clear, yellow light of Faland's sun but she hardly
noticed. It was hours before she settled and began to enjoy the fine weather and
beautiful countryside.
By midafternoon, the sun had cooked the road until air rose above it in
visible ripples. Through the shimmer, Bertha saw a large oaken tree a quarter
legon away. Her stomach rumbled and she realized it had been hours since she
had eaten. She veered toward the shade.
"Hello, what's this?" She discovered a small brick basin filled with water
and lined with green algae. Water bubbled into the basin from a spring, then
overflowed through a stubby metal pipe into the surrounding lush grasses. A
crude sign said: DRINKING WATER. Bertha slid from Buck's back.
Though remote, the spring was in farmland and presumably safe. Still,
Bertha's Faland experiences had taught her caution. A quick survey showed the
area deserted, and she saw little sign of visitors around the spring. She also
remembered seeing few riders all morning. She led Buck to the trough, and
while the stallion sank his muzzle into the water, she splashed her own head
and shoulders. Then she combed tangles from her thick black hair and,
refreshed, dropped into the shade with a full canteen and the saddlebag that
held her food. She wore only sirkeln and breastplate with neither body armor
nor helmet and began to feel quite comfortable. Still, as she spread dried meat,
biscuits, and raw fruit on a cloth, she sighed deeply. She missed Susan and her
culinary skills, and she missed Linda and the other partners.
"What's a grown woman like me moping for," she grumbled as she wiped
honey from her chin. She almost missed a slight rustling and barely turned her
head in time to see a little girl suddenly appear in the taller growth by the
spring.

"Hi."
Bertha was too startled to answer. The girl brushed through waist deep
grass and stepped into the open. She was naked, and Bertha could not help
feeling a pang. What possessed Faland parents to let their youngsters stray so
far without even the protection of a scrap of cloth?
"Hello," Bertha finally said. "Are you alone?"
The child, brown as an acorn and rotund of body, did not answer. With
grimy fingers she brushed russet hair from her face and stared at Bertha from
huge chestnut-colored eyes.
"Are you hungry?" Bertha waved half a mevl fruit in the child's direction.
The girl reached for the apple-like fruit. Bertha offered a biscuit dripping
with honey. The girl dropped to her haunches and bit a chunk from the mevl,
then stuffed the biscuit in her mouth.
"What's your name?" Bertha asked.
"Assyria," the girl mumbled around the mevl and biscuit.
"Assyria. That's a pretty name. I'm Bertha. Do you come here often?"
Assyria's jaws worked and a runnel of food and saliva appeared at the
corner of her mouth.
"Do you live nearby?" Bertha pressed.
Assyria gestured vaguely into the empty prairie. She finished the mevl and
biscuit, then without a word, rose and headed into the grass. She ran a few
steps, stopped and turned. "Thank! Thank!" she yelled and was gone.
Bertha decided the kid could not have been more than six or seven years
old. She had looked healthy enough, and though hungry, was obviously well
fed. Her eyes had showed no fear.
Bertha heard horven hooves. "This place is getting busy," she said "Maybe
I'm just popular." She looked up to see a solitary rider approaching. She
loaded the remnants of her meal into her saddlebag, wadded the cloth on top,
and climbed to her feet. A short native male, wearing an orange tunic, sat atop
a horven as stubby as he. Horven and rider stopped a few feet from Bertha.
She glowered and waited for him to speak.
He pulled a small flat packet from his tunic. "I have a delivery for Bertha,
follower of the Mentat Warrior." He spoke in a high raspy voice. "Are you
Bertha?"
When Bertha nodded, he tossed the packet at her, then swung the horven's
head around. Bertha's mouth dropped as the packet fell into the grass. "You
didn't have to throw it," she growled as she retrieved the packet.

The rider nudged his mount to a saunter.

"You could use some manners!" she shouted.
When she glanced at the packet, she caught the gleam of the Master's seal
and quickly peeled back the covering. "A silver amulet! Like Robert's!" She
lifted the shiny bauble by its chain and examined the inscription. "Same
message." Her dusky eyes darkened. "Demons! There must be demons in my
future!"
Bertha hung the amulet around her neck and climbed on Buck's back. How
had the rider known where to find her? It was disquieting to know she was so
easily traced. She urged Buck to a swift trot.
Bertha had lit her lamp against the felven by the time she pulled from the
road, dropped into a small draw, and rounded a hillock that screened her from
passing travelers. She made a dry camp, ate sparingly, and rolled into her
blankets under a sky made dazzling with stars. With her lamp wicked low and
Buck hobbled nearby, she ended the first day of her adventure by dropping into
an uneasy slumber.
***
The second evening, as Bertha topped a low hill, she saw Triod's palisade.
She sat a moment, getting her bearings, feeling a fine trembling in Buck's broad
back that told her she had pushed him harder than she should have. She patted
the animal's neck and squinted at the thin ribbon of road leading south from
Triod. That would be the way to Targ. Far away, nearly lost against the
wavering grasses, she saw a distance-purpled line of peaks. She dismounted
and led Buck the remaining distance to Triod. A sign at the intersection told her
Targ lay 300 legons south. The sign did not mention Finfal's Den.
It was dusk when she turned through the open gate and went immediately to
the village green. First she watered and fed Buck, then laid out her blanket roll.
She bought a bundle of wood from an ancient native crone and built a small
fire. Her appetite was weak and she ate without enthusiasm; she could not
remember when she had felt so tired. She missed the partners. Smoke from
Triod's glassworks filled the air with a faintly acrid odor that reminded her of
her Other World pottery shop. That also gave her a pang, for the Other World
had begun to seem more like a dream than did Faland.
When the wood-seller closed shop for the night, Bertha was alone on the
green. She slipped into her blankets, not even taking time to wash at the village
well. Sleep came fast and first light awakened her astonishingly soon. She ate
with better appetite than the evening before, broke camp, stowed her gear in

her saddlebags, and made her way to the village market. She arrived before it
opened and paced impatiently.
At length, the shopkeeper arrived, a chunky native woman of medium
height and middle years with a left eye that drooped oddly. She glanced at
Bertha from a rumpled face that looked as though its owner had slept badly.
She introduced herself as Eisenwild, and Bertha followed her into the shop.
"You're new here," Eisenwild said. "Early shopper, I see." Her left eye
rolled inward, then snapped back, as though with a mind of its own.
Bertha stared, then flushed. "I just need a few supplies." That was not
entirely true; she really wanted information. She ordered a couple of pounds of
salted porven, which reminded her of bacon, a bag of florn flour, and a bottle
of lamp oil. Eisenwild's wandering eye followed her as she scooped up her
purchases and pocketed the change from the rall laid down in payment.
Trying not to stare at the woman's deformed eye, Bertha asked, "How far to
Finfal's Den?"
Eisenwild seemed surprised. "Finfal's? You go Finfal's? Not good place."
"What's wrong with Finfal's?"
"Renegades, thieves, berven country." Eisenwild's left eye rolled wildly.
"Not safe."
"Honey, I appreciate your concern, but I've business at Finfal's. It would be
helpful if you can tell me how far it is. Is it on the main road to Targ?"
Eisenwild grimaced. "Only one road Targ. Go south, turn right three legon
before quarry. Seventy legon to Finfal."
Bertha thanked her and scooped up her purchases. She left the shop
quickly, relieved to be away from its odd proprietress. The sun had climbed
and splashed yellow rays through tall trees shading the village. At the green, a
group of travelers had arrived and were cooking over an open fire. The aroma
of frying salt porven and florn bread made Bertha's mouth water though she had
just eaten. She quickly mounted and turned toward the town gate.
The ride south was pleasant, but with seventy legons to go by nightfall,
Bertha kept Buck to a fast trot. Mountains rose steadily before her and
gradually took on definition. As she approached the foothills, the dirt track
began to rise and fall as it turned around small hillocks. Nudging Buck around
a sharp bend, she overtook a small cart heavily laden with sacks and crates.
The cart was in the center of the narrow road, leaving little room to pass, and
Bertha pulled up. A thin boy, all bones and angles, leaned heavily against a
harness of leather straps that passed over his knobby shoulders and attached to

the cart traces. His back was bent under the pressure of effort, and sweat
mingled with dust over much of his body. He wore only a fur loincloth and
leather mokads. He stopped when he heard Bertha and looked around, panting.
His eyes, which seemed large enough to swallow his face, were dark with
strain. Leaning awkwardly, he braced his feet to hold his load against the
slope.
"Seems a mighty heavy load," Bertha said, noticing how deeply the straps
cut into the youth's spare flesh.
The boy's narrow face twisted into a half-smile and he tossed his head,
flicking brown hair from his eyes. Bertha searched the boy's thin face and saw
in it features markedly different from those of farmland natives. "You're not
from the farmland," she said.
"I'm a Forester," the boy said, his head lifted and his eyes looking at Bertha
with pride. "I'm from Nenip Elad, in the valley of Maihon."
"Are you alone?" Bertha judged the boy to be in his early teens.
His narrow face took on a look of suspicion. "You're an honorable
Warrior?"
"I like to think so," Bertha said. "It looks like you could use some help and
we're headed in the same direction." She dismounted. "I'll help with your cart
if you'll let me."
The boy's brow furrowed.
"I'd enjoy the company, and I need information from someone who knows
the southern forest. My name's Bertha."
"I'm Tajli." The Forester allowed his features to relax a little.
Bertha grabbed a rock. "Step out of your harness, Tajli." She blocked a
wheel of the cart. "We'll let Buck pull for a while."
Tajli let the straps drop, and Bertha saw dark grooves where the bands had
pressed across his shoulders. Bertha backed Buck between the traces and
hitched the straps to the stallion's saddle. For Buck, the two-wheeled cart was
a trifle. "I hope you don't mind a strong pace." Bertha smiled at the youth who
stared openly at her from large dark eyes. "You haven't seen a Warrior
before?" she asked when the boy made no reply.
Tajli flushed. "It's not that . . ."
"What then?"
"You're . . . you're so big . . . and--"
"And I'm a woman." Bertha laughed and swung into a ground-eating trot.
"Well come on. I need to get to Finfal's Den by dark."

Tajli ran after her, and recovering his composure, said, "Finfal's? I know
where that is. The road's dangerous," then added, "even for a Warrior as strong
as you."
"How far is Nenip Elad? Can I help you get there and still have time to
reach Finfal's this evening?"
"At this pace we'll be at my home by noon. I know a better way to Finfal's
Den - safer - through the forest. It's steeper, but shorter. Your horven is strong;
he can handle it. I'll guide you." Tajli's thin legs carried him with easy
gracefulness.
Bertha lumbered alongside. "Sounds good. If you don't mind my asking,
how come a tad like you is out here by yourself, pulling a loaded cart?"
"Father got hurt - two days ago - hunting." Tajli's words came in quick
bursts. "We were to go together - to Triod - for supplies. Nenip Elad is small I'm strongest," Tajli spoke with a continued obvious pride, "except for Nooka
and Oxburn - and they're needed for hunting. Etilee wanted to come - she's my
sister - but she's only ten - too young."
The road began to lift more steeply and soon the first pinen trees appeared.
As the route steepened, Bertha wondered how Tajli had ever hoped to get his
cart up the grades by himself. A short distance into the trees Tajli struck off on
a thin trace that wound into a small canyon. A stream filled with silver water
tumbled over bright, rounded cobbles. The air cooled and became filled with
damp woodsy odors. For a half-dozen legons the trail climbed only slightly,
then left the stream over a shallow divide and entered a long, narrow valley
filled with tall, broad-leaved trees.
"Maihon," Tajli pointed at the trees which carried clouds of pale green
leaves. They slowed and he pulled a ragged coat from his cart and draped it
around his shoulders. The cloth hung below his knees, and the coat had a large
cowl to cover his head, but Tajli left it open. The fabric blended so well with
his hair and face that it was as though he had suddenly become part of the
forest, as brown as the duff that lay thickly on the forest floor. Bertha spotted a
log cabin nearly hidden among the trees. A child dressed in a coat like Tajli's,
burst through the door.
"Taj!" the child shouted, then stopped, staring open-mouthed at Bertha.
"Don't be rude, Etilee. This is my friend, Bertha. She helped with the cart.
How is Father?"
"Better!" A voice boomed from the shadows beside the cabin, and a tall
thin man, an older version of Tajli, limped into view. "So," he addressed

Bertha, looking at her with open-faced admiration, "you stopped to help a

Forester lad. I hoped you would. My name's Dalken." He held out a wiry
heavily calloused hand.
"You know me?" Bertha grasped the hand and felt the power of the
Forester's grip.
"By reputation." Dalken broke into a laugh that rumbled from his narrow
chest. "I was supposed to meet you at Finfal's this evening."
"Ah, I see." Bertha glanced at Tajli. "So the boy was sent to meet me?"
Dalken's laugh deepened. "In a manner of speaking. But he didn't know, and
I wasn't sure of the contact."
"You were testing me." A dangerous note crept into Bertha's voice.
Dalken sobered. "It wasn't meant to be a test. I didn't tell Tajli for his own
safety; there are dangerous renegades pledged to stop you, and had Tajli let
slip the true purpose of his trip, his life would have been in danger. I told no
one; not even Nooka who is at Finfal's now. Had you missed Tajli, Nooka
would have met you, but he would have had to bring you here and a day would
have been wasted."
"How will he know I'm here if he wasn't told of the plan?" Bertha asked,
her suspicions still roused.
"He won't. He'll return here tomorrow when you don't show up. By then,
you'll be on your way. Come," Dalken turned toward the cabin. "We have a lot
to discuss."
Still frowning, Bertha followed.
"You come, too, Tajli," Dalken said, as he climbed the steps. "You'll need
to hear this." He turned to Bertha when the door was closed and motioned her
toward a pad beside a low table. "Please, sit. I respect your caution, but
perhaps this will ease your mind." From his thick robes, he took a small glass
cylinder, and handed it to Bertha. He dropped to a pad beside her and Tajli sat
opposite.
"From the Master."
"If you'd like to open it in private, my son and I will leave, but I already
know a portion of its contents. The Master summoned me to serve as your
guide to Targ. Unfortunately, a recent accident makes it impossible. My boy
will serve instead."
"Tajli?" Bertha glanced at the skinny lad. From his surprised look, she
surmised it was the first he had heard of this plan.
"He's able," Dalken said quickly. "Shall we step outside while you read

your message?"
Bertha scowled. "That won't be necessary."
She snapped the seal and popped the wooden plug from the cylinder, then
fished a small scroll from inside and carefully unfurled it. "West of Targ, find
Mordat's Castle among the misty domes of Morag. Enter at the gate, but do not
think to leave by it. A golden amulet is your object; take it to Woren, but
beware Trazz, guardian of the low chamber."
Bertha's scowl deepened. She turned the scroll in her fingers. Its message
was simple enough, but seemed remarkably deficient. Who, or what, was
Trazz? And what were the misty domes? How far was it? Enter the gate, but
don't leave by it? What did that mean?
"You should leave this afternoon," Dalken said when Bertha looked up.
"I've assembled a hunter's pack for Taj and extra supplies for you. It's best you
travel as a Forester. One of Nooka's coats will fit you, perhaps a bit too snugly
but it'll do. You'll need to go by the back trails."
Tajli cried excitedly, "No one will see us! This will be fun!"
"Don't act smart, Boy!" Dalken's eyes blazed. "There's a lot at stake here!"
Tajli looked like he'd been slapped. "I . . . I only meant I know the Forester
trails to Targ."
"I know you do," Dalken said, "but this isn't a child's game." He turned to
Bertha. "You'll have to leave your mount here; Foresters don't ride, and the
route is too rough for a horven. It'll take two or three days to get to Targ. There
you'll meet a Warrior named Ultor; he's a Forester and he'll serve as your guide
to the domes of Morag."
Bertha's lips pursed. "I remember Ultor. Good knife fighter. He gave Big
John quite a tussle a few months back. Level three if I remember correctly."
"Level four now. He recently returned from the south where he fought the
Kroll. He's been to the misty domes and knows where Mordat's Castle is."
"Will I go to Mordat's Castle?" Tajli's eyes were shining.
"No! You're job is to take Bertha to Targ, nothing more. You'll return here
when the job is done."
Tajli looked crestfallen.
"It's time for noon meal," Dalken said to Bertha. "You and Taj will eat
before you leave." He rose stiffly and Bertha could see pain in his eyes.
Nenip Elad was smaller even than Tajli's comments had led her to expect.
Only five families comprised the village, and their houses were scattered. The
only sense of community seemed to derive from a commons where a large,

open-sided shelter covered a central hearth. A handful of adults stood around

the spitted carcass of a devon roasting over a bed of coals. Nearby, a halfdozen children tussled over a leather ball, their shouts muted by the dense
forest.
Bertha's stomach began to rumble. Breakfast had been early and she had
exercised much since that meal. The odor of roasting meat gladdened her heart
and brought juices to her mouth.
When Dalken arrived at the hearth, a spare woman with a fairer face than
the others, began to carve the meat with supple, dexterous movements. Bertha
hunkered down at a low wooden bench next to Tajli and his sister, Etilee.
Heaps of roast devon, along with a crusty, nut-flavored bread and kettles of
boiled vegetables were set along the bench. Everyone helped themselves,
using mostly their fingers to fill wooden plates. Bertha ate hugely and found
herself the object of the children's wondering attention.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Tajli walked with such skill that the flowing motion of his garment created
the illusion that it was the garment that was alive and Tajli a mere spectator.
His passing made little sound, scarcely disturbing the verdure. Bertha
blundered behind, envying Tajli's skill. The thick Forester coat, borrowed from
Nooka, draped like a ragged muumuu around her great frame. It made her feel
awkward and held body heat even more closely than did her armor. The boy
paused, lightly brushed aside the heavy growth, and peered closely at the
ground.
"You sure you know where you're going?" Bertha asked, brushing hair from
her sweaty face. She squinted at the trackless wilderness. It seemed to her as
though they were wandering an aimless course, first up one scrub-choked slope
then down another. It had been hours since they left Nenip Elad.
"I know the way; it's well marked." Tajli snaked through a bush ahead of
Bertha. "It'll be easier soon. Do you need to rest?"
"No!" Bertha flicked aside a thick branch that had jabbed her side. "This
damn cloak is hot! Why do Foresters wear these things? You weren't wearing
one when I first met you."
Tajli looked thoughtful, then said, "Watch!"
The boy vanished! Bertha blinked in amazement. Where Tajli had been, she
saw only a slight shifting of leaves. It was several moments before she spotted
the boy, leaning casually against a gnarled brown trunk, hardly two steps away.
His ragged cloak blended with the rough bark so well that, in plain sight, he
seemed hidden.
Bertha grimaced. "You made your point, but I'd rather trust my armor and a
strong arm."
Tajli grinned. "Strength alone will not bring down a devon; you must first
get close enough. I wasn't wearing my coat when you saw me on the road
because there was nothing there to hide from."
"I thought you said this forest is crawling with renegades? What would
stop them from killing you and taking your cart?"
"Renegades don't often attack Foresters," Tajli said, with a disdainful note.
"If they did, we'd hunt them down and kill them." He paused and his brow
knotted. "But, you're right, it's different because of you. You're not a Forester.

Father didn't tell me money had been offered to kill you."

"A bounty?" Dalken had not mentioned a bounty. "How much am I worth?"
"Father didn't say. But things are changing." Tajli's voice took on somber
tones. "The forest won't be the same."
With her sleeve, Bertha mopped sweat from her face and peered upward
through the heavy growth. "It's getting late. I don't suppose this forest is free of
felven?"
Tajli glanced upward too. "Felven are everywhere. We need to camp
soon."
***
Next morning Tajli was up and had a small fire going before Bertha
awakened. To her surprise, she had slept well. She rose quickly, her nose
twitching at the smell of frying salt porven and steaming drog. "You're up
early." She joined the youth in the light cast by the tiny fire.
"I always cook breakfast on the hunt with my father."
Bertha pulled a loaf of sanden nut bread and a couple of mevls from her
store. She cut thick slices of bread and handed one to Tajli. They wrapped
them around slabs of fried porven and ate hungrily. By sunrise they were on the
trail.
The faint track led into a stand of trees where open shade replaced dense
brush. Pinen gave way to oaken and mapeln, and the spongy soil supported
only a light under story of thin-limbed, glossy-leaved bushes. The air grew
cooler.
The cool was refreshing, but Bertha saw that Tajli became visibly more
nervous. "You're jumpy as a cat," she said, drawing abreast of the boy. "Is
there something you're not telling me?"
Tajli turned his dark eyes on her. "This is berven country. Father was
jumped by one near here. That's how he got hurt. I thought it could never
happen to him, and I guess it makes me nervous."
"I've heard of Berven. Haven't seen one yet, though. Sort of like bears, I
understand."
"I don't know bears."
"They inhabited the forests where I used to live. They were dangerous, too,
like berven. Are there many berven here?"
"I don't think so. We hunt them sometimes, for food and fur. Berven fur is
the best for warmth."
"Well, Honey, not to worry." Bertha patted the mace slung at her hip. "Any

berven foolish enough to attack us will get a taste of my club. I don't reckon a
berven's any worse than a pharg."
"Pharg?"
"Something you probably don't know about. Just as well, too." Bertha
reached beneath her collar and fingered the silver amulet, secure on its chain
around her neck.
The trail rose steeply, then left the forest high on the flank of a black
mountain topped with a crust of snow that looked like glazing on a chocolate
cupcake. Ice gleamed along snow-melt runnels.
"Targ is in the valley to the left." Tajli paused and pointed into a pool of
dark green trees that choked a long, narrow depression between two rows of
snow-capped peaks.
Bertha followed Tajli's point. Shards of black rock crunched underfoot.
She scanned the slope and noticed brilliant wild flowers poking from crevices
around a scattering of dimpled black boulders. "This is a volcano," she
muttered.
"What?"
"This area - it's volcanic." She used a sweeping gesture to indicate the
slope, the nearby snow-covered cinder cone, and the more distant peaks.
"These peaks - those in the distance, and this one we're standing on - they're all
old volcanoes."
"What's a volcano?"
"A mountain made when molten rock spits up from deep underground.
Aren't there any live volcanos in Faland? Places where smoke and steam and
molten lava come to the surface?"
"You mean fire-mountains, like in the old stories! I didn't think they were
real."
"You're standing on one. It doesn't look like much, and it hasn't been active
recently, but it's a fire mountain. From the look of it, most of the peaks around
here are young. I'd say they could blow again some day and probably will."
"You mean fire could come out of them now?" Tajli's eyes had expanded.
Bertha laughed. "I'm not an expert, but I expect we're safe enough. We
might find a hot spring or two, though." She had hardly spoken when she
noticed white vapor rising near a small bluff.
Tajli noticed it, too. "It's happening!" he shrieked. "The mountain is
burning!"
"Whoa, lad! That's not smoke; it's steam. Come on, let's check it out."

Bertha headed toward the white cloud wafting upward from a small
depression. An odor of hydrogen sulfide wrinkled her nose. Tajli hung back.
"Come on, Honey," Bertha called. "This little old hot spring isn't gonna hurt
you. Give it a look." She hiked into a shallow bowl and skirted a pool of
sulfurous, boiling water. Overflow mingled with a meltwater trickle, then
flowed into a basin lined with algae. Bertha dipped her fingers. "Just right for
a bath!"
Tajli approached timidly, his eyes bright. "Is it safe?"
"Honey, it's not only safe, it's a miracle. I haven't had a warm bath in a long
time." Bertha shucked her forester coat and began to peel off her armor,
dropping it on the soft carpet of grass near the spring. Steam rising from the
waters warmed her. In moments, she was floating like a contented hippo in
water as warm as her body. "Come on in. You won't melt. A bath will do you
good."
Tajli climbed the slope to the edge of the depression and scanned in all
directions. Satisfied that no enemy was near, he returned to the basin, took off
his coat and slipped into the water. His face creased in a broad smile. "I've
never swum in water this warm before. It's like getting into bed after somebody
has warmed it."
Bertha grinned. "I figured you'd like it." She closed her eyes and was
almost asleep when she felt quickening in the water. Through slotted eyes, she
watched Tajli dog-paddle across the pond then climb onto a flat rock and dive
into the pool. He cavorted like a little boy, and Bertha remembered the pond
where she and the partners had played. With a plunge of her arms she sent
water in Tajli's direction. They splashed and yelled until both were breathless.
Bertha broke off the play. "Well, Honey, it's been a joy, but we can't tarry
all day." She rose from the edge of the pond, sweeping moisture from her face
while rivers of water cascaded from her body. "Let's eat while the sun dries
us."
Half an hour later, their bellies full and their bodies garbed in Forester
robes, they climbed from the depression and began the long hike toward the
forested valley of Targ.
"Someone's coming!" Tajli's arm swept across an arc, indicating a line of
figures emerging from the trees. They were too far away to recognize.
"Looks like half a dozen or more, possibly Warriors," Bertha said. "I don't
like the look of it."
"There are more!" Tajli's arm swung toward another line of figures sixty

degrees to the right of the first. "Kroll! They're Kroll!"

"Let's go, Honey!" Bertha grabbed Tajli's arm. "This isn't a good place to
meet 'em!" She ran toward a rocky hillock, dragging Tajli along. As she ran,
she unslung her pack and swung it to her arm. Topping the hillock, she dropped
behind a cluster of boulders, her practiced eye evaluating the tactical qualities
of the position."We'll make a stand here!" She dropped her pack and jerked
Tajli's from his back. "Keep watch! Any weapons in your pack?"
"A few hummers and I've got my dagger." Tajli's eyes were drowning his
face. He poked his head above the rocks. "There's a lot of them!"
"Tell me when they get within a quarter legon." Bertha shucked out of her
forester robe, shook out her pack, and strung her bow. On the robe she laid a
dozen arrows, two kalards, and a handful of hummers, then began to gather
stones. As she worked, she plotted an avenue of retreat toward a steep, rocky
bluff half a legon to their rear.
"They're almost here!" Tajli turned frightened eyes toward Bertha.
"Can you use a kalard?"
"Y . . . yes!" Tajli nodded, his head moving spasmodically.
Bertha thrust a kalard into his fingers. "Keep your head down until I say
otherwise. Gather more rocks, like the ones I've piled here."
A scream split the air. Bertha bellowed an answering war cry and rose to
her knee, bringing up her bow. She squinted at the twin line of attackers,
twelve or fourteen painted, loincloth clad Warriors armed with bows and
clubs. They were coming at a run, their heads lifted as they voiced their war
cry.
Looming like a piece of the mountain, Bertha took careful aim. She
misjudged the slope and sent her first arrow high, missing the lead Warrior. It
thudded into the thigh of a following Warrior, who tore the shaft from his flesh
and continued running. The lead Kroll began firing. Bertha's second arrow
caught the nearest in the chest. This one went down, his momentum carrying
him forward onto the arrow, and he did not get up.
"Hug the rocks!" Bertha yelled at Tajli. With her bow canted sideways, she
fired across the tops of the boulders, dropping another Kroll. "Keep out of the
arrow drop-zone behind!" The Kroll had begun firing upward and arrows were
falling into the space behind the boulders. "Start slinging rocks but keep your
head down!"
Crouching, Tajli whirled the kalard, and began to pelt the foreground with
hard-slung stones. Bertha picked off another Kroll and suddenly they vanished,

dropping and concealing themselves behind rocks. They continued shooting

straight up. Shafts fell like rain around Tajli and Bertha.
"We can't stay here!" Bertha snatched her Forester coat, drawing her
weapons and pack into a bundle. "Head for the cleft in the bluff behind us!"
She slung her bundle to her shoulder and bounded up. Tajli hauled his pack by
its straps as he raced through the rocks. Bertha lumbered behind, herding him
like a mother-hen with her chick. A Kroll arrow bounced off her helmet.
Hardly had they begun their retreat, when the Kroll charged. Fast as Tajli could
run, Bertha stayed on his heels. He reached the cleft and Bertha barreled in
behind. Without wasting a moment, she shook out her robe, scattering hummers
and arrows.
"Hand me arrows!" She snatched her bow and an arrow and stepped to the
cleft opening. She dropped two Kroll before they realized she had turned. "You
may have us treed," she roared. "But you're gonna have one hell of a time
shaking us out!"
Half a dozen arrows rattled against the rocks, then all became quiet.
"Have they left?" Tajli asked hopefully.
"I doubt it." Bertha reached for her pack. "I'm hungry. Might as well eat
while we wait."
Tajli settled beside her. "What'll they do?"
Bertha chewed thoughtfully. "Well, they'll likely sneak up that little draw
over there." She gestured toward a patch of terrain left and forward of the
cleft. "When they get as close as they can, they'll probably charge and try to
overwhelm us with sheer numbers."
Tajli's face bleached.
"Don't look so worried, Honey." Bertha smiled. "They'll wish they never
heard of us by the time I get through with them." She hoped she sounded more
confident than she felt. While they were retreating, she was sure she had
glimpsed another Kroll squad joining those already present.
The next attack came more quickly than Bertha expected. It came not only
from the draw on the left, but also from the cliffs above. The cleft was partially
protected by an overhang, but that same overhang gave shelter to advancing
Kroll. They poured over the top, dropping into the neck of the cleft like ants.
"Look alive!" Bertha bellowed, even before the first body landed. Tajli
sprang to his feet, his dagger in his hand. A Kroll war cry reverberated with
mind-numbing intensity, answered by Bertha's deep rumble. She lifted her
mace, bringing it down with stunning force. The nearest Kroll crumpled.

Swinging knives and clubs, Kroll jammed together so closely they hammered
against one another as much as against Bertha while her mace, like a great
flail, smashed skulls and broke arms. Her huge form filled the cleft, blocking
the way, so that Tajli was screened from the action. All he saw were thrashing
arms and Bertha's broad back. Ten minutes of the giant Warrior's mace was all
the Kroll could take. They stumbled back, crawling over the broken bodies of
their companions, and ran for shelter outside.
Bertha grabbed her bow and dropped another before the slowest could
reach cover. She grinned at Tajli. "I don't reckon they'll be back right away."
She stood over three dead Kroll and her face sobered, drawing up hard as
iron. "But they will be back."
"You're hurt!"
Bertha looked with surprise. Blood dripped from half a dozen cuts on her
arms and legs. "What a body puts up with," she said, pulling her first aid kit
from a belt pouch. She turned to Tajli and her face softened. "They got in a few
licks, but nothing serious." She shook out tubes of poma and frenwort.
"What are we going to do?" Tajli bent to help, administering poma with
quick, capable hands.
"They've got us pinned down; I think there's still a dozen or more out there.
They'll probably try to wait us out unless they're bigger fools than I expect."
She wrapped a bandage around the worst cut on her left forearm.
"We've got plenty of food," Tajli said. "But we'll run short of water pretty
quick."
"We'll have to break out tonight." Bertha packed her first aid supplies and
settled her bulk where she could keep an eye on the cleft approach. "Keep an
ear out for attack from above. I've got a hunch it's going to be a long day."
The sun swung slowly west, finally descending enough to send its rays into
the cleft. Nothing moved on the slope outside and Bertha felt the strain of
constant watchfulness. She fidgeted, impatient for dusk. Far down the slope, at
the limit of her view, Bertha thought she saw something move.
Tajli stirred. "I hear something."
Bertha rocked forward.
"I hear it again." Tajli lifted from his position at the rear of the cleft.
Bertha heard the sound, too; a high keening.
"Foresters!" Tajli yelled. "That's a Forester cry!" He lifted his head,
calling in reply.
Bertha lifted her bow, and stepped close to the entrance of the cleft. "I'll

be." Below and to her right, she saw a line of riders. The keening grew louder,
underlain by the rolling sound of horven hooves pounding pebbled ground.
Bertha roared her war cry. A dozen painted savages boiled up from the nearby
rocks, running for cover like vermin from beneath an overturned log. Bertha
doubled her bow and sent an arrow after the fleeing Kroll. Fur clad riders
clattered through the boulder field.
"Skall, cut 'em off below! Hana, take the top of the slope!" A rider, looking
less like a person than a branch clothed in shaggy brown bark, bellowed
orders, his bow raised above his head on a thin, wiry arm. As his lieutenants
charged after the Kroll, he swung round and rode to Bertha and Tajli.
"Ultor, at your service, Ma'am." His voice, deep and hollow, rumbled as
though it issued from a bass drum. "We haven't met but I remember you from
the games in Or'gn."
"Yes, and I remember you. You gave Big John a run for his money - no
mean feat that. I must say, you've arrived at a most opportune time."
"Not by accident. Kanilek saw you attacked this morning and slipped away
to get help. We've been chasing this bunch for weeks, but I'd say, from the look
of things," Ultor swung his head to glance across the field, "you hardly needed
us. I count half a dozen fallen."
"There's more in there." Tajli gestured toward the cleft. "Bertha is a
wonder as a fighter!"
Ultor laughed with a roar that shook his frame from head to mokads. "Who
might you be?"
"I'm sorry," Bertha said. "I should have introduced you. This is Tajli. I
thought you might already know each other."
"Tajli? You're the son of Dalken, aren't you?"
"I am," Tajli answered. "My father has spoken of you. You're from Nekao
Elad. I'm happy to meet you."
"Well," Ultor said. "I'm sorry I haven't mounts for you. Can you make it to
Targ on your own? I need to catch up with my hunters."
"I know the way," Tajli said. "That's where we were headed."
"We'll be fine," Bertha said. "I don't expect there are many more Kroll
between here and there. Go on and finish your job."
"The path is clear to Targ," Ultor said. "You should make it well ahead of
sundown." Ultor swung his mount toward the trees. "I'll see you in Targ!" He
kicked his horven into a slow gallop.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The sun dropped behind nearby peaks more than an hour before Bertha and
Tajli walked through the gate into Targ, though the sky was yet well lighted. A
cool breeze dipped into the forested valley and sang softly through the needled
tops of the dark pinen trees that stood in stiff ranks above the town walls.
Tajli's eyes glittered and his expression was wide and eager.
"You must not come to town very often," Bertha said, seeing the boy's keen
interest in the broad street crowded with Foresters, Warriors, town folk, and
assorted travelers. Covered wooden walks fronted a large mercantile. A dozen
businesses stood opposite it across the street, still others were tucked along
both sides.
"Only my second time," Tajli admitted.
Bertha caught the smell of cooking and spotted an inn. Its doors stood open
and through them the delicious odors poured in enticing abundance. "I'm
hungry." She turned toward the multi-story log building. "How about you?"
Tajli grinned as Bertha led up the broad steps and through the open doors.
Inside, the warmth caused Bertha to sweep back the lapels of her robe and pull
off her helmet. With a toss of her head, she shook out her black hair. "Wonder if
there's a place to wash up around here," she growled as she and Tajli scanned
the crowded lobby. The smell of cooking was stronger and she saw, through
open double doors, tables crowded with diners.
"Out back," a raspy male voice creaked from beside her. "You can wash up
out back, in the laundry shed."
Bertha turned, glowering suspiciously.
"I overheard." Bertha saw the speaker was a small native man well past
his middle years. His thin frame was bent, as though he were reaching for
something, and he peered at Bertha from eyes as bright as ralls. His wrinkled
features carried an expression of curious friendliness.
"I'm Abu'nel. You are strangers?"
"Just arrived. I'm Bertha; this is Tajli. We've had a long day. I hope there's
good food here."
Abu'nel's face wreathed in a smile. "You've come to the right place. Nel's
Inn is famous in the Southern Forest for its cuisine, and the evening meal has
just begun. We have rooms, too, if you plan to stay."

"A meal will do for now," Bertha said, heading toward the door at the
back.
With the dust washed off, the travelers found a place at a small table near
the rear. Dishes, food handlers, and scraps of an earlier meal had not yet been
removed. Bertha brushed clear a space on which to rest her elbows. Tajli's
head swung first left, then right, as he searched the crowd. "There's Ultor! Just
coming in."
Bertha saw the bean-pole Warrior with two others. "Over here." Her voice
brought around the heads of half a dozen diners. Ultor steered among the
tables. "Join us," Bertha said.
Ultor slid a nearby table against Bertha and Tajli's, and dragged over a
chair. "It didn't take you long to find the best eating place. This is Skall and
Hana." His companions pulled up chairs. Bertha clasped arms as she
introduced herself and Tajli.
"What's on the menu, I wonder?" Bertha looked around for a server.
"Kurduc or roast berven," Ultor answered. "Your choice. Not a wide
selection, but lots to go with it."
A young native woman, accompanied by a half-grown boy, showed up a
moment later. The boy began to clear the table, stacking dirty dishes on a small
wooden cart. "I'm Ossila, your server," the young woman said.
"My friend tells me you have roast berven," Bertha said. "Bring me a
double serving, and a serving for this lad." She gestured toward Tajli while
she plunked down a handful of ralls. "And bring us some drog right away."
Ultor and his Warriors ordered while Ossila sent the boy for Drog.
"Well," Bertha turned to Ultor. "I'm told you and I have business. Are your
friends part of it?"
Ultor nodded. "They are. We have a summons to take you to Mordat's
Castle." Ultor's eyes narrowed in his thin face. "May I ask why you want to go
there?"
"Master's business," Bertha answered curtly. "How far is it and how long
will it take to get there?"
Ultor rubbed a grizzle of orange beard and looked closely at Bertha, then at
Tajli. "Is the boy going?"
"No. He'll return to Nenip Elad in the morning."
Ultor's face relaxed. "Good, but not alone, I hope."
"Why not?"
Ultor shook his head. "It isn't safe for a boy alone on the road just now. In

fact, it's not safe for anyone. We didn't clean out all the Kroll and others are
joining them daily." His eyes turned somber. "A war may be brewing. The
boy'll have to stay in Targ."
Bertha glanced at Tajli. "I thought the Kroll didn't attack Foresters. I
thought they were only after me."
"Used to be true," Ultor said, "but things are changing, and the Kroll know
the boy was with you. They won't forget."
"I suppose he can stay then - here in Targ, that is - until his father can come
and get him."
"Oh, no! Please!" Tajli had been following the conversation, hope growing
in his eyes. "I want to go with you! I know the Forest. I won't be any trouble
and I can help. Really I can."
"My mission is not for a boy. You'll be better off in Targ."
Tajli's eyes turned smoky. "I won't stay. If you leave me, I'll go home alone.
If the Kroll get me, it'll be your fault!"
"You'll do as you're told, Boy!" Ultor raised his arm. "A Forester boy
doesn't back-talk his elders!"
Tajli's mouth dropped. "I'm sorry." He looked beseechingly at Bertha. "I
really am sorry, but it would be hard for father to come for me. You know his
wounds are not healed yet and there are not many people to spare at my
village. I might have to stay a long time in Targ and . . . and . . . well, what am I
to do in that time?"
"Boy's got a point," Hana said. Until she spoke, she and Skall had remained
out of the exchange. Ultor gave her a murderous look.
"Tajli is a spirited companion," Bertha acknowledged, "and pulls his
weight when there's work. Targ looks rough. Perhaps it wouldn't be a good
idea to cut a youngster loose here, especially if he must stay long."
"Can I go, then?" Tajli's eyes brightened.
Ultor stared at Bertha. "If he goes, it's against my advice. It's a hard trip to
the Misty Spires. It's your call."
Bertha paused. "He can go," she said. "After what you've told me, I
couldn't leave him here in good conscience, nor set him on the road alone. I'll
look out for him and see he doesn't get in the way."
"I won't get in the way," Tajli's round, dark eyes were full of excitement.
"I'll do my share."
The servant boy came with drog and Ossila brought an enormous platter of
roast berven, vegetables, potans, bread and honey. For half an hour little

conversation interrupted the business of eating.

Ultor pushed back from the table. "We'll leave early, before first light. You
can take a room here or bed with my Warriors and me at the horven stable. I've
a mount for you, Bertha. Skall will arrange one for Tajli."
Bertha glanced at Tajli. "I guess it will be the stable for us tonight." She
watched the boy's face break into a broad grin.
***
A hint of frost, high-lighted by night-torches, sparkled along the upper logs
of the palisade when Ultor led the party through Targ's gate. Hours remained
before morning light would touch the sky. A slight wind sighed softly through
the treetops and Bertha hugged her Forester coat close, for once glad of the
thick furs. She cautioned Tajli against unseemly noise as the boy cavorted with
excitement, thrilled to be riding his own horven. Slowly the little party rode
into the thick gloom of the forest, their way lit by the soft glow of a lantern held
by Ultor. Bringing up the rear, Hana carried a second lantern.
Hours passed and dawn's gray light came. Bertha glanced at Tajli, his
earlier excitement having given way to quiet. She wondered if she had been
wise to let him come. Several legons were now behind them and she knew it
was too late to have second thoughts. They were following a narrow trail that
climbed through giant pinen. As the early light intensified, it brought the
somber trunks of trees into sharp relief. Ultor and Hana extinguished their
lamps. Bertha watched her breath rise in the still cold air beneath the trees.
Skall followed her silently. No word had been spoken by anyone since leaving
Targ; the only sounds had been the soft plop of horven hooves on thick duff, the
squeak and plaint of strained leather, the whoosh of horven breathing, and the
occasional cry of a night-bird flying on dark wings through the black forest.
Ultor raised his hand. With his gravelly voice lowered almost to a whisper,
he said, "There's a spring just ahead. We'll breakfast there." They had not eaten
since the meal at Nel's the evening before.
The forest gave way to a meadow glade with a small rivulet bubbling near
its center. After watering the horven, everyone settled on the grass beside the
spring and spread out their morning food. The meal was dominated by roast
berven purchased the evening before at Nel's. While they ate, sunlight stole
down and gilded the tops of firen trees.
Chewing thoughtfully, Bertha studied Skall and Hana. She had so far had
little chance to become acquainted with them. Both had the orange hair, dark
brown eyes, and brown skin of natives, but they were apparently not Foresters.

Skall, had a short, broad body that supported arms thick enough to carry
strength to match her own. He smiled pleasantly when their eyes met, and what
little he said was spoken in a voice as soft as a boy's. On close inspection,
Bertha judged him little more than a boy at that, in spite of his physical size
and status as a level three Warrior. His armor looked new, and on his belt he
carried a heavy war knife, similar to Ultor's, and a sword, bow, and battle-axe
on his horven.
Hana had the look and build of a farmland peasant woman, rotund, with a
merry, open face and shy demeanor. She had taken an obvious liking to Tajli
and sat near him, covertly casting him glances. The boy seemed oblivious to
her. She, like Skall, was young. She did not look like a Warrior and Bertha
wondered what skill had qualified her at level three. She carried a tagan
coiled at her belt, a slim dagger, and a sword slung in a scabbard on her
horven. Bertha saw no sign of a bow.
With quick, nervous glances, Ultor scanned the surrounding forest. He did
not stay long at his meal. In what seemed mere minutes, he lifted his lanky
frame from the grass, stopped a moment to fill his canteen at the spring, and
went to his horven. Skall and Hana jumped up immediately and Bertha took her
cue from them.
Tajli went to the spring. "How far is it to the Misty Spires?" He addressed
his question to no one in particular as he filled his canteen and began to tie it to
a hook on his saddle bag.
"Many days, even if we make good time." Ultor spoke in clipped tones as
he swung into his saddle. "Rough country ahead so pay attention to your riding.
We can't take the horven all the way. Mordat's Castle has been long abandoned,
for centuries some say, and the roads that once led to it are impassable. Why
anyone would want to go there now is a mystery to me." He looked obliquely
at Bertha.
"It's not my idea," Bertha said with irritation. "I'm just playing the game".
She mounted and swung in behind the thin Forester as he nudged his horven
onto the trail. Tajli followed with Hana behind him. Skall brought up the rear
on a path barely wide enough for single file.
By late afternoon, the path had almost vanished. The route carried them
steeply upward over a rocky, volcanic rise with steadily diminishing forest.
They camped on a stony slope, thinly cloaked with scrub pinen with patches of
dirty snow not far above. A melt-trickle supplied water. Cold wind drifted
down slope, forcing them close around the fire and making their turns at night

watch uncomfortable.
Morning dawned white. Ice, in the form of hoar frost, covered everything.
"So, Faland has winter after all." Bertha slipped on the ice-covered grass
as she stumbled to the melt-trickle. A thread of unfrozen water flowed between
banks of sheet-ice. She filled her canteen.
"Better get used to it," Ultor said. "Next few days, we'll be above timber
line. From the look of the sky, we might get snow, too."
Tajli and Hana stirred the fire and set a skillet of porven frying. "I think the
cold is fun!" Tajli laughed and moved with quick, energetic motions, stamping
his feet and clapping his hands. Hana laughed with him; their breath mingling
with smoke from the fire. They moved through the smoke and vapor like large
dark moths around a flame.
Sun melted the ice and steamed moisture from the rocks before they had
ridden half a legon. A drift of high clouds took the edge off the brilliance but
did not dull the sun's heat. By noon, it had warmed enough to ride without furs.
The forest gave way entirely and they moved through open, rocky meadows
that spread across steep, boulder-strewn slopes. Snow-capped peaks soared,
shedding streams of cold melt that gathered in icy torrents in the bottoms of
narrow, steep-sided gorges. Finding places to cross the gorges became
increasingly difficult.
Night found them in open country with only a small copse of waist-high
scrub to provide firewood. The air was warmer, for the clouds had thickened
and held heat close to the ground. By morning it cooled and thin flakes of snow
began to fall.
Tajli took immediate pleasure in the snow. The pleasure did not last long.
At first the snow fell gently, fluffy, light, and soft, then it turned smaller, icy,
and biting. Whipped on strengthening winds, it drove on flat gales into their
faces. They pulled their robes close and covered their faces with their cowls.
Snow sifted into their clothing, filling voids, melting, freezing, bringing chill
and misery. Snow turned them into white mounds, moving slowly across fields
of white. For three days, they struggled against the storm, sheltering at night
among boulders, sometimes without fire, and sleeping under tarps anchored
with piles of rocks laboriously gathered.
On the fourth afternoon, Ultor pulled up short. Bertha had drawn her head
into her cowl like a turtle into its shell and had been lulled into inattentiveness
by the slow rocking pace as her horven struggled through snow nearly to its
knees. She nearly ran into the leader.

"Whoa!" Ultor called.

As Bertha jerked, Tajli jostled into her. Skall and Hana reined back.
Ultor sat stiffly, staring downward into a canyon thick with blowing snow.
A roar, heard above the gusting wind, echoed from below. Bertha made out
clouds of leaping foam where a river crashed among the rocks.
"Mist River!" Ultor yelled to be heard above wind and river-roar. "We'll
work our way downstream to find a crossing."
The river flowed between two corrugated sheets of black basalt, their
surfaces broken into jagged fragments. Snow filled the gaps and made travel
treacherous. Ultor led with painstaking slowness, jogging in long zigzags down
the mountain. By evening the clouds began to break, and they entered an area of
scraggly trees. Ultor selected a camp near the river, where the slope flattened
and a stand of pinen offered better protection than they had for days. They built
a large fire, strung up tarps against the wind, and tended the cuts on their
horven's legs.
Skall returned to camp after a brief scouting foray. "We can cross below
here. The river widens and flows through a flat. It's swift and deep but I think
the horven can handle it."
"The wind will drop by morning and we'll have sun tomorrow," Ultor said.
"If we cross early, we'll dry by noon."
"I can swim," Tajli said.
Hana laughed. "If you don't mind liquid ice!"
"I spotted devon prints," Skall said.
Bertha's ears perked. "How about a hunt? There's still light enough. Fresh
meat would taste good."
Ultor agreed, and he and Bertha headed downstream while the others
remained to gather wood and arrange their tarps into tents. Ultor understood
the forest and devon hunting much better than did Bertha. She followed him and
after a short while he showed her where to stand, then moved into the forest to
chase a devon or two toward her. Concealed between spindly pinen trunks, she
waited until she heard the soft thock, thock, as sharp hooves drove through
crusted snow. She drew her bow and in a moment a sleek brown head flashed
into view. The animal bounded straight toward her, then darted sideways. She
released and watched her arrow catch the devon inches behind its right
shoulder. It crumpled in mid-stride.
Ultor appeared beside it almost before it struck the ground. "Nice shot." He
drew out the arrow that had passed cleanly through the carcass.

"Only because it was set up so nicely," Bertha said. She bent to help with
skinning and butchering. Chilled and wrapped in the hide, the devon meat
would last for several days.
***
Refreshed by a good night's sleep, everyone awoke with renewed
enthusiasm next morning. The sky had cleared, the wind had ceased, and soon
the air, suffused with golden light, was warming. After breakfast of devon
meat, sanden nut cakes, and fresh greens collected by Tajli from beneath the
snow, they rode to the brink of the river. Thirty yards of cold water, deep and
swift, lay between the banks. Bertha took one look at the black, roiling mass.
"You must be out of your mind to think we can cross that. We can't possibly
know how deep it is."
Skall shrugged. "Horven are good swimmers."
Ultor squinted at the stream. "It does look dangerous, but it's not likely
we'll find a better ford. The water is much higher than when I was here
before."
"You've crossed here before?" Hana asked, her voice as alarmed as
Bertha's.
"Last time I was farther down, where the canyon narrows again. With the
water as high as it is, that crossing would probably be even more difficult than
this. I doubt there are any easy ways across Mist River."
"I don't think it looks so hard." Tajli's wide eyes brimmed with excitement.
"I could give it a try - maybe with a rope to help steady me."
With a bemused expression Ultor looked at the boy. "I think you have not
crossed many rivers."
"The rope's not a bad idea though," Bertha said. "The first rider could take
a line across. It might make it easier for the rest."
"Perhaps." Ultor rubbed his beard. "I'll go first. We can loop a line around
a tree on this side, and I'll tie it off on the other bank. I doubt it'll help much but
it might serve as a safety line to grab if someone gets dumped."
"Yeah, and we can pull you back if you get dumped," Tajli said.
Ultor gave the boy a sardonic look and began to pull a coil of rope from his
saddlebags. "We'll need more line."
Bertha added her line to Ultor's and they strung the rope around a nearby
tree. Ultor tied the rope to his saddle and nudged his horven into the torrent.
Bertha was surprised that the animal did not hesitate but moved quickly and
obediently into the water. The shore sloped steeply and in seconds Ultor was

awash. As the current took hold, it began to sweep horven and rider
downstream. Ultor leaned and encouraged his mount. The animal swam
strongly, but near the middle of the channel the water became choppy, swirling
in dark streamers, spitting up frothy bubbles. The horven rotated until it faced
upstream and was swimming almost directly into the current. Even so, horven
and rider steadily lost ground until the rope played out while they were still
twenty feet from the opposite bank. With the rope tied to the saddle, the swift
current tried to force the horven under and also swung the animal and its rider
back toward the near shore. The horven's head dipped below the surface, and
it lashed out with its front legs. Ultor was forced to untie the rope. Bertha
raced to grab the line as it whistled around the tree. Again in control, Ultor
guided his mount safely into shallow water, then onto the far bank. He
dismounted and the horven stood, head hanging, flanks heaving.
"You still think it's easy?" Skall asked Tajli.
Bertha could see that Ultor was trying to shout to them, but even his strong
voice was drowned out by the river. She fastened a pilot line to an arrow and
fired it across. Ultor retrieved it and pulled the rope across.
"If we enter upstream," Hana said, "when we drift down we'll end up
closer to Ultor."
"Yes," Skall agreed, "and that'll keep us upstream of the rope so it'll still
serve as an emergency line."
"I hope we won't need it," Bertha said. "It seems using a rope to help with
a river crossing is tricker than any of us realized."
"Who should go next?"
"Hana, I think," Bertha said. "Then Tajli. Skall and I will cross last."
They signaled their intent to Ultor then rode upstream a hundred yards.
Hana nudged her mount into the torrent. Lighter than Ultor, she put less
pressure on her horven, and the animal swam easily across, beaching well
above the rope. Tajli, even lighter than Hana and without the added burden of
armor, made the crossing as easily as she. Then it was Bertha's turn. Though
Ultor and Hana had left their armor on while crossing, she thought it prudent to
remove hers. She also knew her great weight would bear heavily on her mount
and so elected to swim along side.
As she slipped into the stream, with one hand gripping her saddle, Bertha
felt the current's enormous force sweep her legs from under her. She was a
powerful swimmer, and by adding her effort to that of her horven, made steady
cross progress as the current forced them downstream. She scanned the far

shore and saw Ultor waving with great agitation. He appeared to be yelling but
she could not hear his voice. She swung her head and looked at the bank from
which she had departed. Skall seemed undisturbed. She glanced again at Ultor
and saw Tajli and Hana now gesturing beside him. Tajli had even waded part
way into the water and was pointing upstream. She looked and caught a flicker
of motion. A black object, shaped like a bullet, was skimming across the water.
Before she could duck, it hit her solidly in the forehead with a jolt that rattled
her teeth. She lost her grip on her saddle. Her shoulder brushed the rear of her
horven, and she sucked water.
***
"Snaven!" Tajli screamed. "Snaven!"
The roar of Ultor's voice was in his ear. Tajli splashed into the water as the
huge serpent lifted its head to strike again. He could not see Bertha but swam
hard toward the place where last he had seen her. He heard Ultor and Hana
yelling but the sounds did not register.
Bertha felt her hand strike rope. She grappled. Her head came above water
and she gulped air. She glimpsed the river bank but did not see her horven.
Something brown materialized beside her.
"Tajli?"
Their fingers met.
"Snaven!" Tajli yelled. His hand held a dagger.
Bertha twisted. A black streak arced toward her. She ducked, rolling onto
her back and felt something slide across her stomach. She pulled her knife from
her belt and drove herself upward, lunging half out of the water. Tajli was
entwined in a black coil of writhing flesh. Bertha drove her blade into the
black mass, and felt enormous force nearly tear the knife from her hand. Then
she was mounted on the serpent, entwined with it, flailing. The snaven's mouth
opened, impossibly wide, revealing fangs as long as her fingers. Driven by the
great strength in her arm, her blade found the serpent's neck and hacked through
a foot-thick mass of muscle and bone. Dark coils writhed in huge sinusoidal
loops. Bertha felt the solid whack as a loop thudded across her back, then she
was free. Water heaved around her, whipped by the snaven in its death throes.
"Tajli!"
The boy surfaced, his bloody knife raised above his head. Bertha swam to
him and they kicked free of the writhing, headless serpent. With arms locked,
they felt the current carry them into swifter water. Bobbing and plunging, they
struggled to clear dangerous rocks. Abruptly the current wrenched them from

one another's arms and hurled them into a white-water chute that dropped tens
of feet into a narrow canyon. Cartwheeling into still water, Bertha spotted a
thin line of trees. She saw something moving between water and sky and struck
toward it.
"I've got you! You're okay now!" Supporting Tajli, as the boy thrashed
feebly, she kicked toward the line of trees.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

"How are you feeling?" Bertha leaned over the boy who was wrapped in a
tattered fur coat, snugged next to the fire. Near his mouth she held a metal cup
filled with broth. Curls of steam rose from the liquid and dissipated in cool air
beneath dark trees.
Tajli's nostrils twitched. His eyes opened and he reached for the cup. "That
smells good."
"About time you showed some signs of life. You haven't eaten for most of
two days." Bertha helped Tajli steady the cup while she lifted his shoulders.
"Two days?"
"Almost." Bertha tilted the cup to his lips. "You took a nasty thump on your
head. Been in and out of consciousness most of the time. Do you remember
what happened?"
Tajli pulled liquid cautiously across his lips. "I think there was a snaven."
"Yes, in the water. Ghastly thing. Biggest snake I've ever seen."
"We were crossing Mist River. What happened to the others? Where's
Ultor?" Tajli's eyes searched the dark forest.
"We got washed downstream." Bertha added wood to the fire. A lantern,
wicked low, threw a tiny pool of light into the darkness beyond the fire. "I
rather suspect the others decided we didn't survive our dunking in the river.
Otherwise, they would have found us by now. They've probably returned to
Targ."
"Did they take the horven?"
"Probably. I hiked part way upstream, but it was too far to return to the
ford. We'd be in worse trouble if my pack hadn't broken loose and washed
down with us. I found it in the rocks. Guess it's a good thing I was careless
when I lashed it to my saddle."
Tajli lowered his cup. "Am I hurt bad?"
"Aside from the knot on your head and a few other lumps, you came
through okay. You might have a concussion, though. How does your head feel?"
"It hurts some," Tajli admitted. "Are you okay?"
Bertha snorted. "It takes a lot of pounding to damage this carcass." She
thumped her stone-hard thigh as she spoke. "I got banged up a bit. Nothing
serious. Say, are you hungry? I've got some devon roasting."

Tajli's mouth began to water. "Yeah. That soup was so good it got my
stomach growling. I feel like I could eat a whole devon!"
Bertha grinned. "I don't figure a body's hurt too bad if they can eat with a
strong appetite."
"How did you manage to get a devon?" Tajli asked with admiration. "They
aren't common in the forest. You must be a good hunter."
"Not really. I got lucky. There's a meadow a piece away. I don't have my
bow, but I'm pretty good with a kalard when I have to be."
"Good thing," Tajli grinned.
Bertha cut thick slabs of devon steak from the roasting hindquarters and
added potans and florn biscuits dripping with honey, both recovered from the
waterproof pouches in her pack. She added fresh greens collected from the
meadow. Tajli ate hugely.
"What now?" Tajli asked around a mouthful of steak.
"When you're strong enough, we'll strike west." Bertha carved another slab
from the devon hindquarters and chewed off a piece. "I've no hankering to
cross Mist River again, and I still need to find Mordat's Castle."
Tajli's eyes brightened. "I was afraid you might want to turn back because
of me."
Bertha shook her head. "Wouldn't do any good. It's farther to Targ than to
the Misty Spires. If I understood Ultor right, we can't be more than a day away.
Besides, if we went back to Targ we'd just have it to do all over again. I figure
after we find Mordat's Castle and I get what I came for we can head south to
open lands, then east back to Triod. You can return home from there."
***
Morning dawned clear. Tajli's headache had eased during the night, and he
awakened with much of his energy restored. As sunlight touched the firen tops,
he resumed his guide duties, setting a course into heavy growth. During the
storm, light snow had reached the valley but had melted leaving the
undergrowth wet and pungent. Tajli moved skillfully, and Bertha, unimpeded
by armor or fur coat, moved almost as easily. They climbed through trees that
appeared as old as time. Tajli still had his coat, serviceable in spite of his
wild trip down the rapids. He carried a pack Bertha had made from the hide of
the devon killed the day before. It was loaded with devon meat, tubers, shoots,
and leaves she had collected while tending him. Evening found them again high
in the mountains, where patches of snow, dropped by the recent storm, still
lingered.

"There they are!" Tajli's arm gestured dramatically.

Rising from the forest like ghostly phantoms, Bertha saw rank on rank of
needle-topped spires wreathed in veils of blowing mist.
"The Misty Spires!" Tajli's voice cracked.
As they watched, the gossamer mist, flaming orange and red in the setting
sun, drew back to reveal an even greater wonder.
"Look! Look! Look!" Tajli danced with excitement. Among the spires, a
cluster of towers had taken shape, each topped by a conical crown garlanded
in green and blue. "Mordat's Castle!" He darted forward. "Let's go! Let's go!"
"Wait." Bertha raised a hand. "There's time enough tomorrow. It's getting
late." As she spoke, the sun dropped behind the hills and gray mist closed
around the spires. "We'll camp here tonight. I think it best we knock at the door
of that great house in the full light of day."
***
Cold, deepened by restless wind, settled in during the night. Bertha had
chosen a site low on the mountain's flank, within the first lines of sheltering
forest. She huddled near the fire, her thin cloak providing scant protection,
until an hour before dawn when she arose, stirred up the fire, and started
breakfast cooking. By the time Tajli uncoiled from his warm Forester coat, the
meal was ready.
"This is a good campsite though a bit exposed to the wind," Bertha said as
she dished up florn cakes fried in devon fat. "Water and wood are available
and a small shelter would protect from the wind. Might be a reasonable place
for a base camp."
"Why do we need a base camp? Aren't we going right away to the castle?"
"It's not we that are going to the castle." Bertha squatted near the fire with a
plate in her hand. "You, my young friend, are going to stay here. I'll hike to the
castle as soon as we make camp secure for you."
Tajli's eyes flared. "No! I'm going too. I'm not going to stay here by
myself."
"Listen, Boy, Mordat's castle is not safe. I've been warned it holds great
danger, and it's not your place to face that danger; it's mine alone. If something
happens to me, you'll return home and report. I won't listen to any argument on
this matter. It's settled. Now let's get busy and put up that shelter for you."
Tajli's eyes smoldered, but grudgingly he joined in gathering rocks and tree
branches, stacking stones to build two low walls next to a large boulder, then
roofing the small space with limbs covered with firen boughs. By the time the

sun was high enough to warm the air, they had a sturdy shelter in place.
"It's best this way," Bertha insisted, seeing the disappointment in Tajli's
eyes. "You'll be safe here, and I'll feel better knowing you aren't in danger."
"It's not fair. I'm old enough to go with you, and I'm not afraid."
"I know," Bertha said, moderating her usual gruffness. "But I need you here,
where you can report back if something happens to me. Come on," she
extended her arm, "let's part like Warriors."
Tajli grasped her arm, but there was no gladness on his face.
Bertha moved quickly into the heavy forest. Immediately she encountered
tangled growth, in many places nearly impenetrable. As exertion warmed her,
her temper frayed. She paused in the midst of a dense thicket.
This will never do.
She heard water running and turned toward it, climbing down steeply to a
stream. Along the stream, she found travel easier but was soon deep in a steepsided gorge. As the walls narrowed, she was forced to wade in the shallow
flow. She noted the change as volcanic rock gave way to granite. Glancing
upward at smooth gray walls, she remembered Ultor's remark about not being
able to take the horven all the way to the castle. Now she understood. Her hope
of reaching the castle by mid-morning faded, and she began to wonder if she
could find it at all. At noon, a shaft of sunlight fell into the canyon and
illuminated wet gray patches of stone, glanced viridescently from hanging
carpets of ferns and mosses, and sparkled in the drops that sprayed from every
crevice on either side of the gorge.
"This place is a wonder," Bertha said, her exasperation not enough to blind
her to the canyon's beauty. She parked her bulk on a rock, drew her feet out of
the water, and dug food from her pack. A sparrow-sized red and brown bird
fluttered to a spindly limb and warbled delicately. Bertha tossed it a biscuit
crumb. It flew away with a soft rush of wings.
Bertha noticed something she might have missed had she not stopped. High
above, a ragged line stretched across the canyon. It looked like the remnant of
a bridge. Her heart beat faster. Perhaps it was part of a trail or road leading to
the castle. She packed away the rest of her meal and began to search for a route
up the canyon wall. She found a rocky alcove where boulders had tumbled into
the canyon and piled near the wall. She scrambled up. Breasting the top, she
saw before her an enormous wall. Drawing in her breath, her eyes swept
upward, taking in an immense expanse of quarried stone that rose sheer, topped
by four great towers, two guarding a central gate and two at wall termini. From

the ancient bridge, only a few strands of which remained, a stone road wound
upward, ending at an iron gate set solidly in the great wall.
Bertha climbed the switchbacks slowly, her brow furrowed. How could
she breach the immense gate? It looked as though it had not been opened in
centuries, so heavily rusted were its vast iron plates. The gate was many times
her height, and appeared wide enough to handle a dozen horven abreast. Bertha
glanced along its surface to either side. On her left, recessed in a stone cove
that surrounded the main gate, she saw a small door standing half-ajar.
"A walk-around," she said. "Perhaps it's not so hard to get into Mordat's
Castle after all."
As she approached the door, she recalled the words: "Enter at the gate, but
do not think to leave by it." She paused. Could it be booby-trapped?
Cautiously, she pushed the door gently inward. When nothing happened,
she slipped through into a stone passage about four feet wide and twice as
high. Her steps echoed dully as she advanced, scanning the floor, walls, and
ceiling. Her silver amulet remained cool against her chest.
The passage curved gently to the right. Light from the entrance grew
feebler, then was joined by dimmer light from an opening ahead. Seeing
nothing between herself and the opening, she walked more confidently.
The floor gave way.
"Yaach!"
Bertha hurtled downward and felt her rump crash against smooth stones.
Her feet struck something hard, which gave way with a clatter, and she fell
briefly through empty space. She landed solidly on her back, her wind
whooshing out. For several seconds, she strained to suck air into her deflated
lungs. She lay in total darkness. As her breathing recovered, she moved her
fingers over the surface on which she had fallen and felt rough stone. Her pack
was crushed beneath her shoulders, and she rolled to her side.
A faint sound caused her to freeze. For several seconds she lay still,
listening intently, then carefully slipped off her pack and rummaged in it for her
lantern. Her fingers found it, mercifully unbroken, still wrapped in her cloak.
In a moment she had it out, fumbled her flint from her belt pouch and struck a
light.
"B . . . Bertha?" A reed-thin voice came to her ears. Bertha's heart leaped,
and she looked into large, frightened eyes.
"Tajli!?"
"Oh, Bertha!" The boy launched himself from the darkness and buried his

head against her breast. She clasped him and felt his body trembling against
hers.
"How in hell did you get here?"
"I followed you," Tajli said. "When I got to the castle you weren't there. I
thought you were inside, but when I went through the door, I fell through a hole.
I've been here ever since, alone in the dark."
"I don't understand. How did you get past me? The canyon was too
narrow!"
"What canyon? I lost you in the trees, but I found a trail and thought you had
taken it. I tried to catch up but never did. After about an hour I came to the
castle. The only hard part was crossing the rope bridge."
Bertha swore. "I spent hours crawling through that blankety blank canyon
beneath the bridge. I only reached the castle a few minutes ago. It seems I
wasn't as good at finding trail as you. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to
leave you behind. Are you all right? Let me look at you."
"I'm okay, now that you're here. But I was scared. I thought you'd gone
somewhere else and I'd be trapped here forever."
"I'm sorry," Bertha said, seeing shock still on Tajli's face. "I wouldn't have
looked for you, because I didn't expect you to follow me."
"I should've stayed in camp like you wanted," Tajli said. "But I didn't want
to stay alone and miss seeing the castle. Are you mad?"
"I should've known a Forester wouldn't hang back when there's danger to
be faced."
Tajli's face brightened.
"Well, now," Bertha held her lantern high, "since you're okay, and we both
seem to be in something of a pickle, I think we'd better see if we can find a
way out of here."
Far overhead, Bertha spotted a hatch. "Must be where we fell through, but I
don't see a way to get up there."
"I see another passage. Near the back of the room."
"Shades of the catacombs," Bertha muttered. Tajli pushed open a rusty
door, hanging half off its hinges, and they looked into a narrow stone corridor
lined with doors, some open, some closed.
"What are catacombs?" Tajli poked his head into the corridor.
"Places underground, rooms and tunnels. Catacombs are usually tombs."
"Tombs! With dead people?"
"I hope not us," Bertha said. "Come on, let's see where this leads."

"What did you come to find?"

Before Bertha could answer, a roar lifted the hairs on her neck. She spun
and saw the ceiling sag. "Back!" She shoved Tajli aside as a stone block
dropped into the corridor, kicking up clouds of dust. Coughing and sputtering,
she observed, "I think someone wants to keep us here. That stone was rigged to
seal the passage. It's for sure we're not going back the way we came."
"Is there another way out?" Tajli's eyes looked like dark molasses.
"I certainly hope so," Bertha answered. "Without a ladder we couldn't have
gone back that way anyway. Let's see what we can find." Bertha started down
the hall.
"You didn't tell me what we're looking for."
"An amulet - like the silver one around my neck - only made of gold."
"Is it very valuable?"
"I was sent for it; I'm not sure why. Amulets are supposed to be magic--"
"Look! Your silver amulet is getting bright!"
"Uh, oh! Something unpleasant is near." Bertha peered into the gloom.
"Keep your dagger ready." She swung her mace to her hand.
A side passage led to descending stairs and Bertha started down. Her
amulet got brighter.
"You sure going down is a good idea?" Tajli kept looking at the brightening
amulet.
"My instructions don't go into detail, but I have to find a place called 'the
low chamber.' It's guarded and that may be the reason for the amulet's glow.
Following the glow downward may be my best lead."
Tajli swallowed hard. "A guard?"
"Called Trazz. That's all I know."
They reached the bottom and entered a room filled with long wooden
tables, each with wooden benches drawn up along the sides. Except for a layer
of dust, the tables were bare. Many passages led from the chamber.
"Might be a dining room or work room." Bertha swiped a finger through
the dust. "Hasn't been used in a long time." She started across the room, Tajli,
hastening to stay close, sneezing as he kicked up dust. They explored each
egress. Some led to side rooms, one a kitchen containing a huge hearth and
stacks of black metal cooking pots and racks of cooking utensils. Other rooms,
lined with shelves and cabinets, looked like pantries though they were now
empty.
Three doorways opened into stone corridors, two of which ended abruptly

at stone walls. Bertha followed the third to a wide circular stairway that led
upward. As she climbed, she noticed light overhead and the glow left her
silver amulet. She ascended into a huge room lit by daylight streaming in
through enormous glass windows. The light did not enter directly, but via
surrounding passages which were themselves lit through outside windows.
Tapestries, reaching to a remote ceiling, lined the windowless portions of the
walls. Elaborate scenes of Warriors mounted on giant horven and engaged in
battle with many demonic forms splashed boldly across the tapestries. Among
the demons, Bertha recognized phargs and leaping from the mud at the fighter's
feet, masses of snaven ensnared horven and riders alike. She did not recognize
the other demons, including a giant worm that spouted fire like the legendary
dragons of the Other World. Some creatures were winged, others looked like
giant bears, some black or brown, others white.
Tajli stared. "I see berven, eagen, and snaven, but what are these others?
Are they real?"
"Some are," Bertha said. "Perhaps all are. Maybe one is Trazz." She
shuddered when she looked at the dragon-worm, pictured more massive than a
dozen horven.
The great room was without furniture, but Bertha noted tables, chairs, and
cabinets in some side rooms. Sculptures, ornamented casks, crystal dishes,
jeweled icons, polished wooden carvings, and intricately painted scenes,
stood on tables, in glass-fronted display cabinets, or hung from the walls.
Colored glass sconces, high on the walls, held lamps, none lit. Mordat's Castle
contained an amazing treasure trove, all untouched. Considering how avidly
people sought treasure, that fact increased Bertha's unease as she explored.
***
In three days, Bertha and Tajli found no way to descend below the dining
hall. The catacombs were empty; the great upper rooms, filled with endless
glittering treasure, were silent. They climbed broad steps to the top of the nine
great towers and found nothing. They did not find an exit, and entry to the main
foyer was blocked by iron doors welded shut. Many windows opened into a
central courtyard and brought light into the interior, but none pierced the outer
walls. Only from the top of each tower was it possible to see the grounds
outside, and from those vantages Bertha could devise no way to descend the
hundreds of feet of sheer rock.
Exhausted from their latest foray, Tajli slumped. "The dining room is the
only low chamber, there isn't any gold amulet, and we're locked in."

Bertha chewed thoughtfully on dried devon and florn biscuits from her
pack. "We must be overlooking something."
"We've poked everywhere. What else can we do?"
"I admit I'm stumped. We haven't yet found a clue. We've been over the
catacombs twice and they're the lowest place in the castle, next to the dining
hall."
"And speaking of dining halls, it's too bad this one doesn't have any food.
I'm tired of dried devon and biscuits and we'll soon run out of that."
"The pantries must have held food at one time."
"Why did they put a dining room in the basement? Everybody had to traipse
down those winding stairs. I like the way Foresters eat, out in the open, where
everybody can get together, and you can bring a devon or even a whole berven
right up to the cook-pit for roasting."
Bertha looked up, startled. "I think you've got a point. How did Mordat and
his horde get supplies to the kitchen pantries? I saw hoists, chains, and spits
down there designed to handle large carcasses but no way in the world to get
them down those winding stairs. They must have had another entry for
supplies." Bertha snatched a lamp from a wall holder, filled it from her
reserve, and handed it to Tajli. "We've got more exploring to do."
They went for the umpteenth time to the dead-end passages that led from
the dining room. They seemed the best candidates for supply entrances, yet
their plug-walls were smooth and vigorous hammering with her mace gave
Bertha no indication of weakness. "Let's check out the pantries again.".
She circled the cook-pit, fingering the sheet-metal walls that made the firebox. On either side, iron supports rose to shoulder height. Resting on the
supports, two-inch thick metal spits spanned the twenty-foot cook space.
Chains, attached to windlasses and pulleys, dangled from the ceiling. Using the
chains, the meat-laden spits, could be maneuvered into position over the cook
fire. "They cooked on a grand scale." Bertha put her shoulder to a spit.
"Couple of hundred pounds. Bet you could roast a dozen devon at a time with
this rig." She released the shaft and let it clatter into a u-shaped notch on the
support. Tajli leaned over the fire-wall and ran his fingers through ash that still
filled the pit. "It would take a lot of wood to make a fire big enough to fill this
pit."
"I found scraps of wood in a storage room. Must have taken a couple of
wagon loads every time they had a barbecue." She glanced upward. "Smoke
must have gone through the funnel in the ceiling."

"All the way outside?"

"Hey, you're right, Lad." Bertha said. "Maybe we can get out through the
chimney."
They scrambled into the fire-box, but when they looked up discovered the
flue was made of clustered tubes, none large enough to admit even Tajli, let
alone Bertha.
"There's something shiny, though." Tajli pointed toward a bright patch
winking at them like a golden eye.
"The amulet!"
Bertha hung her lamp on the fire-pit wall and swung herself onto the gridwork of iron spits. "Come on, Lad, let me boost you. Maybe you can reach it."
Tajli scrambled onto the spits and stepped into Bertha's cupped hands. She
lifted him to her shoulders, and he stretched full length, his scrabbling fingers
loosening soot. "I've got it!" Tajli pulled hard. A loud click sounded, followed
by a thump that sent tremors through the room. The spits rolled beneath
Bertha's feet. She lurched, and Tajli fell into the stale ashes. Bertha crashed
beside him, cursing as her elbow bounced off an iron bar. A tooth-grinding
screech brought them to their feet. Bertha felt her silver amulet blaze against
her skin.
"Yawp!" Tajli yelled, as a great blackness entered the room.
"Trazz, I presume," Bertha said.
Tajli scrambled from the pit into a cloud of acrid fumes. Bertha leaped
after him, eyes streaming as she hacked to clear her throat. She dragged her
mace from her belt. A shape hurtled toward Tajli. Bertha picked the boy up and
hurled him into the fire-box, then side-stepped, drawing the black shape after
her. "Get up to the main hall!" she yelled at Tajli.
Silhouetted against the lamps, a shape loomed over Bertha. She made out a
squat body supported on elephantine legs. A narrow trunk, topped by a spadeshaped head, rose from the body. Below it, twin arms lashed out with multiblade cutters. A tube extending from the head belched acid. Backing, Bertha
snatched a hummer from her belt and spun it toward a glittering eye. The
hummer glanced off like shrapnel from armor plate. She went in low, dodging
the cutters, and felt acid burn her face and arms. She brought the weight of her
mace against the broad torso and felt as if she had struck a wall of granite.
Trazz raised a thick leg, and Bertha dodged the foot that came down like a
pile-driver. The impact shook the stones. With tears streaming from her eyes,
Bertha circled, trying to fan away acid fumes. She hoped Tajli had made it up

the stairs. As the beast circled, Bertha kept half a step ahead, but the acid
began to take a toll. She searched for a way out.
Trazz reared, briefly exposing its lower surface, and Bertha saw a join
where its trunk armor met that of its lower body.
If I only had a pike.
She dodged acid spray, then rolled over the fire-wall into the ash pit. Her
eye fell on the iron spits. She seized one and heaved. It came loose, tilting
down with a clatter. She raced to the opposite end and shoved the spit off its
support, heaving it clear of the pit. It rattled onto the stone floor and Bertha
hurdled out of the fire-box. With a snatch, she brought up the sharpened spit,
jammed its haft against the fire-wall, and swung to meet the great demon.
Rearing, spouting acid, Trazz prepared for the kill. Bertha raised the iron
shaft until its two-hundred pounds rested on her shoulder. As the monster
charged, she twisted, directing the point at the union between the armor plates
on the creature's belly. Whirling steel cutters spun toward her; acid spouted
downward. She saw the spit center, and she let go, rolling.
With her vision blurred by Trazz's corrosive breath, Bertha staggered into
the dining hall and climbed the steps. Tajli, sobbing, met her at the top. She
slumped with the boy bending over her.
***
For two days Bertha lay on a wooden bed covered with the loose stuffing
of an ancient, disintegrating mattress. Tajli hovered over her, his eyes dark and
worried. He found water in a spring in the castle's central court and bathed her
acid burns with frenwort. He burnt scraps of cloth, along with wood obtained
by breaking up furniture, and heated water for drog. Patiently and gently, he
ministered to Bertha.
By the end of the second day, Bertha's remarkable recovery powers kicked
in. She stirred, looked at Tajli, and smiled. "Guess, I'll live, huh?"
"Oh, Bertha; I was so worried."
"Well, I owe my survival to you." She swung her feet over the edge of the
bed and sat up, reeling dizzily.
***
"What was that thing?" Tajli asked Bertha as they sat near a window,
watching the last light vanish from the narrow patch of sky visible through the
spires of the castle walls.
"A machine," Bertha said. "I suspect all the demons are machines, built to
fight Mordat in the so-called demon wars."

Tajli shuddered. "I hope I never see one again. I was so scared."
"Honey," Bertha reached a big hand to Tajli's shoulder, "you weren't the
only one scared. I'm glad you were quick, else we'd both be dead."
"I didn't get the amulet. It's still stuck in the chimney. I pulled on it, but it
didn't come loose."
"It's probably not the amulet. It was bait for a trap. Still, we gained
something. Trazz came out of the woodwork somewhere, and tomorrow we'll
go see where that was. Now I think it's time we caught a little shut-eye. Come
morning, the vacation's over."
Faint gray light filtered through the courtyard window when Bertha rolled
out of bed. She inventoried their supplies while Tajli still slept.
Only enough food and oil for two more days.
They chewed on dried devon meat while they hiked back to the dining hall.
Trazz, skewered on the iron spit, loomed dark and menacing. Bertha stroked
her silver amulet, reassured by its coolness, and skirted the enormous carcass.
It took only seconds to discover where Trazz had once been stationed, in a side
chamber off what had previously appeared to be a dead-end corridor. The
corridor now stood open, its huge granite plug withdrawn. Beyond Trazz's
chamber, a small hallway intersected the main corridor. Bertha led, cautious in
spite of no warning from her amulet.
"Look!" Tajli indicated a rectangle of metallic ribbons embedded in the
passage wall.
"Could be a door."
"There's a groove too." Tajli ran his fingers into a narrow notch near the
rectangle. A slight rumbling was followed by grinding. The stone block inside
the rectangle slid smoothly downward into the floor leaving an opening barely
large enough to admit Bertha's great bulk. She checked her amulet, then
squeezed through into a small chamber. Glowing softly, an intricate amulet
suspended on a glittering chain, hung against the wall.
Tajli reached. "It's beautiful!"
"Gold! The stuff of treasure hunters' dreams."
"It's yours," Tajli said. "It's what you came for." He lifted the amulet and
spread its chain between his hands. Bertha leaned and Tajli placed the chain
over her head.
"If this leads me into as much trouble as has the silver amulet," Bertha said,
with a wry smile, "I may be more sorry than glad we found it."
"Which way now?" Tajli asked as they stood in the corridor outside the

amulet chamber.
"Let's see if Trazz was guarding anything more than a pretty bauble."
The corridor ended at a massive iron door.
"We're still locked in," Tajli said.
"Not necessarily." Bertha saw an iron ring embedded in the wall alongside
the door and remembered the door into the Slavhos catacomb. "Give me a
hand." She grasped the rusted metal.
Tajli added his strength and they heaved. With shrill squalling, the huge
door swung outward. Blinding light forced them to shut their eyes. "You're a
genius, Bertha. We're out. We're free!" Tajli pirouetted beneath a cloudless
blue sky.
At first, as entranced as Tajli, Bertha did not see the riders. Then she
spotted three Warriors emerging from shadows, sunlight glinting on their
armor. Her hand went to her mace.
"Ultor! Skall! Hana!" Tajli bounded toward the riders.
"About time," Bertha bellowed. "You timed it right to miss all the fun."
"Damn, I hoped to get in a few licks." Ultor was grinning. "We thought you
drowned. I'm glad we were wrong."
"How'd you find us?"
"We returned to Targ and a messenger from the Master told us to look for
you here."
"We would have made it in on our own."
"No doubt. But we brought you something. Hana, show our friend the
Master's gift."
Hana reined around Ultor and Skall. Bertha's eyes widened.
"For you." Hana handed Bertha a horven's reins.
Bertha, rarely at a loss for words, this time could find none. The horven
was the broadest she had seen, with legs that looked sculpted from black iron.
Its coat shone like polished ebony. Softly, it nickered and Bertha looked into
eyes that were a swirl of charcoal and silver. She touched the hot muzzle and
felt the stallion's breath on her arm.
"For me?" Her voice was barely audible.
"All yours," Ultor said. "We took commission to deliver him to you. We'll
ride with you back to Targ."
"Does he have a name?" Bertha patted the stallion's neck.
"Not yet."
"Raven," Bertha said. "I'll call him Raven, for he's black as a raven."

Tajli, watching in mute wonder, asked, "What's a raven?"

"A bird," Bertha replied, "the color of night." Her hand stroked the
stallion's mane.
Raven came saddled, girded with sable-colored leather and silver
embossing. A war bow hung on the saddle, sword and mace sheathed behind.
"I'm not returning to Targ," Bertha said as she mounted. "I'll say my goodbys
now. I'm grateful for all you've done."
"Let me ride with you," Tajli cried. "I can go at least as far as Triod. Ultor
has brought me a horven, too, and I can ride home from there. Please."
"Hana and Skall need to get back, but there's nothing for me in Targ," Ultor
said with a laugh. "Let the boy go with you, Bertha, and I'll tag along too."

PART EIGHT: THE HUNDRED RUBIES

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Bored and lonely, Linda wandered slowly around Slavhos, kicking her feet
against the red and black flagstones in the central plaza while waiting for
Kormax's friend. Finally, she mounted Perry and took a long ride through the
countryside. Returning in late afternoon, she stopped by the market and found
Surfyr's arrival still pending. Disgusted, she went to the village green and lay
down to nap in her tent. She was half-asleep when a young girl roused her and
told her to return to Kormax's.
At the market, Linda found Surfyr deep in conversation with Kormax. They
looked up and she noted that Surfyr's red Warrior's headband now bore level
six bardebbels. He had a grizzled, gray-orange beard, and his dark eyes were
set deep in sockets topped by thick gray brows. His nose, the color and texture
of oiled leather, stood out sharply against haggard cheeks. A dusty brown cloak
covered his shoulders, but was swept back to reveal light body armor. He had
clearly been on a long ride and had not yet had time to wash and refresh
himself.
Kormax smiled at Linda, his brown eyes sparkling. "I believe you two
have met." He gestured from Linda to Surfyr and spoke in jovial, eager tones.
"Come with me. I have a room in back where we can talk."
"Wait a moment." Surfyr held up his hand. "I have a friend who will join
us. She's tending our horven but needs to hear what's said."
Kormax tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter, but in a moment,
Surfyr's friend came in. The shopkeeper ushered everyone into his small backroom, motioning them to chairs around a carved wooden table. He settled on a
stool next to a littered desk. Above the desk, an open window admitted light
and a soft breeze.
"This is Kaler." Surfyr indicated the tall young native woman who
accompanied him.
Kaler's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Linda. "Do I know you?" Her
voice was strong, pleasantly musical.

Linda raised a brow. "I don't think so." She saw from Kaler's headband that
she was a level three Warrior and saw coiled on her left hip a beautifully
crafted tagan. On her right she wore a black-handled dagger of polished silver
metal.
"I'm sure I know you. Weren't you with a young silver-haired Warrior at the
games in Or'gn some months ago? His name was Robert as I recall."
"I was there. Robert is my friend."
Kaler smiled. "He defeated me with the tagan."
"Ah," Linda's brow relaxed. "I remember. You were Robert's first
challenger."
"I owe Robert a debt of gratitude. My loss to him inspired me to develop
my skill with the tagan." She patted the weapon at her side. "It has proved a
good choice. How is Robert? Do you still see him?"
"He's on the Master's business, but until recently we were together. He's
done well, though maybe not as well as you."
"Pardon," Surfyr said. "There are pressing matters at hand." He turned to
Linda. "I have something for you that involves all of us. Kaler and I have a
contract to escort you on an urgent mission."
"Marvelous!" Kormax exclaimed. "We'll be working together; I too have a
summons to assist our young friend."
Linda opened the message-cylinder from Surfyr. She felt bewildered.
Things were happening so quickly. Kormax, Surfyr, Kaler - strangers, yet now
her new companions. She unfurled a scrap of paper and read, "Slippery slope,
Valley of Fire. In Ruby Cave, domain of the white flesh-eaters, find the price
of a gold ring. Take the ring to the Mentat Warrior."
"Looks forbidding," Kaler said, looking over Linda's shoulder. "What does
it mean?"
"The only place to get a gold ring is from Boro, the ring-maker," Linda
said. "For that you need a hundred rubies."
"Perhaps Ruby Cave is well-named," Surfyr said. "A hundred rubies is a
great treasure."
Kormax's eyes lit. "A hundred rubies! No one has found that many."
"Don't get greedy, merchant," Surfyr said. "If the rubies are for the lass,
you'll not get your hands on them, be assured."
"Oh, posh, I'm not a thief. Besides, rubies found on the Master's business
belong to the Master. Who would dare steal from the Master? Still, the
prospect of such treasure excites me."

"Where is Ruby Cave?" Linda asked.

"I know the Valley of Fire," Surfyr said. "I suggest we start there."
"I have supplies packed already," Kormax said. "I'll get the horven ready
and we can leave in the morning."
"We'll need supplies for six," Surfyr said. "We'll pick up two droids this
evening."
Kormax left and Linda turned to Surfyr. "Where is the Valley of Fire? How
far is it, and how did it get its name?"
"It lies in the mountains southwest of Triod. I've never actually been there,
but I know the country. Entry to the valley is marked by a granite dome, which
is unusual among the black mountains of the Southern Range. It's several days
ride, mostly through open country. Folks say it's haunted by demons."
"Oh dear, demons, and Robert isn't here with his silver amulet."
***
During the next days, the band got acquainted, and Linda relaxed as
congeniality developed among her escorts and between them and herself. The
droids, Urg and Shok, performed most camp chores, in the stolid manner of
droids, and rode guard, fore and aft, speaking only when spoken to.
Kormax told outrageously funny stories at evening campfires and had
brought along a beautifully crafted uffstrin which he played with great skill.
Linda recalled the songfests led by Jason and joined enthusiastically, quickly
learning the odd ditties Kormax favored. Her adventure began to seem like a
holiday jaunt through Faland's green and gold countryside.
On the fifth day, in scrub covered shale hills laced with gullies, they found
an oil seep. Linda squatted by the black ooze and was quite amazed. "I didn't
know oil came out of the ground like this," she told Surfyr who crouched
beside her. She poked at the sticky mass that formed a shallow pool.
Surfyr extended a finger and lifted a bit to his lips. "Good quality. All
Faland oil comes from this region. I made good money years back collecting it
and selling it to refiners in Triod where it's turned into lamp oil."
"Why'd you quit?"
"Bored, I guess. I wanted to see more of the world." He got to his feet and
Linda followed him to where Urg and Shok were setting up camp near a small
spring that tasted of oil. That night they burned wood soaked in black crude.
Linda found the smoke unpleasant and refused to eat food cooked over the fire.
She sat alone, eating cold rations. During the night, a scream brought her
sharply awake. Lights danced a few feet above the dark plain.

"Renegades!"
The voice was Kaler's, crisp as struck metal in the still night. Linda leapt
up. A shape, weirdly silhouetted against the night lamps, bounded toward her.
She dodged a streak of reflected light that limned the long blade of a sword.
With no time to fear, she flicked a hummer toward the shape and heard a grunt.
"Behind you, Shok!"
Linda heard Surfyr's voice followed by the clang of metal on metal. She
darted away from the shapes that danced in the light of the night lamps and
melted into the covering darkness.
Felven!
She had almost forgotten. She turned again toward the lights and heard an
awesome scream. Something struck her shoulder sending pain racing down her
back. Twisting, she saw an enormous paw strike the ground. Light flared.
Above her towered a shape, taller than two men, with eyes that glowed bright
red. It merged with the darkness, followed an instant later by a man's terrified
cry. Linda felt herself swept beneath a powerful arm and recognized Kormax
and saw his sword cut a path of light in the darkness. Then she saw Kaler, her
long russet hair glinting in the firelight, lashing with her tagan. A lean sword
wielder crumpled before her.
"They're retreating!" Surfyr called from the blackness beyond the lamps.
"Let 'em go!"
Shok and Urg emerged from the darkness, their swords dripping blood.
Kormax plunked Linda on her feet. "You okay?" His strong hands gripped
her shoulders, his face was set hard as iron.
Linda nodded.
"Damn!" Surfyr came into the light where oil still burned on the ground.
"On a moonless night! Must have been a dozen! Good thing we had that bucket
of oil to throw on the fire."
"They got close in that little draw," Kormax said. "That's why we didn't see
their lights."
"They weren't using lights," Kaler said. "They were taking a chance,
hoping felven would overlook them."
"A gamble they lost," Surfyr added grimly. "Is everyone okay?"
"We're still standing," Kormax said, "but some have lost blood, including
our young charge. Better let me look at the wound on your back, Linda. A
renegade must've gotten through."
"Renegade nothing," Kaler said, her face suddenly white. "She got that nick

while dancing with a felven!"

The impact of Kaler's words hit like a fist. The shape with the burning eyes
had been a great night-cat, most dangerous creature in Faland! Linda's knees
wobbled.
"Better sit down," Kormax said as he dug frenwort and poma from his first
aid kit.
***
First light brought home the attack's magnitude. Perhaps twenty renegades
had marched close, then extinguished their lamps while still out of sight of the
camp guards. The surprise attack might have succeeded if not for the giant
felven. The cat-like's strike had thrown the renegades into disarray. Seeking
safety from the night-hunter, they had charged into the protecting light of the
camp and into the arms of its defenders. They had left seven dead to Surfyr's
band and three to the felven.
"We were lucky," Surfyr said as he examined the battle scene. "I've never
known renegades to attack so recklessly in the dark of the moon. They must
have expected a reward much greater than they could have hoped to realize
merely by robbing us. We must assume powerful forces want this mission to
fail."
"I agree," said Kormax. "I suspect we don't know everything. We must be
much more careful in the future."
***
Linda's wound, which crossed her back like the strap of a bandoleer, gave
her a day of discomfort, but was not deep and began to heal quickly. Shok had
received a shoulder wound, which he bore without complaint, and both Surfyr
and Kaler had received minor wounds. No one was slowed, and they rode
quickly, shifting their course over the next two days to a southerly route that
took them closer to the mountains. With her keen eyes, Linda was first to spot
the granite dome, rising like a gray head from the black sawtooths of the
Southern Range. Near the dome, a jagged cleft, like an inverted fang, stabbed
downward into the scarp. From the cleft, a narrow canyon ran north into the
plain. They halted on the canyon's rim.
"We'll camp here tonight." Surfyr pointed to a small spring that sent a thin
stream over the precipice. Scattered small trees dotted a nearby grassy flat.
The droids selected a campsite near a small copse. While Kaler and Kormax
hunted rabir for dinner, Linda rode with Surfyr and scouted the canyon. It
narrowed and deepened, finally cutting into the hills too steeply to follow

farther. Surfyr, gruff and taciturn, spoke little. Linda chattered as amiably as
she had when riding with her old partners, yet her sharp eyes missed little.
"Whoa, what's this?" She had spotted the gray-green foliage of mevl trees
tucked in a draw near the canyon. When they rode near, they found the trees
heavy with ripe fruit and gathered a sackful. When they were about to remount
their horven, Linda spotted something else and pointed toward a bright sparkle
shining on the hillside. It looked like sunlight reflecting from glass.
"A bottle, perhaps," Surfyr said.
Linda rode toward it. The sun had fallen on a small glass plate set in a
smooth granite rock. Dismounting, she knelt by the glassy patch and felt her
heart quicken. Runes!
"There's a message here," she said as Surfyr came up. "I'm not sure I can
read it." She brushed dirt from the thinly incised lines and made out four sets of
symbols.
"Robert taught me these! The first means, 'left, down'; the second, 'right,
down'; the third, 'right, up'; and the fourth, 'left, up.'"
Surfyr stroked his beard. "Directions perhaps?"
"Maybe we're supposed to move something. Maybe this glass thing turns or
slides." Linda pushed on the polished plaque, but it was as unyielding as the
rock.
Surfyr watched. "You act as if this is here for us, but that hardly seems
likely. It's been here a long time. Maybe its purpose is long past."
"Maybe.".
"It's late," Surfyr said. "Let's get back to camp. In the morning we'll search
for the Valley of Fire."
All next day, Surfyr and Linda scouted the mountains to the east while
Kormax and Kaler searched west. At camp that night, neither reported success.
Later, Linda lay in her tent and watched through the flap as Faland's small
moon rose and shed silver light on the stark landscape.
What am I missing?
She remembered the glass plate near the mevl trees.
Left, down, right, down, right, up, left, up.
In her dream she saw the plate and noticed how it centered in its stone slab
and how the slab, elliptical in shape, clung to the rock strewn slope. The
scribe had incised the message precisely on the long axis of the ellipse.
Must have worked with great care.
Linda woke. "Of course! The message's alignment was no accident!"

She sat and shivered as her blanket fell from her shoulders. Two hours, she
guessed, until sunrise. Softly she rose. Night lamps had not been set out
because the moon provided light to keep felven in their dens. She saw the dark
outline of Shok at the edge of the trees, keeping watch. She moved toward the
droid who watched impassively as she came.
"I couldn't sleep. Would you stir up the fire and heat some drog?"
The droid quietly obeyed. Linda scanned the surround; nothing was moving
in the silver light. An hour later, when Surfyr arose, Linda already had
breakfast cooking.
"You're early this morning." Surfyr cupped a mug of hot drog in his hands.
"I want to look at the message on the rock again."
Surfyr frowned. "We don't have time for that. We have to find a way south
to the Valley of Fire."
"I think the message is a clue."
"We discussed that before. It couldn't be there for us; it's been there too
long."
"I think it means something. I want to find out what."
"I remind you, I'm in charge. My job is to get you to the Valley of Fire and I
haven't time to chase fancies."
"Your job is to get me to Ruby Cave," Linda said, flushing. "So far you
haven't gotten close."
Surfyr's surprise quickly turned to anger. "We're all doing our best. You're
a trained Scout and have had no more success than I finding a way across the
mountains."
"I know," Linda said. "And I appreciate what you've done for me.
Renegades or the felven would've killed me if not for you and the others. But it
is I who was summoned to find Ruby Cave, and I think it will help if I look at
the message again. Please say you'll go with me."
"What's going on?" Kormax, bedraggled, joined them. "I heard voices."
"Linda and I are discussing strategy." Surfyr finished his drog and tossed
the dregs on the coals. "We're going to ride up the valley this morning. While
we're gone, I want the rest of you to break camp and be ready to move when
we get back."
"Move? Did you find a way south?"
"Linda has an idea. If it works out, we'll follow her lead. Otherwise, we'll
go east until we find a pass, then circle through the forest to come at the Valley
of Fire from the other side."

Linda mounted Perry and headed up canyon with Surfyr while Kormax and
Kaler were still eating breakfast. It was full light when they arrived at the
message rock. She drop-hitched Perry while Surfyr remained in his saddle.
Kneeling, she brushed her finger along the runes, following them to the outer
boundary of the ellipse where dirt, pebbles, and sand had partially buried the
margin. With a small stick she cleared the stone surface. At the limit of the
ellipse's major axis, she found a small glass nodule. It seemed to wink at her as
sunlight struck its surface. Her heart skipped. She worked around the nodule,
no larger than the end of her thumb, clearing away dirt and debris. She pressed
gently, then with increasing force. She glanced at Surfyr. He dismounted. "I
take it you've found something you think is important?"
"It might be a switch," Linda said, putting her finger on the glass nodule
and pressing. "I tried to push it down, like the message said. Only it doesn't
move."
"Let me try." Surfyr put his weight to it. The nodule snapped down,
startling him. He jumped back and the glass bead snapped up.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Linda said. "I'll bet there's another button on the other
side." She hurried to brush the rock clear on the opposite side and found an
identical nodule. Surfyr depressed the button, and it, too, sprang back when
released.
"Nothing," Linda said.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Let me read the message again. Left, down, right, down,
right, up, left, up." A puzzled frown grew on her face. "It's got to mean
something."
"Maybe we have to work the buttons together."
Linda's face brightened. "Left down, right down might mean we have to
push the left one down, then the right one while the left one is still down. Then
let the right one up, and release the left one last."
"We'll need two people strong enough. We'll have to get one of the others."
Linda scrambled to a bush and cut a small branch. "If I use both hands,
maybe I can push one button down with this stick."
"I'll take the left," Surfyr said. "Work the right while I've got it down."
Linda pounced on the stick and felt the glass nodule yield. The button went
down, then sprang back. Surfyr released the left nodule, and they heard a loud
click. The glass plate began to rise smoothly out of the rock, driven upward on
a piston. They watched in astonishment as the shaft rose above their head, then

locked in place. Ruby-colored light appeared at the tip, then a bright flash
momentarily illuminated a patch of rock half a legon away. The glass shaft
withdrew as swiftly as it had risen. Linda blinked, dazzled by the flash. As
stars cleared from her eyes, the distant cliff took form in her vision and she
gaped at a round black hole that had not been there.
"I see it," Surfyr said, following Linda's pointing finger. He started up the
slope.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

"I'm against it," Surfyr repeated as he had for half an hour, his lips drawn
into a thin line and his brow knotted with the beginnings of anger. "It's too
dangerous and we haven't the slightest idea where it leads, or what might lie
below, or even how to get back. The chute looks too steep and slippery to
climb."
Kormax knelt at the lip of a downward sloping chute that began half a
dozen feet inside a small dark cave - the Cave of the Ruby Light - as they had
come to call it. He held a lamp, its pale light reflecting dully from the chute's
slick walls. "I can't see the bottom. It curves maybe forty or fifty feet down."
"It has to be the slippery slope," Linda insisted. "This must be Ruby Cave.
I have to go down. I can tie a rope around my waist, and if I get in trouble you
can pull me back."
"She might be right," Kormax said to Surfyr.
"No! Absolutely not! I'm responsible for this expedition and I say
something's not right. If this is Ruby Cave, where is the Valley of Fire? This
could be a trap. We can't take the chance."
"We have to," Linda said. "We won't know if this is the right place if we
don't look. We can't just pass it up."
"I hope you're not forgetting the warning about flesh eaters," Kaler broke in
quietly. "If this is Ruby Cave, it contains white flesh-eaters. Do you know what
they are, or how to deal with them?"
Linda's heart jumped; she had forgotten. She pulled the message from her
belt pouch and read it again, "Slippery slope; valley of Fire; Ruby Cave, the
domain of white flesh-eaters; get the price of a gold ring for the Mentatmaster." She looked at the others, her face suddenly pale. "I don't like the
sound of white flesh-eaters, but I still think this is the slippery slope. I think I
have to go down it."
"You're being stubborn," Surfyr said.
"Stubborn yes," Kormax agreed, "but also right. Only it's too dangerous for
Linda; I'll go first and have a look around."
"I'll agree to that," Surfyr said. "And you'll use a safety line."
"For sure. I don't like the sound of white flesh-eaters any better than Linda
does."

Surfyr assembled a line, and Kormax fashioned a headband holder for his
lamp. He looped the line around his waist and fastened it to his sirkeln. "Wish
me luck!" He slid feet first into the narrow chute. Shok and Urg worked the
line. In moments, he disappeared around the curve deep within the chute.
Seconds later, his voice floated up, "I'm down, at the entrance to a level tunnel.
It's too long for the safety line but looks safe enough. I'm coming up." He
scrambled easily up the line.
"We'll unpack the horven," Surfyr said, "and hobble them near the stream
where there's good graze. They'll be safe if renegades don't chance on them."
The droids tended the horven, and the others loaded their backpacks with
supplies then concealed the remainder in a cache near the cave entrance. Surfyr
led, quickly descending the rope left dangling down the 'slippery slope.'
"I hope this doesn't lead to a dead-end," Kormax said, chewing on a strip
of dried devon meat as they trudged along an empty tunnel. "It may be a long
walk for nothing."
***
"Wake up, Linda. Time to go."
Linda looked into Kaler's face. "How long have we been in this tunnel?"
"Hours. Better eat something before we start walking again."
Shok and Urg had carried wood and built a tiny fire to heat drog. Linda ate
a mevl, then washed down half a dozen florn biscuits with hot brew. Surfyr set
a fast pace. When they stopped again, hours later, his temper had begun to fray.
"We have to turn back. Two days - maybe three - wasted."
"I can't turn back," Linda said. "Not till I know what's here. It's part of my
quest."
"You've been led astray. If we keep on, we'll run out of food and water."
"How much water do we have?" Kormax asked. "Is anyone running short?"
"We have enough for another day," Kaler said, "and still have enough to get
back."
"Then I say we keep on another day," Kormax said
***
Linda awakened with an ache in her hip where it pressed against the stone
floor. Another day of walking had led to nothing, and Surfyr had ordered the
expedition to turn back. Linda shifted, wondering how long she had been
asleep. She hated going back empty handed, her mission a failure. Rising to an
elbow, she saw Urg squatting against the wall, nodding in the glow of a lamp
wicked low. Linda remembered Shok had stood first watch which meant it was

the second half of the rest period. She sat up, shrugging her blanket away from
her shoulders, then quietly got to her knees, rolled her blanket and slipped it
into her pack. She glanced at the others, still sleeping peacefully.
She waited until she saw Urg's head droop, then half-crouching, faded into
the tunnel's blackness. With her heart pounding, she hurried, aware of how
angry Surfyr would be when he woke and found her gone. When the camp light
receded to a flicker, she lit her lamp, relieved when its glow chased the
darkness ahead.
I must not go too far. Just far enough to be sure.
She traveled for hours, telling herself she was foolish endangering her life
and those of her friends. I have to turn back. I have to.
She blinked. A flicker wavered in the passage ahead. "Light?"
She felt her mokad-clad feet striking the stone floor and knew she was
running. The tunnel ahead filled with pale blue and she recognized daylight.
Her heart pounded. The light grew brighter and she popped into the open,
blinking in dazzling light. "Sunshine!"
The light was intoxicating. She leaped and her jubilant yells echoed from
distant cliffs. A broad valley, enclosed by sheer granite, spread before her.
From her wide ledge, high beside the valley, a shimmering glass sheet spread
downward. She stared with astonishment. The glass slope dumped onto a strip
of green that bordered ridge on ridge of red rock. Sunlight poured onto the
rocks and heat waves, rising in languid curls, licked and danced in the air like
flames.
"The Valley of Fire!" She stared down the glassy slope. "This must be the
real slippery slope!" She sat on the edge, dangled her feet over, and saw where
the slope ended on the grassy meadow far below. She looked upward at irongray cliffs. The view made her giddy and she dropped her hands to steady
herself. She felt her palms slide on smooth stone. Before she could think, her
body slipped over the edge. She screamed and felt herself pick up speed. In
breathless seconds she hurled, cartwheeling, onto the grassy meadow. She
brought up with a thump against a ridge of red rock and lay gasping.
Her heart rattled against her ribs as she gazed up at the granite walls. "I
can't get back! Oh, I should never have gone by myself!"
Tears dimmed her vision, but when she inventoried her supplies and
discovered her lamp and oil had survived, and she had water for a day or so,
and food for perhaps three, she felt better. She also had six hummers, a dagger,
first aid supplies, her blanket and ground cloth, a hank of light cordage, flint

and tinder, and her navaid.

"I'll just have to find another way out," she decided.
The rock ridges cast long shadows onto the grass, and she knew the sun
was moving toward setting. Limping, she began to explore. The meadow was
quite small, but she discovered a tiny spring at one end where clear water
flowed from a shaded crevice and spilled into a shallow, sandy basin. Her
spirits rose. Water meant days of life. She sank beside the pool and washed
grime from her face, then slipped off her mokads and body armor and waded
in. At the inlet, she filled her canteens, then climbed out to dry in the last rays
of sun.
She heard a voice, faint and far away, and looking up saw several tiny
figures standing high on the cliff. "Kormax! Surfyr! Kaler!"
She could see them waving, then one figure detached and began to descend
rapidly. She ran toward it. Kormax skidded onto the meadow and rose
breathless. Wow! Some trip!"
"Kormax!" Linda hugged him with joy. "I thought you wouldn't come! I
thought you would go back!"
"And leave you! How could you possibly think that?" Kormax pursed his
lips. "We were angry to be sure, but there was never a thought of leaving you.
Besides," he added lightly, "I would not like to face Bertha and tell her I had
lost you!"
"I'll bet Surfyr is mad enough to kill me, isn't he?"
"He's peeved, but when we reached the end of the tunnel and discovered
you were right all along, he realized turning back would have been foolish. He
and Kaler are trying to figure out how we can get back when the time comes."
"Lots of luck. We'd need a mile of rope, and we left nearly all ours at the
start."
"Does look daunting," Kormax said, "but the valley is big and may have
another entrance."
"We still have to find Ruby Cave. Maybe it will lead us out."
"Now we'd better get ready for night."
"I found a place to camp at a spring where you can wash and fill your
canteens. I haven't found food yet. If Susan were here, she'd know if the plants
are good to eat."
"I'm a fair Provisioner," Kormax said. "I've already spotted wild potans
and unyuns."
"There's brush past the spring, maybe enough for a fire."

"Well, then, things are looking good. We'll get camp ready and wait for the
others." Kormax waded into the spring. "Food, water, a friendly fire; what
more could we ask?" He began to sing.
***
Late in the evening, Surfyr, Kaler, and the two droids descended the
slippery slope. They had not spotted a way back and Surfyr's mood was dark.
Kormax, nevertheless, made the camp merry with song and laughter. In the
morning, he gathered potans, unyuns, and akad nuts found ripening on small
bushes near the spring.
"Akad nuts are a great treat," he told the others, "usually found only along
streams in remote areas. I've occasionally bought some, at great cost, from
merchants traveling out of the west. We're lucky to have found these."
"Better get packed," Surfyr said. "If we're to get out of here, we'd best get
to it while we have food. This meadow won't provide another harvest for a
good long while."
From above, Kaler had noted a waterfall several legons to the south.
"Water follows faults," she said. "It might be a place to climb out."
Linda led into the Valley of Fire. Jagged walls pressed close, rising above
passages often too narrow to squeeze through. The sun, though only
occasionally penetrating the tortuous canyons, heated the valley until it felt as
though they were in a giant furnace. Linda mapped their route, sometimes
traveling with painstaking slowness along clefts choked with shards of razor
sharp obsidian, other times climbing abrasive walls and teetering along knifeedged ridges.
Heat dried and shriveled their flesh as they scurried like ants through a
desert of burning, broken rock. They drained their canteens with uncommon
speed. The sharp stones began to shred bodies and clothing.
"We'll bleed to death," Surfyr said as he stanched blood from a fresh cut.
"It's easier ahead." Linda wiped sweat from her face and looked down
from a prominence. "The canyons are widening."
They camped in a stark cleft with only the diminishing water in their
canteens to comfort them in the awesome heat. Sleep was difficult on the sharp
rocks and they woke early, ate in morose silence, and were on their way before
full light. At noon, they felt a cooling breeze.
Kormax looked up, sweat streaming on his face. "We're nearing the
waterfall." A smile touched his lips.
They broke into an alcove freshened by blowing mist.

"This I like!" Kormax trotted into verdure watered by falling mist. Over
eons, water had washed the sharpness from the nearer rocks, flattened the fins,
and brought sediment that formed soil for a dense forest.
"It's paradise!" Linda's face wrinkled with delight.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

They rested for two days beside the waterfall. Kormax found edible plants,
and Surfyr and Kaler hunted rabir and squal in the forest and meadows. Urg
and Shok built a fireplace, set up tents, and collected firewood. Mist cooled
them by day and at night they were lulled by the waterfall's sound. They swam
in a pool surrounded by emerald vegetation. Rest restored their strength and
healed their wounds. But, though they sought, they did not find a way up the
gray granite cliffs. Nor could they go farther south. Beyond the waterfall, the
tangle of red lava presented an impassable jumble.
Midmorning of the third day, Linda climbed a heap of granite blocks near
the fall. She had climbed there before and had learned to move cautiously on
surfaces slickened with water and moss. Mist swept over her, and she wore
only her sirkeln and mokads. Water dripped from her tangled black hair and
ran over her shoulders. She climbed near crashing water plumes at the
waterfall's foot. From a plunge basin, white water coursed between huge
granite slabs, then cascaded into the green pool she and the others swam in.
She stood with her back to the fall and gazed across the shining valley. Above
her, sun streaming through falling water built rainbows half way up the cliff.
She wondered how the rainbows looked from inside the waterfall.
"I can't get inside," she mused, "but maybe I can get behind."
She worked up the talus beside the fall, scrabbling for holds. Near the cliff,
she discovered a talus block leaning away from the wall. She slipped behind
and made her way to the fall's edge. Her heart beat fast; cold water coursed
over her skin. Her body felt charged and she shouted, but her words were
drowned in the tumult.
Crouching, she peered through spray at an emptiness behind the falling
water. A ledge, barely a foot wide, extended into the emptiness. With her heart
in her mouth, she inched forward. A dozen feet took her to a wider ledge
entirely behind the waterfall. She laughed, tucked safely behind the fall in a
room walled with stone and windowed with falling water. She peered through
her torrential window, and her eyes widened. The water glowed with
rubescent fire!
She stepped back and her foot found only emptiness.
"Yeesh!" She toppled backward and her rump came up hard against stone

"Ouch!"
Turning, she stared with astonishment at glistening walls glowing with ruby
light.
"Ruby Cave! This is Ruby Cave!"
***
The group climbed the talus slope early next morning. The sun had not yet
topped the rim, and mist blowing through the gray light made them shiver. "I
should've worn my rain cloth," Kaler said.
"It wouldn't help," Linda said. "Behind the waterfall you'd get soaked
anyway." She moved swiftly, feeling very important, eager to show Kaler and
Kormax her discovery. She'd already shown the cavern to Surfyr and they had
explored the entry.
"Watch your step," she warned as she led into the space between talus and
cliff. "Surfyr and I put up a line yesterday, but it's still dangerous." There was
pride in her voice. No safety line had been in place when she first crossed the
ledge.
Past the entrance, Ruby Cave at first seemed disappointing, just another
long tunnel. However, Linda moved eagerly. She and Surfyr had found a side
passage - narrow, tortuous, rough walled, hacked from solid rock. They had
gone far enough to discover a cavern of great beauty, and it was that cavern
they planned to explore.
"Keep the lamps low," Kormax advised. "We used a lot of oil just getting
here."
Flanked by Shok and Kormax, Linda carried a lighted lamp. Surfyr carried
a second. Surfyr's was wicked so low its feeble light barely reached the
nearby walls.
"What about the white flesh-eaters?" Kaler glanced around anxiously.
"We found nothing dangerous yesterday," Surfyr said.
"Here's the side passage," Linda said. "Watch yourself; it gets rough." She
stooped under an overhanging rock, then slid into a crevice so narrow Shok
was barely able to squeeze through. Behind, she heard Kormax curse as his
sword clanged on the rock.
Abruptly, the channel opened into an enormous chamber. Linda stood aside
on a limestone ledge and wicked up her lamp. Her dark eyes shone as she
studied Kormax's and Kaler's faces.
"It's as beautiful as you said," Kormax said. "A real wonder."
"Yo! Anybody here?" Linda heard her voice echo in a cacophony of

overlapping sounds. Water dripped everywhere, and mirror ponds nestled in

calcareous pits.
"We could get lost," Surfyr said, wicking up his lamp.
An intricate web of grooves, alleys, and subchambers radiated outward.
The ledge on which they stood was high on a slope that dropped toward
several crevasses. Linda descended over water slicked limestone and paused
at a crevasse.
"Maybe we can cross over there." Kaler pointed toward a stony arch.
Linda stared into depths that swallowed her feeble light.
The party moved toward the bridge.
"Is it strong enough?" Kormax wondered.
Linda crossed with only slight hesitation, then Kaler followed. She took an
iron spike from her pack, hammered it into a crack in the limestone, hooked on
a line and tossed it to the others. The droids, weighed down by heavier packs,
crossed last. Kaler recovered her line and iron spike. Urg jumped the next
crevasse, and Linda marveled. In spite of his great weight, he leaped so nimbly
that he cleared the ten foot gap as though it were a trifle. Shok then tossed
everyone's pack across, and Urg deftly caught each. Then Shok jumped and the
droids positioned themselves to steady the others as they leaped.
Linda floated across the empty space above bottomless darkness and
landed like a mountain goat. Kormax, constructed more stoutly than the others,
found the jump more challenging. He reminded Linda of a chubby ballerina and
she stifled a laugh.
"I hope we have no more like that," he said, puffing and looking critically
at the dark pit. Linda navigated through stalagmites, around crustose
accretions, and over the deeply crenulate floor, stopping to allow the others to
rest while she scouted the best path.
"I've found two exits," she announced after one solo excursion. "One large,
the other small. We'll take the larger."
Surfyr raised a brow at her commanding tone but did not dispute her
decision. She led between crystalline columns veined with orange and rose,
then downward on a route that looped, divided, and turned on itself. Half a
dozen dead-end passages divided off before the main passage ended at a clear
lake.
"We've found no rubies." Surfyr peered across the water at the barely
visible far wall of the cavern.
"I see no way to go farther here," Kormax said.

"Maybe the narrower passage," Linda said.

"It's been a long day," Surfyr said. "We'll camp here and explore more
tomorrow."
After dinner they rolled gratefully into their blankets, leaving a single lamp
burning, wicked so low its glow barely lit the camp area. Urg, nodding on his
stony station, stood first watch. In the silence and darkness, gentle swells
crossed the pond.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Something nagged at the edge of Linda's sleep. Finally she woke and lay
listening uneasily. Faint echoes reverberated, but echoes of what? The sound
came again, like fingers tapping on a table. She rolled in her blankets and came
up on an elbow. The lamp, trimmed so low its flame appeared little more than
a point, cast faint light across the sandy shore and the lake beyond. Her eyes,
adjusted to the dimness, picked out her friends scattered near the shore,
mounded in their blankets. Slow ripples broke the lamplight reflecting from the
clear water into a galaxy of sparkling dots that danced like fireflies. She saw
Urg's figure, dark against the dancing points of light. The droid was halfslumped at the water's edge.
Something isn't right! She shook sleep from her mind and sat upright, stiff
as a post. How can there be ripples without wind? She saw something white,
moving in the water.
"Urg!" Linda's voice echoed.
Urg came erect as the whiteness began to rise from the water. The droid
saw it and drew his sword. Out of the corner of her eye, Linda saw her friends
scrambling from their sleeping bags, alerted by her cry. She came up, too,
moving toward Urg.
A white veil fell over Urg and Linda saw the droid's sword, shining in the
light, cutting a dark line through the white. Scarcely thinking, she plunged in,
her own arm rising and falling, her dagger shining, and she felt wetness on her
arm. Urg's strangled scream sent shivers racing along her spine. Her arm
burned and she shook it, shedding white globules that spattered outward,
painting shining arcs against the black. Human shapes wheeled, swords
flashing. Other shouts joined hers and Urg's.
"Light all the lamps," Surfyr yelled.
The scene brightened. Ropy mucus writhed, and the water of the lake
boiled, whitened with froth.
"Urg is hurt!" Kaler cried.
Dazed, Linda knelt beside the stricken droid. Kaler was pulling slimy
globules from Urg's skin. Blood, ink-black in the dim light, mingled with the
white slime.
"Poma." Linda pulled a vial from her belt and sprinkled pale green powder

on the droid's ravaged skin.

"I think he'll be all right." Kaler's voice shook. With Shok's help, Linda got
the droid up and away from the water then wiped blood from her own arm. Her
skin was burning so fiercely it brought tears to her eyes. She soused dozens of
small rips with poma and frenwort.
"Is anyone else hurt?" Surfyr went from one to the other, examining,
helping, not noticing his own wounds until Kormax pointed them out. Kormax,
too, had wounds.
"I think we found the flesh eaters," he said. "Fortunately they, like felven,
avoid light. Good thing you knew to turn up the lamps, Surfyr."
"I didn't. I just figured we needed more light to see by."
"My sword was useless." Kaler shuddered. "Without the light, we would
all have perished."
"Let's get away from the water," Kormax said. "Everybody stay close; we
don't have enough oil to burn the lamps so brightly for long."
"They live in the water," Linda said. "I heard the ripples. That's what woke
me."
"Your shout got us all up," Kormax said. "I'm glad you have such keen
ears."
"And that you sleep lightly," Surfyr added. "Urg was dozing, but the fault
was mine. Droids need sleep, the same as we, and I knew Urg was tired. I
should've put two on watch at all times."
"What now?" Kaler asked. "We must get out of here as quickly as we can."
"No need to panic," Surfyr said. "We've learned a lesson and fared better
than we might have. Now that we know what to do, we'll be safe enough. How
much oil do we have, Kormax? Enough for another day and still enough to get
out?"
"Not more than that," Kormax answered, "especially now that we know to
keep more light burning."
"Urg will need a day to recover," Surfyr said. "Everyone is awake now so
I suggest we not waste time. Kormax, you and Shok will stay with Urg. Kaler,
Linda, and I will explore the little wormhole Linda found."
Kaler winced. "Maybe I could stay with Urg. I've had enough of worms."
"Kormax and Shok will stay," Surfyr said. "They can't squeeze through the
opening. It'll be hard enough for you and even more so for me. Frankly, I doubt
we'll get far. If we don't find anything quickly, we'll call it quits and head
back."

Urg was made comfortable in an alcove well away from the lake, and
while Kormax and Shok settled with the injured droid, the others headed out
with Linda leading. "Don't forget where we are," Kormax called. "I'm not sure
I could find my way out of here."
"I'll find you again," Linda said.
It took an hour to return to the second passage from the great chamber. The
irregular opening, angling downward into solid stone, was little more than a
slight gash in the limestone near a massive stalagmite. Linda easily slipped
through the opening, but it was necessary to chip away a carbonate fringe to
allow Surfyr to squeeze through. A few feet down, the passage entered a
horizontal crevice the width of a man but less than two feet high. Diminutive
Linda squirmed forward on elbows and knees while the others followed on
their bellies. Water blocked the way.
"I'm a good swimmer," Linda said. "I can swim underwater, maybe far
enough to find a way up on the other side."
"That's crazy," Kaler said, her voice filled with alarm. "You might run into
more flesh eaters or drown before you can get back."
Linda peered into water so clear it seemed almost not to be there. "I've got
to go. Here!" She shoved her lighted lamp into Kaler's hands. "Hold it near the
water. It'll light my way, and I have another lamp in my belt to light on the other
side."
Before Kaler could stop her, or Surfyr could add his protest to hers, she
slipped into the pool. Light illuminated the carbonate rock so brightly she felt
at first like she was swimming in sunlight. Her arms brushed walls smoothed
by water. The passage narrowed and her body filled the tunnel, choking off the
light. Groping upward, her fingers found emptiness. She stroked up through the
surface into blackness. Something stung her face, and she swung her head,
flinging slime from her hair. Her hand struck stone and she heaved upward,
coming out of the water onto smooth stone. Fire engulfed her body. Fumbling,
she flipped a catch on her belt and felt the lamp fall into her hands. With a
move practiced a thousand times, she struck a spark from her flint. The lamp
flared and she watched in horror as mucoid strings withdrew from her flesh,
leaving streaks of blood. Moaning softly, she drew poma and frenwort from
her first aid kit. As the pain eased, she lay on the wet rock, her lamp beside
her, and fought to control her revulsion.
Then she realized, "I can't go back!"
She could not put out her lamp to return through the water; the flesh eaters

would kill her before she could swim a foot. If she left her lamp behind,
burning to light her way, she had no guarantee of light at the other end. Kaler
and Surfyr could not wait long in the narrow passage and would be forced to
take their lamp with them when they returned to the main cavern.
For half an hour, Linda lay while her body recovered from the flesh-eaters
attack. When finally she stirred, she discovered the creatures had done less
damage than at first she had feared. She allowed herself a glimmer of hope and
began to study her surroundings. She was in another large chamber, not as big
as the main chamber, but too large to take in at a glance. With her she had a
lamp, oil for perhaps two days, food for a day under normal use but she could
stretch it, her dagger, two hummers attached to her belt, and her sirkeln and
mokads. Water was abundant so she would not get thirsty. She set out,
determined to remain optimistic.
As she clambered, she mapped every turn and twist. Gradually she moved
into a region of fewer pools and only occasional drips. The cavern proved
larger than at first suspected, and despite her vow to remain optimistic, fatigue
began to bring discouragement.
"I must've climbed a dozen legons." She checked her lamp. Half her oil
was gone though she had turned the lamp as low as she dared. She had to rest,
but only for a little she told herself.
Something tickled. A white mass, whipping out long tendrils, was crawling
onto her foot. She recoiled, and on her knees, backed against a stone wall. The
white mass mounded upward, rising on a filmy stalk. The stalk spewed slime
that settled over her head. She screamed, clawing at ooze that cascaded over
her face and clogged her nostrils. She awoke screaming! With her screams
echoing, she stared wild-eyed, then sobbed with relief when she discovered
she had only been dreaming. The soft light of her lamp still surrounded her, and
she saw no white slime.
Checking her lamp, she was relieved to find she had slept only an hour or
two and hours of oil remained. She rose and explored a maze of white, yellow,
and rose formations that surrounded her like fairyland castles. Oblivious to
their beauty, she pulled a piece of dried devon meat from a pouch and chewed
it slowly.
She climbed past a row of stalagmites and circled to see what was behind.
Something rapped her on the nose. Blinking, she groped and found she had
stumbled against a wall so subtly colored even her light had not showed it.
Then her heart skipped. Not a foot away was a door! She touched its embossed

golden surface. "I must be dreaming, but it feels real."

She saw a T-shaped handle that fit neatly into her grasp. When she tugged,
the door swung silently toward her, and she stepped into a finely chiseled
passage, floored with black and red hexagonal tiles. Walls of glazed stone
winked in the feeble light of her lamp. She wicked her lamp higher, but when
she did the flame grew no brighter. Startled, she stared at the lamp. The flame
was flickering lower! In disbelief, she held the lamp near her eye.
"I'm out of oil!"
Panicked, she began to run along the polished stone passage, her mokads
thumping on the stones. She glanced again at her lamp. "It's gone out!" She
stopped in terror, looking for the white things. It was long minutes before she
recognized that, though her lamp was out, she could see.
"It's not dark?"
Indeed, soft white light spread evenly along the corridor. Linda's shaky
laughter echoed hollowly. Running in dark that was not dark, some Scout.
When her breathing came under control, she began to walk. A brighter light,
with a ruby sheen, appeared in the distance. She began to hurry, and in minutes,
entered a large empty room bathed in pale, rose light. Far away, a ruddy glow
spread from a single source. Polished, multicolored tiles covered the floor.
Then she saw that the room was not quite empty. A dais, with steps leading up,
stood near the source of red light. In the stillness, Linda heard the soft padding
of her mokads as she walked across the polished stone floor.
A pedestal on the dais bore a crystal chest from which the ruddy glow
emanated. With her gaze sweeping upward to take in the expanse of shining
stone that rose behind the dais, she climbed the steps. Red light spilled over
her hands as she reached. The chest looked as fragile as hoar. With utmost
care, Linda lifted the translucent top and saw rubies - mounded up the sides more rubies than she had dreamed - hundreds and hundreds of rubies.
She felt great joy.
"Your task is not finished." The words were spoken softly, but Linda
leaped a foot straight up. "Tut, tut. I didn't mean to startle you."
Linda spun and saw a small creature, no larger than she, looking at her
from ruby colored eyes. The creature was humanoid, with a narrow female
face that was pale green with a touch of gold.
"Ja-Drun', at your service." The figure bowed slightly, her silver gown
rustling. "I'm here to help. Perhaps this will explain." Ja-Drun' held out her
hand, on one finger of which was a ring.

"The Master's seal! You're from the Master!"

"I've been waiting for you."
"You live here?"
Ja-Drun' laughed with a sound like wind moving over prairie grass. "I
came ahead to prepare the way for you."
"Some way! Full of flesh eating worms!"
"I did not make it easy."
"What about my friends?"
"They're on their way back to Triod. Their job is done; the rest is up to
you."
"You mean there's more?"
"Come now, you know that." There was a trace of pique in Ja-Drun's voice.
"You must get the rubies to Triod - exactly one hundred of them - and trade
with Boro for a golden ring. Then you must take the ring to Woren and give it to
the Mentat-master."
"Oh, that. Yes, I know that, but I'm tired and have no food and my lamp is
out of oil. I can't travel in the dark."
Ja-Drun' pulled from her robe a tooled leather pouch and handed it to
Linda. "Count a hundred rubies into the purse. Be exact, not one too many, not
one too few. Tuck the purse into your belt, and when you're through, go to the
small room at the far end of the hall." Ja-Drun' shimmered a moment and
disappeared.
Good gracious. Am I dreaming again?
Linda began to count rubies into the leather pouch. She counted carefully,
mindful of Ja-Drun's instructions. In a few minutes the purse was full - a
hundred was the right number for it - and Linda pulled the draw-string and tied
it. She dropped the purse into a belt pouch, then reached to replace the crystal
lid on the chest. She hesitated.
It wouldn't hurt to take one more, one just for me. Then she remembered
Boro's question to Jason, "What is it that you will do with your wealth?"
She put the lid in place.
"Good, my child! You will live another day!"
Linda shrank. She hastily descended from the dais. At the far end of the
chamber she saw a door she had earlier overlooked. Unlike the door through
which she had entered, this one was quite small - less than five feet tall and no
more than a foot and a half wide. She knocked, and receiving no reply, tried the
latch. The door opened and she entered a room no more than a dozen feet

square, its walls tapestried with wild-flowers and blue skies and distancepurpled mountains. Two beds, made up with flowered quilts, stood near the
sides, and a table, set with china dishes, rested in the middle. Seated at the
table was Ja-Drun', looking very pleased.
"Come, sit down." She motioned Linda to a small wooden chair opposite
her. "You're just in time for dinner."
Linda slid back the chair and plopped down not sure whether to be angry
or amused. "Would you have killed me if I had taken an extra ruby?" she asked
bluntly.
Ja-Drun's eyes turned the color of burnt crimson. "You did not."
"I was tempted."
"You were meant to be tempted."
"So, it was a test. I don't think it was fair. I'm a treasure hunter and I think
you knew that. Is treasure hunting bad?"
"You passed the test; think about it and you'll know why. But, enough, it's
time to eat."
Linda frowned, but Ja-Drun's eyes had turned merry again, and when she
saw the platters of meat, bowls of vegetables, baskets of bread, and jars of
butter and honey, she recalled it had been more than a day since she had last
eaten. She began to gather food onto her plate and ate without further speech
until she was stuffed. When she finished, she was suddenly tired and Ja-Drun'
showed her to one of the small beds. She sank down on the soft mattress and
was asleep before her body had fully settled.
Breakfast was as abundant as dinner. While eating, Ja-Drun' told her, "I've
filled your lamp with oil and packed lunch for you. I know an easier way from
the cave; a way that leads out but does not enter. You'll find it beyond the door
to the ruby chamber. When you leave the cave, you'll find a gift. Go swiftly,
and may your journey have a happy ending."
"Aren't you coming? Will I have to continue alone?"
"I have other tasks," Ja-Drun' said. "You've shown the courage to manage
on your own. When you leave the cave, you'll be in forest far south of the
Valley of Fire. Travel east to the Targ road and follow it north to Triod." JaDrun' rose from her chair. "I must say goodby." Her image wavered. "Good
luck!" Her figure dimmed, then faded away entirely.
Linda stared as the tapestries disappeared, the dishes faded from the table,
and the beds flickered away. Finally, only the small wooden chair she was
sitting on remained and an unpainted table on which rested a small pouch.

Linda took the pouch and found in it the lunch Ja-Drun' had promised.
***
A day later, after climbing through an interlocking series of iron spines that
pivoted to allow her to pass, then locked to prevent her from returning, Linda
came out into afternoon sun. Open sky and the smell of fresh mountain air so
gladdened her she shouted for joy. She had emerged from the cave on a narrow
cliff, from the edge of which, she spotted a small meadow fringed with dark
conifers. She found a way down through a narrow cleft. Nearing the bottom,
she glimpsed motion at the meadow's edge. Shadows had deepened among the
bordering trees, and she could not make out the source. At the bottom, she
flattened behind a boulder, and peering into the shadowed green, spotted a
large animal. It held its shaggy head high, and she saw yellow fur that seemed
to give off golden light, like the late sun. The animal swung its head to look at
her, and she sucked in her breath. Golden eyes met hers and she felt like she
was falling. Her mouth opened. She stood and was hardly aware that she began
walking toward the creature. It moved toward her, and it looked like sunrise
again on the meadow. Linda reached. A horven's neck arched downward, the
animal's muzzle stretching to meet her fingers.
***
"Dawn. I shall call you Dawn," Linda said the next morning as she stroked
the golden mare's mane. She hardly believed her good fortune, though she
remembered Ja-Drun' had told her a gift awaited her outside the cave. The first
rays of the rising sun struck the mare's back, and Linda stood in a golden haze,
her heart filled with joy. The mare had come with full saddlebags, including
tent and groundcover, armor and weapons, food and medical supplies, and
Linda had made a comfortable camp for the night, sleeping well in spite of her
excitement. Breakfast was done and she mounted for the first time.
The merest tap on Dawn's flanks and she leaped forward, her muscles
rippling beneath Linda's thighs. She bent low across the mare's neck and sent
her flying across the meadow and into the trees. She felt as though she were
joined to the horven as they darted through the forest, the mare so sure-footed
she hardly broke rhythm as she twisted among trees and rocks.
For half an hour, Linda gave Dawn her head, letting her run off her first
burst of energy. Both were breathless when she reined back, but the mare still
pranced as giddily as a colt.
Linda laughed. "I won't be lonely, now!" She stroked the fur at Dawn's
throat.

For several days Linda pressed eastward, taking sightings with her navaid,
mapping as she went. She wound through forests huge and ancient, and along
braids of white water that raced through narrow canyons beneath silvercapped peaks. At night she camped in the open and cooked over wood fires
and slept with the stars in her eyes. With Dawn beside her, she felt no fear. On
the fifth day, she came over a high pass and saw beneath her the winding
ribbon of a roadway.
"The Targ road!" She leaned, patting Dawn's neck. "Well, my Lady, it looks
like you and I will soon be leaving the forest! Gee-up!"
As they descended, Linda glimpsed a rider rounding a bend on the road
below. The rider was tall and thin, traveling north, and Linda saw that her
present course would intercept him. She reined back warily. A second rider, a
boy, came round the bend and seconds later a third rider, this one a huge
Warrior on a midnight black stallion so magnificent it took Linda's breath. Then
her eyes widened for she recognized the trailing rider, a woman Warrior as
ruggedly stout as a berven, who rode with her head held high, sunlight
gleaming from her burnished armor.
"Bertha!" Linda kicked Dawn into a gallop and sent showers of gravel
flying as she raced down the slope.

PART NINE: HOLE-IN-THE-WALL

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The camp was almost deserted. John and Jason left very early, headed for
Forod, and a little later Bertha and Linda started toward Slavhos. Carol
finished packing, knowing she was dragging her feet and should also be on her
way. While she was saddling her horven, she saw Engar approach.
"I'm glad I caught you," he said. "I'm informed you'll need a bronze key. We
have only one - from the catacomb - I'll give it to you."
Carol's brow knotted. "Why do I need a bronze key? Am I expected to
crawl around in some creepy dungeon again?"
"My instructions are only that you'll need it."
"Hold still, Powder!" Carol growled as she tightened the nervous animal's
cinch. Engar steadied the horven.
"I'm only doing this because everyone else is," Carol said as she faced
Engar.
"I know," Engar said. "You think this is a game, and you're reluctant to play.
Maybe you're right, but I see no way to prove it or escape it. Take the key.
You've agreed to go along; I suggest you make the best of it."
"Humph," Carol snorted, but took the key and stepped into the saddle. She
tucked the key in her belt. "At least the kids seem pleased. They think this is a
lark."
"Considering their lives before, I would not deny them a lark," Engar said.
Carol grimaced, then turned Powder and headed toward Or'gn's gate. The
fact she was angry irritated her. She wasn't sure why she felt as she did.
Outside the gate, she swung north, retracing the steps of the day before. She
rode swiftly, pushing her horven and herself. Engar's parting words stayed with
her, and after a while, she eased back.
I suppose I have to accept it. Game or no game, I certainly find it better
to be here than lying in a hospital bed.
Memory of her illness brought a shudder, and with it a return of the guilt
she had once felt. She had been sure the lung cancer was her own fault - the

price of a lifetime of heavy smoking.

Funny, I haven't thought of cigarettes for weeks.
The realization came as a jolt, and she reined back and looked
wonderingly into the brilliantly lit fields around her. A few months before, she
could not have gone an hour without a cigarette.
How much I've changed.
She took a deep breath to see if she really could breathe freely and without
pain. The sweet smell of wild-flowers, the faintly earthy aroma of dust slightly
moistened with dew, the musky animal-smell of her horven, even the faint odor
of oiled leather emanating from her sirkeln and saddlebags lifted her spirits.
She kicked Powder into motion, pushing aside for the moment what really
bothered her: the deep down worry that Faland was not real, that it would
suddenly vanish and she would wake up in an old nightmare.
Before noon, Carol passed Mulro's road where the group had turned back
the day before. It gave her an unexpected pang. From here on, she would be in
unfamiliar territory, truly alone in Faland for the first time. Clouds built along
the northern horizon and she thought rain might be in the offing. However, by
evening the sky cleared, and she made dry camp by a scraggly tree in a field
near the road. When she made her toilet behind nearby brush, she was jolted
again when she realized how casually she did so. Considering how fastidious
she once had been, it was remarkable with what ease she now lived like a
half-wild creature in Faland's outback.
She had passed few peasants north of Mulro's turnoff, so she expected no
company. Still, she set her lean-to where the open side would give her a good
view of the road and where it would not easily be seen. She built a small fire
and began cooking her evening meal. Hardly had she begun than she was
interrupted.
"May I join your camp?"
She jumped and nearly dropped her ladle, then spun round to see who had
so cleverly crept up on her. Her eyes went automatically to her sword, which
she had laid over a nearby rock.
"You'll not need your weapon; I mean you no harm." The voice came from
a scraggly, thin-faced man, no larger than a boy.
"Where did you come from?"
"I was passing and spotted the smoke from your fire. Allow me to
introduce myself. I'm Dickson, at your service, Ma'am." He swept a ragged hat
from his head, which was dominated by a mass of unkempt brown hair, and

bowed with exaggerated humility. "I'm sorry to have startled you."

Carol eyed the little man, so covered with dust he looked the color of the
road. He was human, apparently Caucasian, though what showed of his face
was sunburned so deeply he appeared almost black. He peered at Carol from
eyes the gray-brown color of Faland clay, but bright and with an expression of
good humor. A dirty red headband, half-hidden in his topside bush, brought a
look of surprise to Carol's face. In the center were the uffs of a level seven
Warrior, which meant this grimy wanderer was one of the most powerful
fighters in Faland.
"May I join you?" the little Warrior asked again.
"Yes, yes of course," Carol managed, though with some reluctance.
"I'm on my way to Zenker's Keep," Dickson said. "Thought you wouldn't
mind company since we'll both be camping here for the night."
"I don't see a horven," Carol said. "How did you get here and how do you
plan to get to Zenker's Keep? It's a long way, I'm told."
Dickson laughed. "I prefer walking." He moved closer to the fire and
shrugged out of his pack - as worn and dirty as he - then quickly shed his
battered armor. He unstrapped a short sword, with a hilt and handle of silver
and gold, and leaned it against his pack, then hunkered beside the fire.
"Ah!" He sniffed the vapors rising from Carol's cooking pot. "Porven
kurduc, with grensrd and potans and a few unyuns to liven it up. Have you a
good drog?"
"You may join me and you're welcome," Carol said with a trace of irony.
"Sorry, I didn't make drog."
Dickson rummaged in his pack and took out a battered and blackened
kettle, a canteen, and a bottle half full of reddish powder. He poured water in
the kettle, added a generous portion of the red powder, and set it to heat in the
coals. Then he strolled into the field and returned in a few minutes with a
handful of leaves. He threw these into the pot.
When the meal was ready, Dickson helped himself to Carol's stew after she
filled her plate, then he filled her mug as well as his own with his potion.
Carol breathed the steam from the pale rouge drink; it reminded her of lemon
and mint. The taste was unlike any she could recall, but it was astonishingly
good.
"A special recipe," Dickson explained when he saw Carol's questioning
look. "From Ulbanor of the High Thorn east of Woren. There's none other like
it in Faland. My supply is limited; someday I'll have to go back for more of the

tlikil plant which is its main ingredient."

"You say you're going to Zenker's Keep. Have you been there before?"
"Several years ago - not recently."
"May I ask why you're going there now?"
"I have special business there. Isn't that your destination as well?"
"Is that a guess?"
Dickson laughed, his beard bunching on his cheeks, white teeth showing
beneath his moustache. "There aren't many places to go in this part of the
country, and a woman alone - a Warrior - I'd guess you have business at
Zenker's."
"I'm meeting someone there," Carol admitted.
"Perhaps I'm the one. Is it the Master's business you are on?"
Carol looked surprised. "How did you know?"
"Another guess. I, too, have been summoned. Don't you think it likely our
business is coincident?"
Carol frowned. "I wouldn't know. My instructions weren't that explicit."
"You haven't been long in Faland, have you?" Dickson said.
"And I suppose you were born here?" Carol returned, her voice sharpened
with sarcasm.
"Almost. I've been here eighteen years," Dickson replied softly.
Carol let out a low whistle. "Eighteen years? That is practically forever.
You must have been part of the first group."
"I'm the last of the first," Dickson said. "There were eight of us. I alone
remain."
Carol's eyes widened. "What happened to the others?"
"If you thought Faland benign, I'm sorry to disappoint you. For those who
arrived first, Faland's lessons were especially harsh." Dickson spoke almost
bitterly. "We had no guide. I was lucky; I learned more quickly than the others."
Carol's frown deepened. "Were there children?"
Dickson's eyes narrowed. "I was twelve, the only kid. I think it was easier
for me; kids adjust more quickly." Then he changed the subject. "You're with
the Mentat Warrior, aren't you? You've been here less than a year - one of the
newest."
"Yes, and I think I'm adjusting pretty well."
"It's different now. You had a guide - Engar as I recall. I've met him; he's a
good man."
"What about the Master? Have you ever seen him? Have you been

summoned before?"
Dickson shook his head. "This is my first. I don't recall anyone being
summoned before, and to my knowledge, no one has seen the Master. But, like I
said, thing's are different now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"
Next morning, Dickson was up before Carol and had breakfast ready when
she rolled out of her blankets. They were on the road before sunup. Dickson
refused Carol's offer to ride double and settled quickly into a grounddevouring trot that had Powder cantering to keep up. A small cloud of dust,
kicked up by Dickson's hurrying feet, told Carol why the little man was so
grubby. Even through the heat of the day, he never slowed, moving as easily in
the late afternoon as at first light. The walls of Zenker's Keep came into view
while the sun was still well above the horizon.
"Hasn't changed much," Dickson said, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed
the high walls of the three story structure. A pole fence surrounded the keep,
enclosing a rectangular yard devoid of landscaping and ground into dust by the
comings and goings of many horven. An ancient oaken tree cast shade across
the building's front and partially hid a low stable on the far side. To the east
was an area of well watered, unmanicured shrubbery surrounding a small
pond.
Carol walked Powder through an open gate and dismounted at a hitching
rail. Half a dozen horven were tethered there. She looped Powder's reins
around the rail and accompanied Dickson into the building. At the threshold,
she stopped, planting her hands on her hips. It looked a lot like Elwind's; a
spacious lobby with a counter along one side; a dining room, mostly empty,
visible through open double doors; steps to one side leading upward. A half
dozen natives clustered in chairs near a side wall. Carol's gaze paused on an
enormously fat native woman behind the lobby counter.
"That's Zenker." Dickson nodded toward the fat lady, bent over the counter
writing. She looked up, squinting. Her brown eyes were sunk so deeply into
her flesh that they were almost hidden; her hair, the color of iron rust, hung to
her shoulders. She wore a green headband and a pale green tunic with the
shapelessness of a muumuu.
"Well, Dearie, can I help you?" She asked in a loud, somewhat harsh voice.
Carol studied the woman. Stout as Zenker was, she was not as large as
Bertha. She was a head shorter, and her bulk was fat, not muscle. "I was told to
contact you." Carol took out the message cylinder and showed Zenker the
Master's seal.

"I've been expecting you. You, too, Dickson."

Dickson nodded. "I'm surprised you remember me. It's been a while."
"I never forget a customer," Zenker said with a hoarse laugh. "Will you be
staying tonight?"
"Until we finish our business."
"There's a peasant woman here to meet you, in the dining room. You'll find
her near the fireplace."
"Thanks," Carol said, then added, "I'll need a room for the night."
Zenker's broad face shaped into a remarkably toothy grin. "My rooms are
clean and comfortable; you'll like your stay here." She waddled to a board and
took down two large iron keys. "Three ralls the night, pay in advance."
While Carol and Dickson laid down their money, Zenker summoned a
servant boy to see to their horven and carry in their saddlebags. Carol and
Dickson went to the dining room. It was an hour before evening meal, and the
room was nearly empty.
The peasant woman Zenker had referred to was the only female in the
room. She looked young - little more than a girl - and was wearing a
sleeveless brown country tunic, made from devon hide. Her bare arms were
thin, but muscular, browned by the sun, and her face had the broad contours of
a Faland native. She watched, with bright, alert eyes, as Carol and Dickson
approached.
Dickson seated himself. "I believe you are expecting me? I'm Dickson."
"I Yakisha." The girl's low voice sounded almost shy. "She with you?" She
motioned toward Carol.
Carol introduced herself and slid into an empty chair.
Yakisha took a cylinder from beneath her tunic. "For you."
Carol noted the Master's seal. She broke it and pulled out the stopper. With
it came a curl of paper. She read, "Hole-in-the Wall. Go in by the bronze door.
Beneath the place of seven ways, find the key to the silver way. Yakisha
guides; Dickson protects. Carry the silver key to Oasif, in the land of
Aul'kalee."
"It concerns all of us." Carol held the message out to Dickson. "It seems we
are to travel together, as you first suspected."
"You know Hole-in-the-Wall?" Dickson turned to Yakisha.
The girl nodded. "Father show me. Not find way in. Great treasure."
"I've heard that rumor. Do you think you can find it again?"
"Father Scout. He taught me."

"Aul'kalee," Dickson spoke half to himself, "a rough land. I've been there
twice, but only to Oasib, never to Oasif."
"I went Oasif," Yakisha said. "I guide, like message say."
"Where is Aul'kalee?" Carol asked. "How far is it to Oasif?"
"Aul'kalee is the northern desert beyond Great Barrier Cliff. Oasif lies in
the desert."
"Barrier Cliff?"
"Yes," Yakisha said. "Hole-in-the-Wall in Barrier Cliff. Oasif nine hundred
legons beyond Oasib."
Dickson whistled softly. "Oasib is three hundred legons from Waydn,
where the trail descends Barrier Cliff. That explains why I received such a
large advance in Or'gn. We'll need a lot of supplies, and pack animals to carry
them."
"And guards," Yakisha added.
Dickson shook his head. "We must travel alone, light and fast. My
instructions say we must avoid detection and a large group would only attract
attention."
"I'd no idea it would be so far," Carol said, with dismay. She was thinking
of her partners - of Martin, Susan, and the others - and how long before she
would see them again.
"As I recall, Zenker keeps a good stock," Dickson was saying. "For a
price, I'm sure she'll outfit us. I'll make arrangements tonight, and we'll leave
first thing in the morning."

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Yakisha led, traveling by little used farmland trails that wound through a
knobby country of low hills and scattered copses north of Zenker's Keep. They
passed only a few rather poor farms tucked among the hills in isolated hollows
and small valleys.
Dickson had purchased three pack horven from Zenker and a saddle horven
for Yakisha. He had even bought a horven for himself, but only to ride when
necessary. He said he did not like to be at the mercy of an animal over which
control was often somewhat speculative.
On Dickson's advice, they avoided most farms. Yet, in early evening when
they stopped beneath some trees near a small brook, a pair of half-grown farm
children discovered them. Shy as wild animals, the boys stayed in the bush and
followed them with huge brown eyes.
"Perhaps we should move on." Dickson eyed the youngsters.
"Childer just curious," Yakisha said. "I talk them." Before Dickson could
protest, she disappeared into the trees. She returned with the boys.
"Bemon and Demil," Yakisha announced. They were naked, slender,
solemn faced, with bodies the bleached brown of autumn prairie grass and
shaggy rust-colored hair that hung to their shoulders.
"They invite us stay farm tonight," Yakisha said. "Over hill." She pointed
up the slope beyond the brook.
"So much for secrecy," Dickson said.
"They help," Yakisha said. "I learn about trails."
The boys' father, a stocky peasant farmer, proved as friendly and helpful as
Yakisha had predicted. He and his wife welcomed the travelers, fed them and
plied them with many questions about Or'gn and other parts of Faland. The
boys and their two older sisters listened eagerly until their parents sent them
off to bed.
The next morning, after a night in the stable and a bountiful breakfast,
Bemon and Demil, mounted double on their father's horven, guided them into
the hill country to the north. They rode with manic exuberance, and even
Dickson had to mount to keep up. They followed winding trails across low,
wind-swept ridges, through tree-shaded dales, along dappled streams, and
finally into open country where short grass and wild flowers stretched to the

limits of vision.
"The Outplain," Yakisha said. "Too dry for farms."
The boys led to a spring-fed pool. "Camp here," Bemon said. "Swim."
The boys tumbled from their horven and disappeared into the water like
brown fish. Carol and Dickson set up camp. Yakisha climbed a hillock and
scanned the Outplain. Later, Carol joined Yakisha. Far out, she saw clusters of
straw-brown animals grazing the short grasses.
"Goleaps," Yakisha explained. "Hard catch. Follow; find water."
"This is farmland's edge," Dickson said while they sat near their campfire.
"Here on we'll need to be alert for renegades."
Carol sipped drog and looked at the two little boys, sleeping twined
together on a blanket. They did not appear worried about renegades. "How far
to the cliff?" she asked.
"Half day," Yakisha said. "Then three day east Hole-in-the-Wall."
"What about the boys?"
"They'll return home tomorrow," Dickson said. "I told their father we
would not take them into the Outplain."
"They'll go back alone?"
"Farmland safe," Yakisha said.
Carol frowned. She thought Bemon and Demil could not be more than
seven or eight years old. It seemed wrong for them to be on their own in the
immensity of Faland's outback. Each carried only a waterskin and a twist of
bread in a hide sack slung over their shoulders. They had not even a scrap of
cloth to wrap around their narrow waists. They rode bareback, nestled in the
thick fur of the horven's back, their small hands twined in its mane, and guided
the great beast with their knees and a few crisply shouted commands.
"I'll stand first watch," Carol said.
The fire burned low and Carol fed it more sticks. Bemon and Demil turned
restlessly in their sleep, flickering firelight dancing over their swim-clean
bodies, lighting faces made angelic by sleep. Carol felt an unaccountable ache
in her breast. She knelt and pulled the blanket gently over the sleeping boys.
Something dark moved in the shadows at the edge of camp, and Carol drew
her sword. A shape blotted out the stars that hung low to the north, then paused.
A pair of orange-red eyes lit up within it. Each the size of a spread hand, the
eyes floated a dozen feet above the plain. Below them, enormous jaws opened,
and Carol saw fangs like a clutch of swords, gleaming brighter than the stars.
The eyes swung away and, as silently as it had come, the darkness passed on.

Only when it was gone did Carol realize she had been face to face with a
felven! She glanced at the boys sleeping at her feet. They would have made a
slight meal for so great a predator. She did not tell the others until morning.
"It was a big one!" Dickson returned from a walk around the pond. "You
were lucky to see one after such a short time in Faland" Dickson's voice was
filled with envy. "I was here ten years before I saw my first and I've only seen
one other since."
"One is too many," Carol said.
Bemon and Demil were disappointed when they heard about the felven and
wished Carol had awakened them to see such a wonder. They ran to the edge
of the pond and explored the paw prints, so large that had they been filled with
water the boys could have bathed in them.
The sun was well up when Dickson boosted Bemon and Demil to their
horven and sent them into the forest toward home. After waving goodby to
them, Dickson and Carol, led by Yakisha, headed northeast across the open
plain. Goleaps darted in high graceful bounds, and by early afternoon they
caught their first glimpses of the immense northern desert. Before sundown
they arrived at the brink of Great Barrier Cliff.
"Aul'kalee," Dickson said as his arm swept an arc before the enormity of
the northern wasteland.
"Looks barren and dry," Carol said.
"It is. It has a few springs and a handful of settled oases, but a lot of
parched emptiness between."
"Only three oases," Yakisha said.
"Well, now our job is to find Hole-in-the-Wall," Dickson said. "Aul'kalee
will come soon enough."
***
For two days the travelers followed Great Barrier Cliff. Yakisha found
springs every few legons, where water bubbled out of the high scarp and
tumbled in thin ribbons into the vastness. One midafternoon she stopped on a
flat sandstone table that broke off as abruptly as cracked glass at the brink of
the cliff. She pointed to a trickle of water no larger than the flow from a garden
hose. "Hole-in-the-Wall," she said.
Carol's eyes picked out a dark patch far below, a slight indentation in
smooth red sandstone jutting at right angles from the main cliff. "How on earth
do we reach it?"
Yakisha nudged her horven east along the cliff, then descended a short

incline into a dry wash. Carol rode behind, followed by Dickson on foot.
Yakisha dismounted. "Follow," she ordered.
Carol slipped from Powder's back. Yakisha led to the edge of the cliff
where the wash ended in a sheer drop. Carol peered over the precipice and
felt her head spin. Half a legon below, the vertical sandstone ended on a darkly
shadowed talus slope. She turned and saw Yakisha suspended like a fly on the
side of the cliff. Her heart climbed into her throat.
Yakisha beckoned. "Follow. Is easy. Good holds."
Dickson swung easily onto the cliff. "These holds are not an accident; this
is a worked trail."
The holds were carved into sandstone above a natural ledge that angled
west, and though the ledge was only a few inches wide, the holds offered
secure grips that made movement easy. Still, Carol kept her face to the
sandstone wall, not daring to look down. At first they climbed in shade, but
soon rounded a cornice into full sunlight. Heat from the sun-warmed stone
blasted Carol's face, and the rock burned her fingers. She glanced along the
cliff and saw Dickson arrive at a wider ledge. Relieved, she hurried and in
moments was standing beside Dickson and Yakisha on a broad ledge cut
deeply into the red rock wall.
"Hole-in-the-Wall," Yakisha said.
Carol slipped beneath an overhang into a shaded alcove. In the alcove's
rear she saw a massive bronze door, its surface darkened by corrosion.
"Father not open." Yakisha pointed to the door. "You open?"
Carol put her hand on the door's rough surface. "There are runes here."
"I X T A," Dickson spelled. "The name of a mythical Faland beast."
"A demon?"
"Legend say Ixta guard seven ways," Yakisha said.
"I've heard the legend," Dickson said. "Ixta supposedly guards the seven
ways in kymira maze."
"Maze? I don't think I'm going to like this," Carol said. "I'm to find a silver
key beneath the place of the seven ways in Hole-in-the-Wall."
"I presume kymira maze lies behind the bronze door," Dickson said. "As
for Ixta, I don't put much stock in myths."
"Oh yeah," Carol said. "You may have been in Faland a long time but
apparently you haven't spent much time crawling around underground."
"Is it true then? What I heard about the dungeon under Slavhos? That you
and the Mentat Warrior found real demons there?"

"Let's just say we ran into some lively myths."

"The stories I've heard sound like fairy tales. In eighteen years I've never
found anything to suggest otherwise."
"I have a key," Carol said. "If I can find a keyhole perhaps we'll soon find
out."
"Small hole." Yakisha pointed to a notch. "Not in door, but maybe work
door?"
Carol drew the bronze key from her belt and inserted its shaft into the
opening. Immediately she felt a faint vibration.
"Look!" Yakisha cried.
The bronze door had disappeared, and in its place was a dark hole. A
flicker of light, brief as a flashbulb, winked inside the cavern. It was followed
by a sound like a flat stick slapped on a level surface, then a thud shook the
cliff. The bronze door was back.
"It dropped from above," Dickson said. "I saw it come down, fast!"
"It won't open again," Carol said. "My key doesn't work now."
"Hm." Dickson's eyes narrowed. "I seem to remember something from the
legend that says the door can be opened only once each day, and just long
enough to jump through. The legend also says the door severs anything caught
in it."
"Great," Carol said. "I'm supposed to jump through a guillotine. Does the
legend say how to get out again, assuming I'm lucky enough to get inside in one
piece?"
Dickson shrugged. "I don't recall the legend speaking to that issue." Then
he grinned. "Besides, Ixta kills anybody who gets in."
"I hope you're volunteering to go first through the door."
"Maybe. As to getting out again, I suggest someone stay outside with the
key to open the door the following day. I nominate Yakisha. She isn't a Warrior,
and if Ixta is more than a myth, things might get rough."
"I wish I had a silver amulet," Carol said.
"Lets go topside and make camp; we can't open the door until tomorrow."
***
Yakisha found a meadow in a canyon half a legon from Hole-in-the-Wall. It
was well hidden, with good graze for the horven and a small spring to supply
water. A rocky prominence provided a vantage from which to lookout for
renegades. They spent a restless night and were back at the cave at first light.
"I hope this doesn't take more than a day," Carol told Yakisha as they stood

before the bronze door. She and Dickson had their lamps lit, armor in place,
and their packs secured to their shoulders.
"Come back at this time tomorrow," Dickson said. "When you hear our tap
on the door, open it. If you don't hear from us tomorrow, try the next day."
"How many days?" Yakisha asked.
"Until we come," Dickson answered.
Carol said. "My partners and I were in Black Water Cave more than a
week."
"I wish I go," Yakisha said. "I not like stay behind."
"We're counting on you," Carol said. "You're our only link to the outside."
"We better get going," Dickson said. "You ready, Carol?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
Yakisha inserted the key. The bronze door flicked upward so quickly the
eye could hardly follow. Dickson and Carol lunged through, lost their footing
and sprawled onto a rough stone floor. The door, descending like a giant
clever, slammed shut.
"Dickson!" Carol called.
"Here." Dickson coughed in a cloud of dust and got to his feet.
Carol studied the bronze door, glinting in the yellow lamp light. A knot
formed in her stomach. They were shut in now, committed to whatever lay
within the dark chamber. Dickson laid the butt of his knife against the door and
began tapping. In a moment, they could hear the metallic clicking as Yakisha
answered.

CHAPTER FIFTY

A tunnel wide enough and tall enough for two to walk abreast extended into
the sandstone cliff. It's builders had carved it by hand and worked the walls
and floor smooth. Dickson held his lantern high and walked boldly. Carol
followed more hesitantly, keeping an eye on the rear. The tunnel ended in
hardly more than a hundred feet. Dickson ran a hand through his thick brown
hair and looked at two small round dark openings. "Which shall it be, right or
left?" Each opening, no more than three feet in diameter, left the main passage
at an angle of sixty degrees. "Shall we flip a coin, or would you like to take
one and I the other?"
"We better stick together," Carol said. "At least until we see what we're up
against."
Dickson squinted closely at the rocks. "Someone has made scratches in the
sandstone. Other treasure hunters have been here ahead of us; perhaps they've
left a clue?"
"Most scratches are near the right hand opening."
"Maybe because most people are right-handed."
"As am I," Carol said. "Let's go right."
Dickson laughed. "Legend says the puzzle was never solved."
"So?"
"So other treasure hunters, most of whom presumably went right, weren't
successful."
"If you want to go left, that's fine with me. Only make up your mind. I want
to get this job done and be out of here."
"Right is okay," Dickson said.
Carol added her mark and jotted a brief description in her notebook.
Dickson stooped and shuffled forward. Carol followed. The tunnel dipped,
went through several turns, then opened into a spherical chamber with four
exits, one in the ceiling. They ignored it and chose one more accessible. Carol
marked the opening, and Dickson again moved crab-like into the tunnel. The
route turned, climbed steeply, dipped, then turned again. Carol's hands and
knees were already scraped raw.
"Uh, oh," Dickson called. "The tunnel goes straight down; you want to go
back?"

"Back?" Carol said. "What good would that do? How far down?"
"Maybe a dozen feet."
"Can we climb down?"
Dickson worked his feet against one wall, his hands opposite, and
descended into an open space. "You're not going to like this," he called.
Carol dropped beside him. "Why?"
Dickson pointed.
"Damn!" Carol saw the marks she had just made when entering the tunnel.
"We traveled in a circle."
"There are four exits. We entered by one and looped through two others.
That leaves the fourth."
Carol looked at her knees and hands. "I don't know how much of this I can
take."
"Try duck-walking."
"Easy for you to say, Shorty."
The fourth exit led to another chamber like the first. From there, the first
exit they tried led to a third chamber, and from it they reached a fourth. From
the fourth they looped back to the second. Another try took them to a fifth, sixth,
and seventh chamber, then they found themselves back in the fourth chamber.
Carol sat with her knees pulled up and her chin resting in one cupped hand.
"We've been at this at least two hours. We've found seven chambers and
explored seventeen entry/exits interconnected by eleven tunnels. My notes
show nine entry/exits we haven't tried. If there are many of these little
cubbyholes, the number of interconnections could become huge."
"So far all chambers have four connecting tunnels. There must be a
chamber with seven exits, assuming that's what's meant by 'place-of-the-sevenways.'"
"I'll lead for a while." Carol crawled into an unexplored exit from the
fourth chamber. It led them to the seventh chamber, from which they returned to
the third, thence to the second again.
"We've already explored all the exit out of this chamber," Carol cried. "The
maze must be a closed loop and we've been to all its chambers."
"Don't jump to conclusions," Dickson said. "We've been through all the
tunnels out of this chamber, but look at your map. There are two exits from the
fifth and two from the sixth we haven't explored. We have to retrace a tunnel to
get to the fifth chamber from here." He sounded almost cheerful. "Maybe we're
getting close to the end."

Wincing, Carol crawled on bloody knees back to the fifth chamber where
Dickson chose an unexplored opening. This tunnel, like the others, started by
dipping, rising, and turning in an irregular fashion. However, shortly it began
to descend, turning through a regular spiral, growing steeper as it went.
"It's hard to keep from slipping," Carol shouted to Dickson, who was
climbing below her. As she spoke, Dickson's feet touched a patch of polished
stone.
"Yawp!"
Dickson's face vanished from Carol's lamplight. Her knees lost traction and
she hurtled downward like a kid in a tube slide. As she picked up speed, she
rolled onto her back and tried to look ahead. The spirals blocked her vision,
then the chute straightened and she shot into open air. Seconds later she hit
water and her lamp went out. Tucking her feet under, she kicked and felt her
mokads hit rock. She got awkwardly to her feet in waist deep water. "Where's
my lamp!" Her voice echoed while her fingers found the lamp, still attached by
its safety line to her belt. She felt and discovered it was unbroken.
A light flared. "Carol?"
"Over here!"
Dickson held up his lamp. Carol saw him, dripping wet, his beard and hair
draining. He looked like a half-drowned chicken.
"What are you giggling about?"
"You needed a bath and you got it," Carol said.
"Arrgh!" Dickson shook his head, spinning off droplets, then began to
laugh. "I guess you're right."
"Steady your lamp. I haven't got mine started yet."
She cleared water and trimmed the wick while Dickson studied the tunnel
from which they had just fallen. "We're not going back the way we came. Even
if we could climb the corkscrew, we can't reach it from here."
Carol's lamp flared. "This isn't a man-made cave." She held her lamp
beside Dickson's. "It looks natural."
"I see a tunnel across the pond." Dickson began to wade in water only a
couple of feet deep but spread in a broad lake.
"I see other tunnels." Carol's eyes searched distant dark walls. "This might
be the 'place-of-the-seven-ways'."
Dickson climbed to a carbonate sand beach. "I see only four tunnels beside
the one we fell through. Do you see others?"
"I guess not."

"I see scratching's. Somebody else must have fallen into this trap."
Carol led into the nearest tunnel and found, to her immense relief, a ceiling
high enough for her to walk erect. It took them quickly into a honey-comb
gallery. "Kymira maze?"
Mapping as they went, they prowled through passages wide and narrow,
upward and down. All ways turned upon themselves and took them nowhere
through intricate circuits. Multi-hued formations they were too wet, tired, and
bruised to enjoy shone in their lamplight.
"Another dead-end," Dickson concluded after hours of exploration. "We
have to go back to the water cave and try another direction."
Carol felt like weeping.
"We better make camp," Dickson said. "We need rest."
***
Late the next day they found a human skeleton. Carol saw in Dickson's
bedraggled face the shock she felt. Shortly, they discovered two bodies, lying
together as though they had died in one another's arms, some mummified flesh
still on their frames.
"They ran out of oil." Dickson examined an empty lamp near the bodies and
pointed out three empty oil bottles on a ledge. "They were well armed. One
was a level five Warrior."
"No sign of injury." Carol probed their clothing. "I don't think they were in
a fight."
"They didn't find Ixta, assuming there is such a creature."
"No silver key, either, and probably not the 'place-of-the-seven-ways.'"
Carol's voice was bleak.
They camped near a pond and kept only one lamp lit, remembering the
empty oil bottles near the bodies. The next day, they ran into another dead-end
while exploring one of two remaining passages. With dread, they entered the
last passage and followed it to an extensive series of interlocking caverns. For
a while they became immersed in exploration and forgot the seriousness of
their situation.
"Over here!" Dickson had climbed between two fluted stalagmites and was
standing near a tiny opening. "Looks like another way out."
Carol climbed up. "Not very big."
Dickson poked his head in. "Big enough. It gets larger past the opening."
"It's not marked," Carol said. "Maybe we're the first here."
"Good observation," Dickson said. "No scratches." He grinned, his voice

boyishly hopeful, and scrambled into the tiny passage..

Carol peered into the narrow entrance. "Belly crawling for me," she said,
in a voice that showed how little she liked the idea. She stripped off her armor
and bundled it with her pack, then shoved the pack ahead. On her stomach, she
wormed into the narrow crevice. She heard Dickson chipping, then heard him
yell, "I'm through."
Yellow light flooded the tunnel as Dickson held his lamp for Carol. With
her breath coming hard, she drove her body forward with her toes. She saw
Dickson's grinning bearded face framed in the exit then heard a sound like
metal striking stone. Dickson withdrew and she heard him curse, followed by a
series of rapid dings, then running feet.
"What's happening?"
"Stay back, Carol!"
Carol shoved harder. Her lamp cleared the entrance, then her head.
Something hit the rock next to her, and fragments spattered her cheek.. She
spotted Dickson's light moving near the wall of a huge, smooth-walled
chamber. He was dodging lights flashing from a large spinning drum. The lights
struck the walls sending showers of sparks into the darkened room.
"Ixta!" Dickson yelled.
Carol cleared the tunnel barely in time to duck a metal shard hurled by the
spinning drum, which was gyrating wildly near Dickson. Dazzling sparkles
danced around her, and metal fragments rattled at her feet.
"Get back in the tunnel, Carol." Dickson ran along the wall, drawing
streaks of light toward him. One struck his back and he sprawled.
"Dickson!" Carol saw him get up and begin running again. A flash grazed
her temple, and she remembered she had taken off her armor. Turning she
dragged her pack out of the tunnel, grabbed her helmet, and clamped it over her
head. She felt blood running on her face. Working fast, she strapped on breast
plate and limb guards. Two quick, metallic clangs drew her attention, and she
glanced up and saw Dickson whirling something around his head. A kalard,
Carol realized. Another clang told her the little Warrior's aim was accurate,
but the giant spinning dervish was racing toward him. Carol whipped out her
own kalard, plucked a ceramic pellet from her belt, and was knocked on her
rump by a solid blow to the chest.
Wheezing, she got to her feet. Her armor had stopped the metal bolt, but the
blow had punched a rip in the armor plating. Another shard whined overhead.
She dropped the pellet into her sling, spun once and released. She heard the

spang as her ball grazed the spinner's side. It wobbled and sent a fountain of
sparks toward her. She sprawled and heard Dickson score another hit. The
spinner hesitated, then wobbled away from her and toward Dickson. A glance
showed her Dickson's light, no longer moving, and her heart rattled against her
ribs. Then she saw him moving away from his light and saw Ixta following.
She left her own light and raced toward the spinner, her kalard sweeping in
long loops. Her aim was right on, and she heard the solid clang as her pellet
struck. Ixta spun toward her, belching strands of light. Pain blazed in her thigh
and she went down, rolling. Shrapnel ricocheted from the sandstone floor,
leaving trails of sparks. Ixta was closing. Light blossomed, forcing her to
shield her eyes.
She drew in her breath as a metallic shriek hammered her eardrums. Flame
reached toward her. She lurched to her feet and saw Ixta spin madly past,
engulfed in flame. Bucking and caterwauling, the spinner careened into the
wall and exploded. The shock wave slammed her to the floor, then kicked her
heels over her head and tossed her halfway across the chamber.
She lay half-stunned, watching dribbles of flame burn out on the chamber
floor. When she got her muscles back in action, she got shakily to her feet. Her
lamp was burning near the tunnel, and she saw her pack slightly farther away
near a dark mound. "Dickson?" She limped toward the mound. "Dickson?".
The mound stirred.
Carol reached it and found the crumpled form of Dickson.
"I took some damage," Dickson said, grinning weakly.
Carol stared in horror. The little Warrior looked at her out of one eye; the
other hung half out of its socket. Gaping holes rent his armor.
"You may have to finish this job on your own," he mumbled.
Light was dimming as the flames surrounding Ixta died. Carol fetched her
lamp and pack and dragged them to Dickson. She dug out her medical kit and
felt her hands shaking as she mixed poma and frenwort and began to bathe
Dickson's wounds.
"Tend to yourself. I'm not going to be much use."
"Hush." Carol clamped compresses on Dickson's wounds then began to
peel off his armor. "Frenwort will take care of the pain, but you better lie still.
I've got some work to do and it'll take a little time." She tended the mangled
eye, grateful to find it intact, though a blow had fractured the bones around the
socket. She prodded them into place with steel forceps, then anchored them
with plasti-wrap. It was the first time she had used the wrap since rebuilding

Robert's leg after his training accident, and she was glad she had kept her
healer's kit well stocked. She stitched the eye in place, then began suturing a
major chest wound.
Dickson had lost a lot of blood, but showed no sign of shock. As she
worked, she talked, "What happened to Ixta?"
Dickson's grin was just enough to wrinkle his beard. "A little trick I
learned in the old world. I made a Molotov cocktail from my reserve oil
bottle."
"I see. Hang on; I've got to set a broken bone in your leg."
Dickson grunted as the bone slipped into place. "Why didn't you stay in the
cave, like I asked?"
"And miss a good fight? Don't be silly."
Dickson laughed, then coughed. "I'm glad you're a Fighter as well as a
Healer."
When she finished with Dickson, Carol turned to her own wounds. She
stitched her thigh wound, astonished at how rapidly her body was already
recovering.
***
Dickson's injuries immobilized him for a full day. Carol stayed with him,
plying him with medicinal herbs from a store she always carried. She heated
her concoctions over the lamp, and made Dickson drink them even when he
found them noxious. "They'll hasten regeneration of blood cells," Carol told
him. "We can't afford to have you weak and lying around for long."
On the second day, Dickson got to his feet, though he could only hobble
until the bones in his leg healed enough to take his full weight. Carol had
already discovered a great well, some twelve feet in diameter, in the center of
the chamber. It was apparently what Ixta had been guarding.
"I think it's the 'place-of-the-seven-ways,'" she told Dickson. "I lowered
my lamp and saw seven openings in the bottom. I'll have to climb down to see
where they go."
Dickson sat with his back to the wall chewing on a piece of dried devon.
"You have to find the silver key. Do any of the seven tunnels go downward?"
"Not directly, but I couldn't see into them from above."
Dickson slowly got to his feet. "Maybe the key is buried. Your message
said it's beneath the place of the seven ways." He hobbled toward the wrecked
Ixta.
"A machine," Carol said. "Mostly metal. Other demons I've encountered

were part flesh and part machine."

"I'm glad it wasn't fireproof. Our kalards did little damage." He prodded a
tangle of twisted metal and wire. "Burning oil must have seeped inside ignited some kind of stored fuel."
"I need an anchor," Carol said. "Something to tie my line to when I climb
into the well."
Dickson found a hard metal strap in the wreckage. "Looks like stainless
steel. An Armorer couldn't have forged it. I wonder where Ixta came from? I've
never known anyone in Faland who could have made something like this."
Carol took the metal bar. "Feels strong enough to hold a ton. It should make
a good anchor."
"You'll need something to dig with." Dickson disentangled a fragment of
Ixta's framework. "Crude, but it should serve."
At the well, Carol hammered the steel strap solidly into a join between
sandstone pavers. She lowered her lamp, then hitched over the side and
dropped down, hand over hand. "There are doors on all but the largest
passage," she shouted. "I'm going in now."
The largest passage was an alcove shaped and sized to fit the giant spinner,
Ixta. Carol found an outlet in the wall, possibly for refueling the robot,
otherwise the alcove was empty. In the central well, she ran her hands over the
smooth floor. The polished stone had the hue of red marble, and at first
appeared unmarked. Then she noticed fine lines near the center, connected to
form a hexagon. Inside the vertices, small circles made of stone, subtly
different from the parent rock, were inlaid into the background marble.
Marveling at the exquisite craftsmanship, Carol stroked the circles and
detected no difference in texture from the surrounding rock. She swiped at the
marble with her improvised pick, but the metal rebounded, leaving the floor
unmarred.
She turned to the six smaller tunnels, each blocked by a solid door of silver
metal without handles or visible hinges. Pushing, knocking, and hammering had
no effect. After visiting all the doors, she noticed on one a series of faint
markings: six small arrows, finely inscribed in the metal. The arrows were
arranged in a horizontal row with each pointing in a different direction.
It's a rune puzzle. I wish Robert was there.
Though puzzles were not her strong suit, she guessed this one was a clue to
opening the doors.
Suppose I designate the marked door as number one and assume each

arrow shows the angular separation between doors. Perhaps, the arrows
spell out a sequence for opening the doors.
For an hour, Carol followed the arrows in various combinations, pushing
and shoving the doors in differing sequences. She got nowhere. Thoroughly
frustrated, she climbed the rope and rejoined Dickson who had curled up and
gone to sleep with his head cradled on one of the packs.
"Uh, did you find it?" Dickson wakened and looked around guiltily. "I
guess I dozed off."
"You didn't miss anything." Carol filled him in on what she had found.
"Puzzles are not my bailiwick," Dickson admitted as he studied a copy of
the arrows in Carol's notebook. "What makes you think they point to the
doors?"
"There's nothing else down there."
"You said someone drew a hexagon on the floor? Maybe the arrows relate
to it."
"It's barely visible."
"What about the points of the hexagon? Are they lined up with the doors?"
"The hexagon is symmetrical; the arrangement of the doors is not. The six
closed passages are arrayed in a semi-circle opposite Ixta's alcove."
"Isn't there anything else?"
"Only some circular stone inlays inside the vertexes of the hexagon."
"What are they for?"
"I don't know."
"Let's eat and think about it," Dickson said.
They chewed on dried devon, florn biscuits, and drank drog heated over
their lamp. "We better think of something," Carol said, "before we run out of
supplies."
"I've got an idea." Dickson said. "Maybe the arrows have nothing to do
with the doors. Maybe they relate to the inlays on the hexagon."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Suppose the inlays are buttons and the hexagon is a kind of touch pad.
Perhaps the arrows tell you which buttons to press."
"I suppose its possible," Carol said. "I've prodded all the circles and
nothing happened, but I didn't try any particular sequence."
Dickson pursed his lips. "Look here." He was studying the diagram Carol
had drawn. "The arrows all point in directions that are rough multiples of 60
degrees, the angular separation between the points of a hexagon. If you imagine

a rotating arrow in the center of the hexagon, and use the diagramed arrows to
set its direction, the arrow sequence could represent a sequence for activating
the circular inlays."
"That wouldn't tell you where to start or whether to go left or right."
"True, but we could try all the possibilities fairly quickly. After all, there
are only six starting places and two directions from each."
"It's worth a try." Carol put away the leftovers from their meal, and
returned to the well.
"I think I see where to start," she called back to Dickson. "The door
bearing the arrows is the only one that exactly lines up with a vertex of the
hexagon; I'll begin there."
Carol worked around the hexagon, first to the right, then to the left. Results
were immediate. The central hexagon dropped smoothly several inches, then
split and the halves slid aside.
"I see the key," Carol shouted.
"Grab it! The floor is closing." Dickson was watching from above, his
head hanging over.
Carol snatched the key, barely retracting her hand before the stone hexagon
slammed together. When she looked up, her mouth dropped open.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

"Tut, tut, child. Don't be alarmed."

Carol stared at a blue and red apparition, floating a few feet above the
floor, with the appearance of a misshapen little man. "I'm Shebik, at your
service." The apparition dropped to the floor, smoothed the folds of its blue
robe and shouted up. "Come on down, Dickson! Bring the packs. We've no time
to waste."
Dickson was staring with goggle-eyes.
"You and Dickson have done quite well," Shebik told Carol. "It's a relief
not to have to put up with that gyrating bucket of scrap metal any more."
"Ixta?"
"Ixta? Yes, yes I think I remember hearing it called that. It was left behind
by Darc'un, you know - a long time ago. It's been quite an annoyance."
"You've been here before?"
"Goodness, I live here. Been trying to get that silver key for ages and
ages."
Carol glanced at the key, a look of alarm on her face.
"Oh my, don't be afraid. I'm not here to take it from you. Goodness no. You
must take it to Hi'Mtn in Aul'kalee where you'll meet a friend - Robert, I think,
is his name - and together you'll use the key to gain access to the silver way. It
goes to Woren, you know, and there you'll rejoin the Mentat Warrior. Now you
must be off. Dickson! Hurry up." Shebik rose upward with an impatient flick of
his robe.
A pack hurtled down, forcing Shebik to dodge. "Watch it!" A second pack
followed, then Dickson, who had been listening, shoved his legs over the edge
and began to drop hand over hand down the rope. "About time," Shebik said.
"I'm a little slow with this leg of mine," Dickson said. "That can of scrap
metal, as you called it, did some damage before I fricasseed it."
"I almost forgot." Shebik drifted beside Dickson as the grizzled Warrior
lowered himself to the marble floor. "Sit please." Shebik drew a flat bundle
from his robe, snapped it open with a flourish, then examined Dickson's leg.
"Very nice. Very nice." He prodded the half-healed wounds.
"I'm glad you like it," Dickson said dryly.
"You're lucky you were treated by such a skilled Healer." Shebik wrapped

the leg with a thick, malleable band pulled from his bundle. "The bone is
healing nicely, but this will hasten the process. That eye of yours looks like it
took a beating, too. I'll slap a little sticky on it."
"What is this stuff?" Carol asked. "I don't remember anything like this from
my training."
"It wasn't included.. It involves a bit of a trick - something we Mentats use
in special cases." Shebik wrinkled his face in a comical expression and
appeared to be concentrating. The wrapping around Dickson's leg and the
patch over his eye began to glow.
"Feel's good," Dickson said.
"Come on. Can't sit around longer." The wrappings on Dickson's body
shriveled as Shebik glided toward a closed exit that opened before him.
"Follow me."
Dickson tested his weight on his injured leg. The wrapping faded away,
and it was as though he had never been injured. Carol saw his look of
astonishment as Dickson turned toward her, his mouth half open.
"Come on, for goodness sake!" Shebik stamped impatiently. "You act like
you have all the time in the world."
Carol and Dickson grabbed their packs and shrugged into them on the run.
Shebik was well ahead, though easily tracked by the bluish glow from his
robe. He led along a well crafted tunnel, high and wide enough to make
passage easy even for Carol. The tunnel emptied into a large, splendidly
adorned cavern, but Shebik did not slow. He guided them along a trail through
forests of stalagmites beneath curtains of stalactites.
"I need a breather," Carol said after an hour as she puffed up a steep
incline. "Why so fast?"
"We're almost there." Shebik dipped into a small, round passage, his voice
echoing from inside. "Can't stop now. There isn't time."
Dickson scooted into the passage, almost as quick as Shebik, but Carol
was forced to her knees. "Couldn't you find a bigger passage?" she asked.
Dickson was nearly out of sight.
"Wait for me." Carol felt the bite of sandstone against her palms.
"We're in time, I think," she heard Shebik say somewhere ahead. The low
tunnel ended abruptly, and she crawled into a wider space where Shebik and
Dickson were waiting.
"You know the way from here," Shebik said. "Good luck!" He darted into a
small round hole and disappeared.

Carol stared. "What does he mean, we know the way? Where are we?"
"Where we started. Take a look."
Carol followed Dickson's pointing finger and saw her mark scratched
above the passage into which Shebik had just vanished. It was her first marker
- made when they began their trip.
"Come on," Dickson said. "I hear something."
They hurried. A metallic ticking came from the bronze door ahead. Dickson
drew his knife and began to tap. "Get ready," he said. "Yakisha is there. When
the door opens, it'll only be for a moment."
Blinding light poured into the tunnel. Carol and Dickson lunged through the
opening, their eyes tightly shut against the daylight they had not seen for a
week. They sprawled on the stone ledge as the great bronze door slammed
behind them.
"You made it," Yakisha cried. "I so frightened I never see you again."
Carol and Dickson climbed to their feet and began dancing in circles,
hugging the startled girl.
***
"Renegades found camp three day ago," Yakisha said. "Too many to fight.
Not see me; I stay in rocks until leave. They take horven, but I hide supplies."
"Thank God, they didn't get you," Dickson said. "You did the right thing. If
they had gotten you, all would have been lost."
"I sorry lose horven. But I take you south, to forest. Then home, east
Zenker's. Hunting good, find water. Father give horven."
***
Dickson, of course, did not mind being afoot. To him the loss of the horven
was no more than a minor setback. Carol found it annoying, though she
adapted. After all, she told herself, she had walked everywhere with the
partners when they first came to Faland. Yakisha found it the most troubling for
she had practically been born on a horven and had learned to ride before she
had learned to walk. Her feet soon grew sore and her legs wearied.
"Glad we get back," she repeated as she guided them across the broad
plain bordering Great Barrier Cliff then through mixed deciduous and conifer
trees east of the farmlands. It took four days. Yakisha ran the last steps, and
was greeted by her father who was waiting for them.
"How you know we come today?" Yakisha asked as her father wrapped her
in a berven hug.
"Young man, Korvu, come."

"Korvu?" Carol looked startled. "I know Korvu."

"Father, meet friends," Yakisha cried. "Dickson, Carol. My father, Yakin."
Dickson and Yakin clasped arms. Yakin was hardly bigger than Dickson
and almost as grizzled, with a mat of red-brown hair that hung to his shoulders
and a face drowned in a swirl of whiskers. "I have something for you," he told
Carol as he led them toward the farm house. A boy darted from the house. He
and Yakisha collided in a hug, and Yakisha introduced her brother, Yavel.
"Bring horven, Yavel," Yakin said. "Let our guests see."
The boy raced toward the stable and returned leading two magnificent
animals.
Dickson gave a low whistle. "Beautiful horven. I don't think I've seen any
finer."
"Blue for Carol," Yakin said.
Carol felt her heart leap as Yavel handed her the lead, his brown face
beaming. The mare came to her as though they had always been together, and
nuzzled her cheek.
"For me?"
"Korvu say you need," Yakin answered.
Carol felt tears sting her eyes. She began to stroke the mare's neck, then ran
her hands through the animal's thick, soft mane, and along her shoulder. "She's
the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Blue, like morning mist. Does she have
a name?"
"No," Yakin said.
"Blue Mist. I'll call her Blue Mist."
***
Carol and Dickson stayed at Yakin's ranch for a day, recuperating and
replenishing their supplies. Blue Mist, and a dappled mare given to Dickson,
came with saddles and replacements for the weaponry and other gear lost to
the renegades at Great Barrier Cliff.
Over Yakin's protest, Yakisha declared her intention to continue serving as
their Scout. Only after much argument did she accede to her father's wishes and
agree to take them only as far as Oasif. Yavel begged to come, too, but not yet
being sixteen with the right to choose, had to obey Yakin and remain behind.
The trio started early, after tearful farewells between Yakisha and her brother
and father.
Dickson mounted his horven.
"You're getting lazy, I see," Carol said. "I thought you always walked."

"Not always," Dickson said, looking uncomfortable. "I rode before."

"Only when the going got rough. It's that new mare, isn't it? You've taken to
her."
"I trust her. Lady Easy isn't going to go off half-cocked every time some
little thing comes along."
Carol laughed. "I know what you mean. A day with Blue Mist and it seems
like we were made for each other."
"Let's not set here flapping our gums," Dickson said. "You about ready,
Yakisha?"
The girl gave her brother a last hug, then mounted and took the pack-string
lead. They headed west into low, brush covered hills. Yakisha pushed hard and
did not let up until they were many legons on their way. Half a day took them to
Zenker's, where they paused for a quick meal. The rotund Zenker warned them
that news of their success at Hole-in-the-Wall had spread and caught the
attention of some not so savory characters. "Watch your backs," she said as
they were leaving. "There's more depending on your mission than you know."
Later, Carol asked Dickson, "What did she mean, there's more depending
on our mission than we know?"
"I've no idea, but like I said before, things are changing in Faland."
West of Zenker's Keep the travelers settled into an easy, rapid pace that
soon had the legons rolling under their horven's hooves. Clouds built in the
afternoon, and a dash of rain took the edge off the heat. When they were ready
to stop for the evening, the clouds had broken. Yakisha detoured a quarter
legon to a camp established for travelers. A shelter, currently unoccupied,
stood by a well where fresh water was available.
Although they were the only campers, they set their tents well away from
the shelter. Dickson seemed unusually nervous and, though they were still in
farmland, insisted they keep a watch through the night. "We need to keep our
guard up. We'll be back in renegade country in a few days," he said.
Next day, a little after noon they approached an inn. "Huggen's Hole,"
Dickson said, reining up in front of a large, handsomely appointed two-story
log structure. "It's not late enough to stop for the night, but this is the last place
to get water before Biclif, and Biclif's too far to make before night. "
Yakisha said, "We can stay with friend, ten legons. Plenty water."
Carol remembered Jason was supposed to meet someone at Huggen's Hole.
She toyed with going in and inquiring, but thought better of it. She decided it
best not to call attention to a connection between herself and him.

From Huggen's Hole, a road went north toward Biclif, but Yakisha
followed it only a short distance before turning northwest onto a little used
farm trail. "Shorter," she said when Dickson frowned. "Friend live this way."
In early evening, they arrived at an isolated farmhouse on a low knoll
amidst a sea of wild-flowers. Cultivated florn abutted the grassland behind the
farmhouse. Two naked girls, about six or seven years old, came out of the
grass. "Yaki! Yaki!" They gyrated excitedly, then caught sight of Carol and
Dickson and rocked back on their heels. They stared open-mouthed as the
travelers reined up in the yard and slid from their mounts.
"Glad you remember me," Yakisha said to the little girls. "Don't be shy.
These friends. Give me hug." The children bounced into Yakisha's arms. "Talii
and Bili," she introduced the girls to Carol and Dickson.
An older boy came out of the farmhouse followed by the children's mother,
a merry woman of middle years and infectious enthusiasm. She descended the
front steps like a roly-poly bear and threw her arms around Yakisha. Carol and
Dickson clasped arms with the boy, Danil, and the woman, Chechil, as Yakisha
introduced them.
"Happy you come." Chechil ordered Danil to take the horven to the corral
and feed and water them. "Stay night?"
"Yes," Yakisha answered. "Sleep stable."
"Almost time evening meal. Yaki help cook." Chechil bustled the trio
toward the farmhouse.
Chechil's husband, Ruan, came in from the fields while the meal was
cooking. After the meal, the girls were sent to bed, and everyone else drifted to
the back porch to talk while the moon rose and frosted the fields with silver.
Next morning, Yakisha hugged and cried as much as she had when leaving
her own family. All that day and part of the next they rode northwest into
increasingly deserted land. Midmorning of the second day, Carol glimpsed the
vast sweep of land north of Great Barrier Cliff, and though they were hundreds
of legons west of Hole-in-the-Wall, the cliff country was instantly familiar. As
they neared Barrier Cliff the land became rockier, poorer, and cut by washes
that drained northward.
"Waydn." Dickson pointed.
Carol stopped atop a small rise. Ahead, the rocky trail swung west and
began to parallel the cliff. Yakisha was in the lead, taking the pack string down
a short switchback into a small gully.
"I don't see anything." Carol squinted in the direction Dickson pointed.

"See the cairn - that little mound half a legon away? It marks the turnoff to
Aul'kalee."
Carol spotted a pile of rocks and nudged Blue Mist forward. She swung
into the gully behind Yakisha. "It's still early. Will we make the bottom of the
cliff by nightfall?"
Dickson laughed. "It'll take two days, minimum. The trail's not long, but it's
slow. There are campgrounds along the way, though."
Carol topped out of the gully and saw Yakisha stopped beside the cairn.
"Not much to show for a major trail junction," Carol said. "You'd think there'd
at least be a sign." Only the worn trace made by other travelers showed that a
trail headed north toward the edge of the cliff a hundred yards away.
"The trail's narrow," Dickson said. "We'll ride single file, Yakisha in the
lead. I'll bring the pack string. Carol, you ride sweep. Let's keep it together; we
don't want any accidents."
They wound through a narrow defile between house-size boulders, then
dropped into a tiny wash that ended abruptly at Great Barrier. Carol saw
Yakisha turn sharply left and disappear. Dickson followed and she saw the
pack animals vanish, one by one, behind Dickson. When she reached the scarp,
her instinct was to grab something, and she almost dropped Blue Mist's reins.
The animal seemed to step into space as they swung around a sandstone
outcrop and tilted onto a steep ledge that angled downward across the cliff.
This is worse than climbing to Hole-in-the-Wall. At least I had my hands
on the rocks there, and wasn't sitting high on the back of a horven.
The trail, mostly shaded, wound around several sandstone flutes, then
passed through a series of small tunnels bored through the rock fins that
projected from the main cliff. Between each tunnel, spidery suspension bridges
carried the trail across deep clefts. Carol's hands began to ache from clenching
Blue Mist's mane. She forced herself to relax, and to take her attention off the
sheer precipice, began to study the trail.
Who maintains it?
The answer was not long coming. She rounded a bend and found Yakisha
and Dickson waiting. A workman motioned her onto a leveled surface. Other
workers were clearing rocks from the trail. Carol reined up behind the pack
string and dismounted, relieved to have her feet on the ground again.
"Shouldn't be long," Dickson said. "A rock fall, but the trail is mostly clear
now. They'll let us through in a few minutes."
Carol watched the crew lever a huge boulder off the trail and send it

crashing into the abyss. "I hope that didn't fall on somebody's head."
Dickson laughed. "There's no trail below this stretch. There are places,
though, where the trail switches back, and they sometimes have to haul rocks
for legons to find a safe place to dump them."
"Who keeps the trail open?"
"It's a contract job. Headquarters are in Biclif. I worked with a trail crew
about ten years ago, when I got tired of warring. I gave it up after a few weeks.
The pay's good, but the work's harder than I care for. There's a worker's camp
four or five legons farther along and a campground for travelers. We'll stay
there tonight."
A lean, deeply browned native man in leather trousers and vest and
wearing leather gauntlets on his hands, approached. He looked not much
beyond his teens, but already had the tough-muscled look of one used to long
hours of hard labor. He spoke amiably. "Follow. Walk horven."
The trail crew, covered with sweat and dust, were taking a breather,
leaning on picks and pry bars and watching silently as the travelers passed.
They crossed a temporary timber shoring where Carol was glad to be on foot.
Beyond the slide, they mounted and descended a rocky bench. Scrub had taken
root on the bench and in places had grown into small trees. Carol relaxed on
the wider trail and studied the vast northern desert. It stretched as far as she
could see, an unending ocean of sand and alkali dotted with occasional islands
of rocky hills.
Near sundown they arrived at a steep-walled side canyon with a flat, sandy
floor. They turned in, following a well-worn trail that meandered up the
canyon, occasionally crossing a tiny stream. The trail took them past the
worker's camp, a collection of multi-story stone buildings tucked against the
cliff, then up canyon to the traveler's campground in a small meadow. They
dismounted where a stone-lined basin collected water pouring from a cleft,
then overflowed into the small creek.
It was late when the travelers set up their tents and built a small cooking
fire. After eating, they turned in quickly, anticipating an early start next day.
Dickson took first watch and woke Carol at midnight. She crawled out of her
blankets, grousing at having pulled mid-shift, and stumbled to the fire.
Hunching near the warmth, she looked up sleepily at a vast circle of stars
neatly outlined in the space between the canyon rims. Though the moon was up,
the canyon walls kept out stray moon-glint, and the stars burned like specks of
blue phosphor.

As she studied the sky, she noticed a shadow, briefly outlined at the
canyon's lip. It was gone almost before it registered, but as she watched, it
came and disappeared again. The shadow, a subtle darkness in the paler night,
came and went several times. She heard a soft thump and came more fully
alert. Though she saw nothing, she felt prickling at the nape of her neck.
"Dickson," she hissed.
She heard a whine, ducked, and felt something brush her head. She dived
away from the fire, grabbing her sword where she had laid it near to hand. A
horven whinnied. A black form appeared in front of her, a sword winking in its
hand. She brought her own sword up. Steel rattled on steel.
"Yaki! Behind you!" Carol heard Dickson yell.
A second swordsman, dressed in black, came at Carol from the side. She
parried, her senses fully roused, flicking her sword between opponents as
delicately as if stitching wounds. She heard a muffled yell, then Dickson was
beside her. Seconds later, the dark forms melted into the shadows. Dickson lit
a lamp.
"What were those?" Carol's eyes were wide. Blood streaked her arm.
"Darc'un!" Yakisha cried.
"Renegades," said Dickson. "Is everybody all right?"
Carol checked their wounds and found no serious damage. Dickson
followed a blood trail to the cliff, then upward with his eyes. "They lowered
themselves by ropes. There's an old trail from above into this inner gorge. It
was used to bring down construction materials while Waydn was being built.
Later it was abandoned, but it's still useable. I checked it out when I worked
here. Apparently our night visitors were also aware of it."
"I'm surprised renegades would attack so close to the worker's camp,"
Carol said.
"It's not usual," Dickson said. "We were targeted. Someone knew we were
here."
"Darc'un," Yakisha said again, her eyes large and full of fear.
"What is this Darc'un you're rattling on about? Shebik talked about Darc'un.
Is this another of those Faland myths that's not a myth?"
"Maybe," Dickson said. "Darc'un supposedly defeated King Mordat in the
demon wars, before the Faland Master drove him into the northern
wastelands."
"Oh, great. Isn't Oasif in the northern wastelands?"
"Oasif is not that far north," Dickson said.

"Darc'un here," Yakisha said, shuddering.

"Those were renegades," Dickson reiterated. "And they got a good taste of
our swords. They won't be back."
After the attack, it was hard to sleep so they built up the fire, cooked
breakfast, and talked until dawn brought enough light to get back on the trail.
As they wound lower, the temperature rose, and it began to feel hot even in the
shade. They did not stop for lunch, but ate while riding, not even pausing to
rest the horven.
Near the cliff bottom, the trail switch backed onto steep talus, then onto dry
brush-covered slopes in full sunlight. Dust, kicked up by the horven hooves,
caught in their sweat and grimed their bodies. They reached the bottom of the
slope and rode onto the flat alkali plain just as the sun touched the horizon.
"Aul'kalee," Dickson announced grimly.
"Camp this way." Yakisha directed them to a side trail.
"We better steer clear of the camp," Dickson said. "We can find a place in
the desert. Safer that way, even if we won't be near water."
They spent a restless night in a boulder field half a legon from the main
trail. By morning it had cooled and was almost brisk when they broke camp
and rode to the traveler's campground to fill their canteens. "Won't be any
water until Oasid," Dickson warned. "Drink your fill and make sure all the
canteens are full."
"What about the horven?" Carol stroked Blue Mist's thick mane.
"Horven strong," Yakisha said. "Drink much. Travel long between water."
"She's right," Dickson said. "Horven are like camels; they can go days
between watering, even longer between feeds."
***
For three days the trio moved northward into the vastness of Aul'kalee.
They followed a faint trace across flat alkali pans so bright in the midday sun
they were forced to wrap their eyes with leather goggles in which tiny holes
had been pricked. They shrouded themselves in heavy, loose fitting capes, and
Carol and Dickson reduced their armor to a bare minimum. In the hottest part
of the afternoon, they stopped and stretched canvas over poles and took shelter
in the shade. They moved again only after nightfall brought a measure of cool
to the desert.
Twice they passed caravans headed toward Waydn. The caravaners
warned them of hyen, but they did not see any. Just past sunup on the fourth day,
they arrived at a shimmering patch of green that appeared to float on a sea of

white sand.
"Oasib," Yakisha said, her face creased in a wide grin.
The torrid heat moderated in the shade of tall thickbark trees that bore a
canopy of green fronds a hundred feet above. As they entered the settlement,
they rode past a shaded pool with water as blue as the sky. A dozen naked
children were swimming, cavorting in water only a few feet deep. Around the
pool, tree-studded green turf eased their eyes.
Carol mopped sweat from her face and grinned. "Looks like a country club.
First time I've seen anything in Faland resembling a lawn."
"The water looks mighty inviting," Dickson noted as he folded his leather
goggles.
"Camp in trees." Yakisha pointed to a grove of thickbarks.
Carol felt quickening in Blue Mist as the mare sensed water. A caravan
was already camped among the trees, but there was room for a dozen more like
it, and Dickson picked a deserted spot near the campground's edge. They
unpacked the string, then led the animals to a watering trough.
"We'll be here a few days," Dickson said, while the horven dipped their
muzzles. "It'll take time for the horven to rehydrate and eat enough to be ready
for the desert again. While you and Yakisha set up camp, Carol, I'll register
with the Townmaster. When the horven finish, take them to the paddock. You'll
find boys there to look out for them. And don't worry," Dickson noted the look
on Carol's face, "Blue Mist will be safe; this is a protected camp and nobody
will steal anything."
After the heat and dust of Aul'kalee, the shaded camp was welcome.
Yakisha and Carol turned the horven over to the paddock boys, then put up
their tents, bought some firewood from a shop near the camp, and ambled
across the green to the pool.
The town's squat stone buildings stood a few hundred yards away, and
Yakisha decided she would rather renew an old acquaintance than stop by the
pool. She went on while Carol strolled toward the water. She did not strip for
a swim, but stooped in shallow water and washed away the worst of her trail
dust. While she rinsed, she watched the children, then sought the shade of a
tree and lay down to dry in the arid desert breeze. When she returned to camp,
Dickson was there but not Yakisha.
"Won't be much to do for the next few days," Dickson told her. "Good
chance to polish up our fighting skills. How about a little sparring?"
"You must be hard up for practice if you want to polish your skills against a

level one Warrior."

Dickson grinned. "I've got something for you." He held out his hand. "I
picked these up in town." He dropped a pair of emblems into her palm.
"Barcoms?" she said.
"Beats me how news gets around. Maybe Shebik said something, I don't
know. But these are your reward for quarreling with Ixta in Hole-in-the-Wall."
"Level four? I'm not sure I like this. I never fancied myself a Warrior."
Dickson shook his head. "Strange words after the way I've seen you handle
a sword. Anyway, I wouldn't mind a few rounds with you; that is if you're up
for it. Keep our arms in shape if nothing else. It's been days since I've last
swung a sword, and that against a bunch of renegades that retreated without
much of a fight."
Carol shrugged. "Might as well go a round or two." She took up her sword
and soon found herself sparring with as fine a swordsman as she had ever
encountered. As they kicked up dust in a makeshift kom, a crowd of excited
children gathered, and a few adults as well. Later, Dickson unfurled his kalard
and amused the crowd by snapping sticks set in the sand two and three hundred
feet away. Carol began to understand why the small Warrior rated level seven.
As the afternoon wore, Carol began to worry about Yakisha. She returned
to the pool to wash off the layer of sweat and grime accumulated during
practice with Dickson, then went into town to look for the girl.
Yakisha must have had a lot of catching up to do with her old friend.
Probably lost track of time.
Oasib consisted of a handful of stone buildings scattered along a dusty
street shaded by thickbark trees. Behind the shops on either side, a sprawl of
lesser buildings comprised the residential district. Carol found a small
mercantile and went in.
"Your friend was in here earlier," the shopkeeper, a small wiry man with a
face shades darker than average, observed after listening to Carol's
description. "Can't say I remember her saying where she was headed, though."
Carol wandered down the street and discovered that Yakisha had visited
two other shops, but no one seemed to know the friend she said she was
seeking. Carol decided to pay the Klett a visit.
"I'm Arul," a slim woman, half a head taller than Carol, said, "and you're
Carol. How can I help?" She had risen from behind a small desk in the
cramped Klett's office and extended a thin arm that looked almost frail.
However, when Carol clasped arms, she was surprised by the power that met

her grip.
"I know Yakisha," Arul said after Carol explained. "She rode out with
Rugo several hours ago, headed west, probably toward Hisan, a spring where
Rugo keeps company with a few other desert bums."
"I don't understand. She didn't say anything about going someplace."
"I wouldn't be too alarmed. Yakisha and Rugo met years ago when the old
rogue saved her and her father from a hyen ambush. They're probably just
catching up an old friendship."
Carol thanked Arul and left the Klett's office, but she was frowning. The
sun had dropped and the air had lost the intense heat of midday. She hurried
back to camp. When she told Dickson, he agreed with Arul and added that
Yakisha probably assumed that since they were laying over for a few days, she
was on her own and did not need to explain her plans. Carol was not
convinced, but when she visited Blue Mist and learned from the paddock boys
that Yakisha had rented a horven for a few days, she concluded Dickson and
Arul were probably right.
Three days later when Yakisha had still not returned, even Dickson began
to fret. "The horven are rested. It's time we were on our way."
"Maybe we ought to ride out to Hisan?"
"It'll take a day over and back, but maybe you're right."
That evening, Dickson and Carol cooked their meal early, planning to turn
in right away to be up early for their ride to Hisan. As Carol scraped the last of
the kurduc from the stew pot and prepared to douse the fire, she heard someone
approach.
"What, ho!" Dickson called as a man emerged from the shadows, his
saffron robe glowing in firelight that glinted from the gold, silver, and
turquoise band that bound his hair.
"Korvu?" Carol nearly dropped the stew pot.
"It's good to see you again." Korvu advanced with a smile of genuine
delight. Then his demeanor changed. "I'm afraid I have unwelcome news.
There's new urgency to your mission. You must leave here tonight."
"Oh really." Dickson's voice held an edge. "I don't know you. Who gives
you the authority to order us to hasty action?"
"It's okay, Dickson. Korvu is from the Master." Carol put a restraining hand
on Dickson's shoulder. "He gave me my summons."
Dickson's eyes narrowed. "Maybe so, but leaving tonight?"
"Dickson's right; we can't go," Carol told Korvu. "We're traveling with a

friend, Yakisha. You sent her to guide me and she's missing. We must look for
her."
"The Master has summoned Yakisha to other duties. She's with good
friends and won't accompany you further."
"But she knows the way to Oasif," Dickson said. "Neither Carol nor I have
ever been there."
"I've a map for you, Dickson. But not to Oasif. You must go directly to
Hi'Mtn."
"Robert!" Carol cried. "Shebik told me to meet him at Hi'Mtn. Is something
wrong? Is that why we must go so quickly?"
"Robert is okay, but he needs your help. Don't tarry. I've already told the
lads at the paddock to prepare your animals."
Within the hour, Carol and Dickson found themselves once more pounding
their way northeast, ever deeper into the great desert of Aul'kalee.

PART TEN: THE TOWERS OF EYRIE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

With the rising sun at his back, Jason sat on his horven outside the gate of
Forod and stared along the road down which John had just disappeared. He
tried to swallow the lump that had grown unexpectedly in his throat. With a
sigh, he turned to read again the sign near the gate. Engar had told him
Huggen's Hole, his destination, was north of Forod. The nearest thing in that
direction was an inn 68 legons away.
"I'll start there," he told himself, then patted his horven's neck. "Looks like
it's going to be a long day, Smoke. Guess we'd better get started."
The shaggy animal moved out eagerly, refreshed after a night of grazing on
Forod's green, and soon settled into a swift ground-covering rhythm. As the sun
rose and the air warmed, Jason peeled to his ukeln, letting the movement of air
against his skin soothe him. He rode hard, keeping his mind mostly blank,
watching, absorbing information about the countryside, but carefully not
thinking lest he be overcome by loneliness.
Near noon the road entered a patch of low hills and wound among willen
and oaken trees, then dipped and crossed a stone bridge over a wide, slow
stream. He nudged Smoke down the shady embankment beside the bridge.
Frogens jumped as he approached the water. Dismounting, he eased to the
flow's edge where a pool, deep and cool, lay in the dark shadow beneath the
bridge. The frogens, mottled green, stroked away through clear water.
"Perfect for a swim!"
He led Smoke to the water and held the reins while the horven drank, then
picketed him in lush greenery. Slipping off his mokads and ukeln, he splashed
into the stream. The water felt cool, and he sank to his neck, then pushed away,
following the frogens.
Swimming relaxed him at first, then he thought about skinny-dipping with
Linda and the others and the lump returned to his throat. He stroked
downstream into dappled sunlight and pulled himself onto a flat rock in midstream. As he turned to seat himself, he was startled to see a girl standing on

the bank. His mouth dropped open. She was smiling from a round dark face,
and there was an amused glint in her brown eyes. He blushed.
Before he knew what she was doing, she untied her tunic, swept it over her
head, and splashed into the stream. "I like to swim! Will you swim with me?"
She waded toward his rock, looking at him with eyes bright as an otter's.
Jason gaped stupidly. Her russet hair, bound by a green headband, her
tawny face the color of ripe florn, and her smile so bright it lit the shadows,
took his breath away. The girl's smile changed to a frown. "You're a strange
boy." She reached a brown hand to touch his arm. "Your skin is the color of
honey. What's your name?"
His heart fluttered. "J...Jason."
"Jason! Jason!" the girl chanted, churning up spouts of water that spattered
his body. "I'm Kilia. I just knew I would find you! I told Ru so! You're the one
sent by the Master, aren't you?" She put her small hands flat on the rock, pushed
hard and heaved her body out of the water. Jason hugged his knees to his chest,
his face feeling hot as sunlight when Kilia's bare body settled next to his. When
his shoulder touched hers, he flinched like he had touched a live electric wire.
"This is wonderful, don't you think?" She swung her feet in the water, her
voice as sprightly as the stream bubbling around the rocks. She did not sit still
a minute, but shouted, "Come on! Let's swim!" and gave Jason a shove that
toppled him sideways into the water. She slid in, laughing, and whipped water
at him with her hands.
Jason spluttered and swam away. Kilia followed, sending water over his
shoulders. Jason regained his senses and palmed water back at her. They
frolicked like frogens. Kilia ducked under and grabbed Jason's feet. When he
doubled to catch her, she came up and thumped him on the back, twisting like a
fish, as elusive as an eel. He tried to catch her but might as well have tried to
catch quicksilver. She half-drowned him in fountains of water. Breathless, they
climbed from the stream and shook water from their hair. They found a patch of
sun and sat together to dry off.
"How did you know about me?" Jason asked, at ease now. "Who sent you
to look for me?"
"Ru. She heard about you from the Master. I'll take you to her."
"I'm on my way to Huggen's Hole."
"Not any more. I'm the one you were to meet. I told Ru I could find you on
the road, and I did. I have something for you." Kilia sprang up, impetuous as a
rabir, and ran to her tunic. She was back in a flash. "It's from the Master!"

Jason took a small glass cylinder from Kilia and turned it in his hand. He
recognized the Master's seal.
"Open it," Kilia said.
"Do you know what's in it?"
"Partly, but not all. I'm to take you to Ru."
"Who's Ru?"
"Why don't you open it?" Kilia asked, her voice emphatic with impatience.
"I'm going to get dressed. You can read it in private." She walked toward her
tunic, but kept glancing back.
Jason broke the seal and worked loose a wooden stopper. A curl of paper
popped up. He read, "Three songs of Eyrie open the way. Kilia will guide and
Xar'van will protect. A crystal chamber cradles an opaline scimitar. Take it to
Woren and place it in the only hand that can wield it."
Jason's heart began to thump. It was true! He was on a real quest! A quest
with songs, and a crystal chamber, and a prize he had to find.
Kilia had dressed and was watching him soberly.
"Where's Eyrie?" he asked.
"Eyrie? Is that where you're going? It's a long way! North and west in
Aul'kalee between the Golden Horns."
"You must take me there."
Kilia's eyes got large and her mouth rounded. "Oh, I can't! I have to take
you to Ru. Besides, it's much too far."
Jason folded the message and got to his feet, brushing grass and twigs from
his skin. "Are you a Song-master?"
"I'm learning. Ru is teaching me."
Jason wound his ukeln around his waist and pulled on his mokads. "Where
do I find Ru?"
Kilia smiled. "I'll show you!" She darted away, ducked under the bridge,
and splashed through a shallow near the stream bank. "Hurry! Follow me!"
Jason scrambled onto Smoke. He saw Kilia running ahead. "Wait!" Kilia
was out of sight among willen trees that lined the stream, but she stopped and
Jason found her. "Ride with me," Jason called.
Kilia took his hand, and he pulled her up behind him on Smoke's broad
back.
"Oh, this is fun," she cried. "Let's gallop!"
"Don't be silly. We can't gallop in the scrub. Are we to follow the stream?"
"There's a trail over there." Kilia pointed toward a stand of tall oaken.

Jason guided Smoke into open vegetation, then to a broad trail that ran west
among the trees.
"Now we can gallop!" Kilia bounced against Jason's back, her arms
wrapped tightly around his waist. Jason kicked Smoke's flanks and the horven
lumbered ahead. Kilia laughed and shrieked as they dashed through the trees.
They topped a rocky ridge and the trail dropped abruptly. Jason hauled on the
reins. They sat panting, Smoke's flanks heaving, and looked across rolling hills
garbed in soft green. All around they could see the vastness of Faland's
farmland stretching to the limits of vision.
"It's beautiful," Jason murmured. "We're sitting on an island of hills in an
ocean of grass."
"Its Ruvendale," Kilia whispered, leaning across Jason's back, speaking
into his ear.
He nudged Smoke and they descended alongside the stream that was
bubbling and singing over a bed of water-smoothed stones. They forded and
entered a meadow of tall grass and sky-blue flowers where a cottage nestled.
Kilia slipped from Smoke's rump and scampered up a path toward the cottage.
"Ru! He's here! Jason's here!"
Jason's heart skipped at the gladness he heard in Kilia's voice. A young
woman, an older version of Kilia, came to the cottage door. She was as full of
bustle as her daughter, though she walked with a limp and leaned on a heavy
cane. "Jason! Friend! Welcome! We've a paddock out back where you can put
your horven. Roben and Yen will show you."
Two boys, brown and bare and robust, half Kilia's age, tumbled out of the
house and swarmed around Jason like two bees. "Come. We show!" Their
voices laughed as musically as Kilia's.
"Hurry!" Ru called. "I've honey-cake and sparkle inside! We'll eat and we
can talk."
The boys, orange hair to their shoulders, eyes as big as cups, and bodies
dark as rich loam, reminded Jason of puppies. He could not help laughing as
they trundled him along, tumbling and chattering as they went. He followed,
tugging on Smoke's lead, and when the stallion was safely in the paddock, and
florn measured for his supper, and plenty of cold water for him in a huge
wooden trough, Jason followed the boys back to the house.
When he stepped in, Jason felt as though entering a Fairy Tale cottage. Two
broad windows, of irregularly sized glass panes, let in a flood of light, and
flowers sprouted from boxes on the sills. Looking out was like looking through

a garden. Pictures of flowers, red-birds, and squir and rabir hung on the walls.
A stove, cluttered with pots and knives, cups and forks, kettles and pans, stood
in one corner with a huge vase of fresh daisies on a shelf above it.
Yen and Roben flopped onto a thick rug, made of colored cloth scraps, and
twined themselves around each other like kittens. Ru, seated at a small table
covered with a checked cloth and set with plates of cakes and fruits and
coppery cups of mint-smelling drog, beckoned to him. Kilia was resting on her
knees on a chair pulled up to the table, her elbows planted next to her plate.
Ru said, "Please, sit down. Eat with us."
"Yes, yes," Kilia said, as impatient as she had been on the ride. "We can't
begin until you sit down and I'm ravenous."
"Kilia!" Ru admonished.
"Well, I am," Kilia said, and hardly had Jason's rear hit the chair before
she took a huge bite from a honey-cake.
"We want some, too!" Yen and Roben pleaded.
Ru shook her head. "Children! A body would think you've never been fed!"
She portioned honey-cake and wooden tumblers of sparkling drog to the boys.
"Take it outside." They tumbled out so fast Jason wondered they did not spill
all their drink.
"Now it's time we talk," Ru said to Jason.
"You're a Song-master." Jason chewed slowly, savoring his honey-cake as
he studied the golden emblem on Ru's headband. It was an uff, seventh level.
His heart rattled at the thought of the new songs he could learn from a seventh
level Song-master.
Ru smiled. "As are you. Marov has told me you are suited to learn the
songs of Eyrie."
"Me, too!" Kilia said. "I want to learn the songs of Eyrie!"
"And you will," Ru told her. "But not now. You are beginning. There's
much else to learn first."
"What are the songs of Eyrie?" Jason asked. "Eyrie is a place, I think.
Somewhere I'm supposed to go."
"Oh, they're the most beautiful songs!" Kilia cried. "They are songs that
shake your heart!"
"They have great power," Ru agreed, "but they're not easy to sing. You'll
need to work hard and bring to bear all your skill to learn them. There are only
three I've been told you must know. They aren't long, but they have a subtlety
you may find difficult to grasp."

"I want to learn," Jason said. "I love all songs and these sound exciting, but
why do I need to know them? What are they for?"
"Well," lines deepened across Ru's forehead, "this may sound strange, but I
don't really know what purpose they hold for you. These songs are very old
and are sung in Eyrie at festival and at times of celebration to honor our past
and preserve old traditions. For you, I'm told, their meaning will be clear only
when they are needed."
"I'll need them in Eyrie. Kilia is supposed to guide me there."
"It's true then," Ru said, sadness suddenly in her face. "I thought it might be.
Kilia is to go in my stead."
"You mean the Master didn't tell you? Kilia didn't know she was my guide,
either, until I read my message. Why does Eyrie make you sad?"
"It's not Eyrie that makes me sad, but that Eyrie lies so far away, in
Aul'kalee between the Golden Horns."
"Kilia mentioned Golden Horns, but where is Aul'kalee?"
"Northwest, many hundred legons, by the secret trail. I should lead you but
my leg is no good." Ru thumped her bad leg angrily. "Hasn't been since I fell
four years ago, when I last visited Eyrie, with Kilia at my side though she was
scarce eight years old."
Kilia's eyes had rounded and looked like cups full of sparkle. "Am I really
to go? Am I to go so far and see my friends again? Will I see Khaar-Dan?"
"I expect you will." Ru drew a message cylinder from her gown and gave it
to Kilia. "Doynu left it. I haven't opened it. It will probably explain."
"Doynu! You mean the wonderful boy who told us Jason was coming? Did
he leave it for me?" Kilia plucked open the cylinder and read with eager haste.
"It is true! I am to go to Eyrie with Jason! But who is Xar'van? It says
Xar'van will go with us also."
"Yes, Xar'van will protect us," Jason said. "It said so in my message."
Ru looked puzzled. "There's no Xar'van in Eyrie and no one of that name in
Ruvendale. Where are you to meet this Xar'van?"
"My message doesn't say," Jason said. "Maybe Huggen's Hole?"
"No! No," Kilia said. "I was to meet you at Huggen's Hole; no one else
was to be there! And I'm to take you to Eyrie from here by way of Great Bend
in seven days."
"Only seven days!" Ru rose stiffly from her chair. "My goodness, seven
days? We must begin work at once. Seven days is hardly time to learn the
songs of Eyrie."

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The next week was golden for Jason. He learned the songs of Eyrie with
greater joy than he had ever known, and he fell in love with Ru and Kilia and
the young brothers, Yen and Roben. He slept in the paddock barn near Smoke,
sometimes joined by the little boys. In the mornings, when early light touched
the meadow and its blue flowers blended with the blue sky, he and the brothers
raced from the barn, shedding hay, and joined Kilia running from the cottage.
They tumbled into the cold stream and shouted and spent prodigious energy.
Then they ran, drizzling water, to the house and grabbed towels and rubbed
down and dressed. Inside they ate huge breakfasts of fruit and cake and meat
and hot drog.
After breakfast, Ru hobbled with Jason to a rocky meadow away from the
main green, and on a small hill surrounded by wild flowers, they practiced
songs as beautiful as the countryside, songs that, in Kilia's words, would shake
your heart. Jason found the Crystal Song so sad he could not sing it without
tears, yet the Stone Song was so glad he thought his heart would break with joy
when its melody came out of his mouth. And he thought, if there were angels,
Ru was one for she had the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.
"The titles of the songs are strange," Jason said one day. "Do the songs
have words? Do they have a meaning?"
"Not in the formal sense," Ru said. "These are tonal songs, intended to
evoke feeling, but there is a transliteration. The words are never sung, but refer
perhaps to the purpose of the songs."
"Could they be song keys? Maybe they open doors somewhere?"
"I've never known them sung for that purpose. Most people find in the
songs only the pleasure of singing and the joy of hearing."
"Tell me the words."
"There are only a few words for each song. They are, as I've already said,
a transliteration, not sung, but serving only as explanation."
"Tell me anyway. I want to know everything about these songs. What about
the Stone Song? What words go with it?"
Ru's brow knotted. "I think they go something like this: Sing, sing, and the
light shall give way. Sing, sing, and the light shall return."
"Is that all? The song seems much longer than that."

"I told you, the words are not the song."

"What does it mean, the light shall give way, the light shall return. It doesn't
make sense."
"Maybe it does," Ru said. "We sing it in Eyrie at the sun festival. It puts the
sun to rest in the evening and awakens it again in the morning. It is a song of
great joy and the people of Eyrie find great joy in the sun."
"I guess that could make sense, but why isn't it called the Sun Song?"
"You ask too many questions."
"What about the other songs? Do you know their words too?"
"The Servant Song, which is very cheerful, is explained like this: Good
servant, I need your help. Your back is broad, your strength is great. Carry,
carry, oh please carry me. When my task is done, I'll call again. Stand fast by
me, good servant."
Jason looked thoughtful. "It has more words, yet the music is not longer.
Are there servants in Eyrie?"
"We are all servants of the Master," Ru chided. "The song is about all of
us. It celebrates work and duty."
Jason nodded. "I see these songs do have a purpose, but I don't see what
I'm supposed to do with them."
"Nor do I," Ru admitted, "but you wanted the words to all the songs. Here
are the words to the last, the Crystal Song: Unbroken light, shining bright.
Through the crystal, shining bright. From high above, shining bright. Show me
the way, shining bright."
"When is it sung? It's such a sad song."
"It's sung when someone dies, or when someone leaves on a long journey.
I'll sing it for you when you leave Ruvendale."
The day soon did come for Jason to leave Ruvendale. "I wish our visit was
just beginning," he said, his voice low with sadness, "and we had this past
week ahead of us."
Ru hugged him. "You'll be back soon, you and my Kilia." She pulled her
daughter into her embrace. "Take care of yourselves. I wish I could go with
you."
"We'll be all right, Mama. I promise."
"I wish Xar'van had come," Ru said. "I wanted to meet your protector
before you left."
"Xar'van will probably meet us outside the farmland," Jason said, trying to
sound knowing. "After all, we're safe in the farmland and don't need protection

here."
"You're both just children," Ru said.
"We're nearly grown, Mama," Kilia said. "The Master called us. We have
to go. Besides we want to go, and Jason is a Warrior, already rated. He's won
battles."
"The foolishness of war brings death even to the most skilled," Ru said, her
tone as somber as her words.
"Engar taught me it's better to avoid fights than to win them," Jason said.
"I'll only fight if I have to." Then he added, "But if I do, I'll win!"
"We've got to go," Kilia said. "I want to be at Nar Spring by nightfall."
"Yes, yes," Ru said. "Away with you, and the Master be with you!"
Jason climbed on Smoke's back and pulled Kilia up. She nestled behind
with her arms around his waist.
"Come on, Boy. Let's go!"
With Yen and Roben running alongside, they headed west. They took their
leave of the little boys at the end of the meadow and swung through the trees
onto a small trail that took them into the farmland. All day they rode north in
weather, mild and sunny, swinging along a stubbled trail. They came to Nar
spring an hour before sunset.
"That's the biggest oaken tree I've ever seen!" Jason caught sight of a giant
tree with its feet in the water and a crown that seemed to span half the
farmland.
Kilia grinned. "It's wonderful for climbing." She slid from Smoke's rump
and darted through packed grass. "I know a way up!"
Jason led Smoke toward a cairn where water bubbled from the stones and
flowed into a drinking bowl, then cascaded into a weedy pond.
"Look at me!"
Jason glanced up to see Kilia swinging high above his head. "How did you
get up so quickly?"
"Over there," Kilia pointed, "where the branches come near the ground.
Jump up, then pull yourself into the tree."
Jason tethered Smoke then followed Kilia into the tree and climbed half a
hundred feet above the farmland. "It's wonderful. I can see forever!"
"There's someone coming!"
Jason saw a tiny rider far out. "He's coming this way."
"We'll have company tonight."
"Maybe it's Xar'van!"

They clambered down and scampered over to stand by Smoke. They were
in the farmland so had no reason to be afraid, yet Jason kept his hand on his
tagan. As the rider neared, he appeared a most peculiar creature. At first Jason
thought he was a child riding a misshapen pony, then realized he was a
diminutive, gnome-like man, with a dark face, riding the smallest, knobbiest
horven Jason had ever seen.
Rider and horven ambled to a stop and the gnome, with bald brown head,
bushy gray eyebrows, and eyes that pierced like gimlets, announced himself
imperiously. "I am Xar'van, seeking two at Nar." His voice sounded like
frogens piping. Jason stifled a laugh. The little man did not seem to notice but
continued, "Their names are Jason and Kilia; do you know them?"
"I'm Jason and this is Kilia. Are you Xar'van? We were expecting a
Warrior, sent by the Master to protect us."
Xar'van's bushy brows shot up. "You're Jason and Kilia? You're children!
Things must be coming to a pretty pass if the Master must reach so far down in
the barrel for help these days!"
Jason's cheeks warmed. "You should talk!"
Xar'van half-slid, half-rolled from his horven and almost disappeared in
the lush vegetation. "Have you proof of identity?" His head barely stuck above
the tufts. "I'll need proof before I tender my services."
Jason laughed as the gnome pushed through the verdure, tugging awkwardly
on the lead of his small horven. "If you're Xar'van, I think Kilia and I will be
better served taking care of ourselves. I think my tagan a better weapon than
anything you might offer."
"Bold words, and foolish. Surely you can't be Jason. I hardly think the
Master would send one so ignorant and vain on such an important mission."
"Now just a minute," Jason said. "I am Jason, and I'm on the Master's
business; I have a paper."
"Let me see." Xar'van parted fronds and waddled onto the packed grass
near the spring. He turned his horven off to drink from the pond.
"If we show you ours, you must show us proof too," Kilia said. "Jason's
right; you don't look like a Warrior."
"Who said anything about a Warrior?" Xar'van squeaked. "Warriors aren't
so mighty much. Don't be so quick to judge." He reached a tiny hand into his
tunic. A barely discernable flick of his wrist was followed by a light, stabbing
outward. A hundred feet away, a hanging limb as thick as a man's arm
exploded, sending wood splinters upward like a fountain.

Jason's eyes widened. "You're a Mentat!"

"There you go again, judging. Mentat! Humph!" He scrunched up his nose
and drew his brows into a fierce gray line above his eyes. "But perhaps I've
been quick to judge as well. Here's my copy of the Master's seal; if you're who
you say you are, show me yours."
Jason and Kilia took out their message cylinders.
"Well, well," Xar'van muttered, "surprises all around. I suppose there's
more to you than meets the eye."
Jason blushed. "I guess not much as a Warrior. Even with my best stroke,
my tagan could not break an oaken branch, as you just did."
"Jason is a Song-master," Kilia said with a note of pride, "and I'm learning
too."
"So I see from your headbands. Well, let's not just stand here. We've a
camp to assemble. We can get better acquainted over food and drink."
***
Xar'van, though irascible, proved an able cook and a voluble companion.
As they got to know each other, he supplied an inexhaustible stream of
information about the plants and animals of Faland with special reference to
their edible qualities. Jason wondered how such a small person could be so
passionate about eating.
They ambled slowly northward, through sparsely populated farmland, their
pace set by Xar'van's horven which he refused to ride faster than a walk. He
called the diminutive animal Thistle, appropriately for the creature's
disposition was as prickly as its owner's. Jason did not mind the slow pace
for, as he warmed to Xar'van, he enthusiastically absorbed the Faland lore his
protector so willingly shared. When he was not learning, he dearly loved
galloping ahead with Kilia, to scout the way. Four days beyond Nar Spring,
they caught their first glimpse of Great Barrier Cliff and the sea of sand and
alkali that lay beyond.
"Aul'kalee!" Xar'van pointed with his small fist. "We'll soon be at Great
Barrier. It's no longer safe to ride off by yourselves. As your protector, I must
insist you stay close from here on."
"I've been here before," Kilia said. "I don't remember any great danger."
"Renegades move more freely than they used to," Xar'van said, then added
ominously, "and there are darker forces afoot."
"Darker forces?" Jason was instantly all ears. "Is something happening? Is
that why we're on this mission?"

"Just heed my words; stay close and let me do my job."

Grass gave way to scrub as the trio turned west along the brink of Great
Barrier, following a well worn track. Steep, sheer-walled canyons cut deep
indentations that carried runoff north over the cliff. The trail crossed the
narrower of these on stone bridges or descended winding switchbacks to fords
in the broader gorges. Where that was not possible, the trail detoured south,
skirting the most treacherous canyons. On such a cut-back, Kilia found a lively
spring near the head of a pleasant canyon.
"It's a good campsite," she said, "and it's almost sundown."
They tethered Smoke and Thistle near the spring, and Jason climbed to the
rim to look for firewood while Kilia and Xar'van put up their tents and built a
fireplace. He went farther than intended. Just as the sun sank, to sit like half a
ripe melon on the horizon, he spotted a copse of tree and made his way toward
it. A squal boomed into the air and he ducked, then felt something smack
against his helmet. As he steadied himself, an arrow crashed against his breast
armor. The force knocked him off his feet. As his back struck ground, he
glimpsed two mailed-Warriors, the last rays of the setting sun glinting from
their armor.
Rolling, he yelled to alert the camp, then came to his feet and charged
toward the canyon. An arrow whistled overhead as he leaped. Airborne, he
curved downward, turning as he floated. A side gully, lined with stones, came
into view. Twisting, he landed, churning rivers of loose gravel as his legs
pumped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two Warriors reach the rim
and leap as he had.
Tumbling into the side gully, he snatched a hummer from his belt. He saw a
Warrior still in the air, snapped a throw, and saw his hummer's blade embed in
the flesh behind the Warrior's knee. Then he raced down the wash. The second
Warrior entered the gully below and charged, sword drawn. Jason threw
another hummer that clattered harmlessly off the Warrior's metal armor. He
planted his feet and skidded to a stop, then right-angled up the bank. Above his
attacker, he kicked loose a large boulder and saw his pursuer stumble.
Jason went over the top and flattened, belly down. The Warrior came over
the crest. Jason flipped, kicking upward, and felt his feet thud against steel
armor. The impact knocked the Warrior off balance, and Jason came off the
ground, tagan uncoiled. His diagonal sweep caught the Warrior, still off
balance, on his sword arm just above his wrist. Tagan spines ripped to the
bone.

An arrow kicked dirt at his feet, and Jason darted sideways along the
inside curve of the canyon wall. His footing failed, and he crumpled, landed on
his shoulder, then bounced and rolled into the bottom of the draw. He heard a
sound like metal shredding and looked up. Xar'van was standing above, his
right arm extended. Following the line of the arm, Jason saw the crumpled
body of a renegade Warrior, his armor blown apart. Another renegade
vanished among the rocks. Kilia came running up the canyon, her dark eyes big
with fright. Jason picked himself from the dust.
"Stay close!" Xar'van climbed down and began walking back toward
camp.
"Are you all right?" Kilia brushed dirt off Jason's back.
Jason flexed his fingers and put weight on his legs. "A few scratches and
bruises. Good thing I was wearing my armor."
Back at camp, Xar'van did not say anything, but Jason knew he was angry.
"I was careless. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Xar'van said. "Be smart!"
"Why didn't they go for the horven? I wasn't much of a prize. All they
would have gotten is my armor and a few ralls, and my armor would not have
been worth much to grown men."
"They weren't after money," Xar'van said. "They were after your life. They
meant to kill you."
Jason's eyes widened. "Kill me? Why?"
"To stop your mission. They didn't come after Kilia or me; just you. If Kilia
hadn't seen two of them on the canyon rim I wouldn't have reached you in time.
We didn't get all of them."
"There were more than two?"
"At least six. I took out two and you wounded a couple. They'll be back,
but not tonight." Xar'van turned to Kilia. "Can you get us to the secret trail to
Aul'kalee without following the cliff trail?"
"I think so," she said. "We just have to go west mostly."
"Good. We must stay off the main trail. We'll leave at midnight."
***
Where Jason had thought travel slow before, he now thought it glacial.
Xar'van insisted they move under cover of dark, and took advantage of the
moonlit nights to ride without lights. They stayed off the main trails and spent
hours covering their tracks.
"We'll never get there at this rate." He was walking behind Smoke in the

sandy bottom of a dry wash, brushing away hoof prints with a leafy branch.
"On the contrary, we will get there at this rate," Xar'van said."It's only if
we get careless and unwisely hurry that we'll never get there."
The land became drier, stonier, and more sparsely vegetated as they moved
west. Near sunrise, the wash led them into a rocky, sandstone-walled canyon
where a small spring filled a pothole with clear, tepid water.
"We're not far from Barrier Cliff," Kilia said. "I remember this place. Ru
and I camped here when I was a little girl. The secret trail is not far."
Xar'van dropped from Thistle's back and studied the ground. "Others
camped here several days ago - three people, one very large, with horven.
They were wearing farmland mokads so they probably weren't renegades."
"How can you tell?" Jason knelt by the marks, studying their vague shapes.
"There's almost nothing left of their prints."
"Look at the mokad impressions in the firm soil near the spring. See how
they are softly rounded; even a hint of individual toes is visible." He pointed
with his small fingers and Jason saw what his eyes had at first ignored. "We're
nearing the mesa country," Xar'van explained. "Most renegades in this part of
Faland wear mokads made from biven leather. It's harder and stiffer than the
devon leather typically used in the farmlands and leaves a sharper print with
no impression of toes. These prints were made with devon leather, and pay
attention to the horven prints as well. These are smooth, made by animals that
had not yet traveled far on rocky ground. Horven ridden long on rocky ground
have hooves that are often chipped and leave ragged and irregular prints."
"Some of these mokad prints are huge," Kilia said. She had come up and
was listening beside Jason. "They must have been made by a giant."
"A very large man," Xar'van agreed.
"John!" Jason exclaimed. "It must have been John. His prints are like these
- even the way the left foot turns out a little. I doubt anyone else in Faland
could make footprints this large. He left when I did, going west out of Forod
when I went north." Jason was so excited his words tumbled out with a rush.
"Maybe we can find him! Maybe we can travel together!"
"I've heard of your giant friend," Xar'van said. "Is it true he can swing a
brodsrd with one hand?"
"You better believe it. I hope we find him."
"Not likely. I'd like to meet him, but it's been many days since he was here,
and I doubt his destination is the same as ours. Otherwise, why would you not
be traveling together?"

Jason's face fell. "You're right." He remembered all the partners were on
separate quests with goals established along the way.
"We'll camp here today," Xar'van said. "Well take turns watching from the
canyon wall above the spring. Kilia, how far is it to the secret trail?"
"A few hours. This is the last place to get water before we start down, and
there's no water in Aul'kalee for more than a hundred legons."
"We'd better rest ourselves and the horven then," Xar'van said, "and start
into Aul'kalee tonight."
Jason grinned. "We can swim in the pond. I can't think of a better way to get
ready for a dry journey."
"Agreed!" Xar'van's small voice rang. "When camp is ready, you two can
have first swim while I watch, then I'd like a turn in the pool myself."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

At dusk they left the clear pool in the sandstone alcove and climbed to the
canyon rim on a rocky trail scouted by Kilia. Though she had not been there
since she was a little girl, some four years before, and though it was dark, with
only the pale light of the moon low on the horizon to guide her, she moved
unerringly across the lonely scape. It was past midnight when she nudged
Jason. "I remember that saddle ahead between those rounded hillocks. Barrier
Cliff is on the other side. The secret trail is only a little farther west."
Jason swung Smoke toward the hills, and the horven began to pick his way
up a stony slope crusted with spiny shrubs. Xar'van, looking like a small dark
lump on the back of Thistle, followed so silently that the boy turned from time
to time to assure himself that his protector was still coming. The occasional
cry of a night-flyer broke the stillness, and vast clouds of stars added blue to
the silver light cast by the moon. Jason shivered, his heart filled with the
wonder of the night.
When they topped the rise, they saw the enormity of Aul'kalee, a vast
blanket of sand, wrinkled by scarified mountains tossed carelessly thousands
of feet below the crest of Great Barrier Cliff. Jason sucked in his breath and
pulled back Smoke's reins.
"Puts things in perspective," Xar'van murmured, his thin voice almost a
whisper.
"The secret trail starts there," Kilia pointed toward a tangle of weirdly
eroded rock, "in a narrow canyon."
Xar'van dropped from Thistle's back and led the little animal as he
searched for sign in the dim light. Kilia joined him while Jason watched for
enemies. Though Kilia knew where to look, it took better than an hour to find
the well-concealed entrance to the trail. When at last the girl led them into a
narrow defile between huge sandstone slabs, Xar'van grinned and said, "This
is indeed a secret trail, well hidden, and I trust not well known." He studied
the sandy entrance. "It looks like no one has disturbed the ground here for many
days. Let's be quick and wipe out our tracks. Perhaps we can throw off our
followers and breathe a bit easier for a while."
Jason slid off Smoke's back and helped break branches from nearby
bushes. They backtracked and swept away their footprints, then followed the

steeply descending trail along a narrow gorge barely wide enough for the
horven. As they dropped, the sky shrank to a mere slot, a strip of starbrightness in the solid black above their heads. Soon they were walking in inky
darkness, advancing more by feel than by sight as Xar'van still did not wish to
risk a light.
"There's a cave at the edge of the cliff." Kilia's voice was muted by the
towering sandstone walls. A pale streak appeared in the blackness, and
abruptly the small canyon ended in emptiness at the edge of the Great Cliff.
Kilia tugged Jason's arm. "This way." She pulled him into a black hole near
the canyon's exit. "We can light a lamp in here. No one will see it. This is the
cave Mama and I stayed in when I was a little girl. It has no water but room
enough to picket the horven and lay out our bedrolls."
Xar'van struck a light and looked around with apparent satisfaction. Sand
floored the cavern, and a small fire pit, with a few blackened coals, occupied
a niche near the entrance. A hitch-post, set in stone, stood at the back. "Looks
safe," he said. "I think we can rest here undisturbed."
"Not much of a place." Jason wrinkled his nose at the stale odor of dried
horven dung.
"We won't be here long, my fastidious friend," Xar'van said. "Dawn is only
a couple of hours away, and when it's light enough we'll start down. I suspect
the trail is too treacherous to travel at night."
Kilia agreed. "It's very narrow and steep and hard for horven."
"Better get some sleep," Xar'van said. "We've a long day ahead."
They spread their blankets, and Xar'van dropped instantly asleep, his soft
snore sounding almost before his head hit the blankets. Jason, however, found
sleep elusive. He tossed, listening to Xar'van's snore and Kilia's soft breathing.
When Kilia's respiration deepened and he knew she was asleep, he got up
quietly and padded to the mouth of the cave. He saw only a few stars in the
narrow space above, but looking outward toward Aul'kalee, he saw a great
splash of stars staining the northern sky like spatters of sparkling paint. With
soft steps, he descended toward the mouth of the canyon to get a better view of
the somber emptiness of Aul'kalee. Early morning cool made him shiver, for
though was wearing his sirkeln and mokads and carried his weapons, he had
removed his armor, leaving his upper body bare.
In the pale night, he saw a faint trail clinging to the western face of the
cliff. It angled down sharply, carved into solid sandstone, and was
breathtakingly narrow as Kilia had warned. He edged onto it, appalled by the

dizzying drop at his feet and wondered if Smoke could balance on so slim a
ledge. As he pondered, he felt a faint vibration. The hair on the back of his
neck prickled. Instinct compelled him to look upward, and he caught a flash of
motion. He hurled himself sideways, avoiding a plunging boulder, and
sprawled on the trail, inches from a thousand feet of nothingness. The impact of
the boulder jarred him to the bone. Stone shattered, showering him with rubble
and sending fragments arcing into the darkness.
Shaken, he pushed to his feet. A cloud of dust swirled along the cliff and
made him cough. When he glanced upward, the cliff was serene, rising starkly.
As he studied it, wondering what had dislodged the boulder, he heard a
muffled scream. His heart lurched; the sound came from the canyon. He began
to run. When he reached the cave, it was pitch dark.
"Kilia!" he shouted into the blackness.
He received no answer and scrabbled the spare lamp from his belt pouch.
His shaking fingers fumbled the flint, and it fell with a clink. Kneeling, he
groped and found it, then forced his hand to steady while he struck sparks. A
yellow flame grew on the wick and lifted the cave out of darkness. It was
empty! Kilia, Xar'van, the horven, all were gone!
Jason raced through the small cavern. "Kilia! Xar'van!"
He listened to the echoes of his shouts, as he knelt in the sand and studied
signs of scuffling, plunge-tracks where horven hooves had been raised and
driven down hard, and tiny mokad prints in wild disarray. His eyes followed
the tracks to the cave entrance. "They've been kidnaped! They must still be in
the canyon!"
Jason dug his feet into the sand, flying up the narrow gorge with reckless
disregard, careening off sandstone walls, his breath coming in whistling gulps.
When he reached the upper end, he saw no one. In the first gray light of dawn,
he saw only empty slopes beyond the canyon.
"Kilia! Xar'van!"
A head popped up behind a near ridge, and with it an arm holding a bow
bent double. Jason saw fingers open and an arrow flicker in the gray light. He
dodged and heard the arrow whiz overhead, then he was running back down
the canyon, a renegade war cry in his ears.
This is no good!
He skidded to a halt, plucked a hummer from his belt, and turning, jammed
himself against the canyon wall. A running form loomed. He stepped from the
shadows and brought his arm up and over. His hummer struck the pursuer

below the chin and the figure crumpled. Without waiting for the renegade to hit
the ground, he sprinted away, but only a few feet. He turned again and pressed
against the rough stone, another hummer ready. Long seconds passed. He
hardly breathed, then let out his breath slowly when no attackers appeared.
Softly, he crept back up the canyon. The renegade he had dropped was gone.
Kneeling in the shadows, he pondered this. With their bows and plenty of
cover, he reasoned they could pick him off in the open, but in the canyon,
where space was limited and only one could come at a time, he could hold his
own.
They'll know that. They'll likely wait for me outside. They know I don't
have a horven or supplies so they won't worry I'll escape down the trail.
They'll figure they've got me bottled up, and I'll have to come out sooner or
later or die of thirst.
Coldness came into his heart. They were probably right, and they must
already have killed Kilia and Xar'van.
I should have stayed in the cave; I might have helped.
With tears streaming down his face, he made his way to the cave and
slumped in the dirt, buried his face in his arms, and wept. When his shaking
subsided, he looked dismally at the gray light filtering through the cave
entrance. He noticed for the first time the dark shapes of blankets still scattered
on the floor. He crawled to his and felt among its folds. His heart fluttered.
Beneath it, he found his armored breast plate, overlooked by the renegades.
Heart pounding, he hastened to the hitch-post.
Yes!
Beside the post, in a small creche, were two full canteens. He had placed
them there when he bedded down. Scurrying around the small cavern, he found
other things left by the renegades when they so hurriedly took his friends. A
lamp where Xar'van had left it on a small ledge, and four hummers, a bottle of
oil, two pouches of dried devon meat, and a packet of herbs half-buried in the
sand where they had fallen from an open pack.
As he searched, a plan grew, and when he was satisfied he had recovered
all that was available, Jason cut up one blanket, fashioned a pack, loaded his
recovered supplies into it and left the cave. The slot-like canyon was empty,
and he hastened to its mouth and looked out onto Aul'kalee. The sun, like a
glob of molten slag, was rising in the east, just north of the cliff line. Hardly
daring look at the emptiness, Jason started down the narrow trail. Soon sheer
rock soared above; the cliff top was almost lost in the stark blue sky. The sun,

following a path almost directly above, poured awesome heat into Aul'kalee.
Only occasional overhangs provided brief shade.
After legons, the cliff curved north and the trail, dug deep into its flank,
entered deeper shadow. Looking back, Jason studied the sandstone wall. The
trail slashed across it as though gouged by a giant's awl. He saw no sign of
pursuit and stopped at a wide spot to drink and eat. From a blanket, he made a
cape with a cowl, remembering Xar'van's warning that in Aul'kalee survival
depended on shielding one's body from direct sunlight. When first he put on his
cape, he felt hotter and almost took it off again. But sweat soon absorbed into
the cloth and began to evaporate, cooling him. He kept the cape on.
Near the cliff bottom, the trail turned north along a talus rib. As he moved
away from the vertical sandstone into full sunlight, the temperature soared. He
grew tired, and the trail became cobbled with rough stones that pressed
painfully through even the thick soles of his mokads. When at last he stumbled
onto the flat, he was limping and panting in the heat. Already he had drunk
nearly a full canteen.
What was it Kilia said? More than a hundred legons to the first water
hole?
Jason looked at his nearly empty canteen and his heart sank. He had come
no more than twenty legons. His remaining canteen did not hold half enough
water to get him across eighty legons of desert. The air cooled as the sun sank
lower, and he decided not to stop for the night. He reasoned that traveling in
the dark, when the heat was muted, would take less water, and he could hole up
in a shaded place during the day. But fatigue got the better of him, and as the
sun disappeared in a splash of stark orange, he was forced to stop. He found a
small depression and stretched out in his cape, using his pack as a pillow.
"I'll just rest a minute." He settled and closed his eyes.
***
He awoke abruptly, his heart thumping, and strained to see in darkness
relieved only by the indigo glow of the million stars. "What woke me! Why is
it so dark!"
Then he knew; there was no moon! His fingers shook as he lit his lamp.
How long had he lain in the dark, exposed and vulnerable, a perfect target for a
felven? While his pulse slowed, he drank a little water and chewed on a bit of
devon. Then he boosted his pack to his shoulders and began to walk west,
using the dark line of Great Barrier as a guide. The stars told him half the night
was gone and the late-rising moon would soon be up.

Morning found him on a desolate alkali plain. White fingers extended far
north into a land so desolate not even thorn bushes pocked its surface. Bitter
dust, kicked up by the swift strike of his mokads, caught in the dark fur of his
cape and silvered it as though it were frosted with snow.
By midmorning the heat was intense. Jason looked for shade, but saw not
so much as a twig or pebble. Finally he stopped, and with his knife, scooped a
depression in the alkali. He unfolded his blanket, and using his canteens as
props and small heaps of dirt as anchors, fashioned a shelter over the
depression. Stretched beneath the blanket, he lay on his back with the cloth
inches above his face. A faint breeze, moving under the blanket's edge, offered
slight but welcome cooling.
For hours he drowsed in his sweltering shelter, occasionally awaking to
drink sparingly. When the sun finally sat like an orange boil on the western
horizon, he crawled out of his shelter, folded his blanket and reassembled his
pack. It heartened him to discover one canteen still more than half full, and he
was well rested. With his lamp wicked low, and the dark line of the cliff to
guide him, he hiked west through all that long night. When he looked around in
the first frail rays of dawn, he was dismayed to find nothing changed. The plain
remained as featureless as on the preceding morning, and for all he could see
he had not moved an inch. Yet he knew he must have walked at least thirty
legons.
"What am I looking for?" He tried to remember what Kilia had told him
about the trail and its landmarks. "The Golden Horns?" He recalled Kilia's
description of twin rock spires that soared to the very top of the sky. Between
them lay the oasis of Eyrie. "The horns should lie north and west," he
murmured and strained to catch a glimpse, but saw only emptiness.
Dejected, he determined to walk as far as he could before rising
temperature made travel dangerous. He switched from his westerly course to
one that angled northwest. On the open barren, all he saw were the occasional
tracks of small animals. He wondered if he was lost. As legons passed under
his hastening mokads, small spiny plants began to appear, and now and then a
low shrub or patch of withered grass. These signs of life encouraged him and
his spirits lifted.
When inhalation of dry desert air began to burn his nostrils, he looked for a
place to shelter and discovered a shallow wash with a scattering of boulders.
The bank of the wash, no more than eighteen inches high, faced north and held
along its base a thin sliver of shade. It provided a protected place to stretch his

blanket. He scooped a hollow and found soil cool to his touch. Gratefully, he
wriggled into it and was soon asleep.
He awoke fiercely thirsty. When he drank, he was dismayed to find he had
consumed almost all his water. Another night of walking would use what was
left, and he would have none for the next day. He tried to remember everything
he had heard, in Faland and before, about deserts and water and where to find
it.
"I'll follow the wash. It must rain here sometimes or there wouldn't be a
wash. Maybe deeper places still have water."
He looked into the sky, hopelessly free of clouds. The sun wobbled at the
edge of the desert, distorted by heat shimmer rising from the sand. His defenses
began to crumble. Loneliness brought such an ache to his chest that it made him
gasp. "I might die here!"
It was not death he feared, but the thought that if he died in that desolate
place he would be alone forever. Feeling more wretched than he had since
coming to Faland, he pulled together his blanket and canteens and loaded his
pack. The sun was gone but the sky still gave light when he started along the
wash. Deep sand tugged at his feet, draining his energy, and following long
meanders was inefficient. He climbed the bank and took a straighter course on
firmer ground. He remained close to the wash, however, to follow its general
course as it led him sharply north. He fretted, for Kilia had said nothing about
what lay north, and he knew following the wash was a gamble from which he
could not retreat.
As night deepened, he lost track of the wash and finally had to use the stars
to maintain his direction, thankful he had learned enough from Linda to do so.
He drank the last of his water. Dawn's first rays brought dread, for without
water, he doubted he would live to see another sun set. The rising light did
bring a hopeful sign. Hills appeared on the horizon, a few legons farther north,
and included several craggy spires rising starkly against the blue-gray morning
sky. For an instant, his pulse quickened with the thought the spires might be the
Golden Horns. As he thought it, he realized that could not be true. All night he
had traveled almost directly north and could not be far enough west, and the
spires appeared neither golden nor especially tall, nor did any two stand out
from the others. Still, hills sometimes trapped water, and he hurried, hoping to
reach them before it got too hot to travel.
He stumbled again into the wash he had followed the evening before. That
bit of luck added impetus to his feet, and he stayed near the wash as he

hastened toward the crags. The distance proved deceptive, and the sun was
half way to noon before Jason approached the rocky spires. His tongue had
begun to swell, his body felt hot, and his breath was coming harder than
exertion seemed to warrant. He saw shade among the spires and headed
toward it. The crags pointed skyward like the fingers of a giant's hand thrust
out of a gritty sea, a hand worn and scarified by blowing sand.
The wash originated in a narrow cleft from which past torrents had spewed
gravel. Jason climbed the pebbly slope into welcoming shade. He sank down
with his back to an out-thrust rock. His face was hot, his pulse fast and reedy,
and he felt dizzy. More importantly, his thirst was more agonizing than he could
have imagined possible.
Rest slowed his heart, and shade lifted some heat from his body. As the
swimming in his head subsided, he pushed to his feet and entered the rocky
cleft. It took only a moment for his breath to come hard again and hazy spots to
appear in his vision. He had trouble keeping his footing and was not sure
where he was going. Rock scraped his chest and back, gouging through his
cape, and brought pain.
Is the canyon so narrow?
He was still moving, but unaware when his feet stumbled on firmer ground
and the canyon widened. He did not see the tufts of grass and scattered wildflowers. The sun climbed and shrank the shade to a thin line. He clung for a
while to the narrow ribbon of shade, then fell to his knees and slumped to the
ground..
***
Jason felt cool and thought a hand touched his brow. Was it Kilia's hand?
Her caress felt good, and he smiled and reached up to stroke her arm. He
opened his eyes and saw sparkles of light falling and his hand not touching
Kilia but drifting among them. He felt like he was floating. He stretched his
fingers to touch the sparkles. Water drops? Tiny prisms, dancing, red, green,
and blue. "Water!"
He moved and groaned. "Where am I?"
He remembered Aul'kalee, walking, heat and thirst, and the narrow canyon.
"Water is coming out of the rock!"
He rolled to his side and felt his pack, sopping wet, drag at his shoulders.
A patch of flower-spangled meadow came into his view. Drizzle ran from his
hair into his eyes. "I'm lying in a shower!"
Incredibly, he had followed the desert canyon until he had stumbled into the

spray from a small spring spurting from rocks high on the wall. He crawled out
of the water and wriggled out of his pack. He felt deliciously cold and buried
his face in the rivulet. He drank until he thought he would burst, then pulled off
his wet cape, spread it beside him and sprawled on his back in the sun. When
he roused, he felt nauseated and decided he had drunk more than he should. But
his tongue was back to normal and his head was clear. On his knees, he
unrolled his pack and laid his blanket alongside his cape then dug dried devon
from its waterproof pouch. His nausea cleared as he ate. His strength returned
during the afternoon and with it a measure of confidence. The small glen was a
diminutive Eden; a tiny enclosed valley with an entrance canyon so narrow it
was surprising he had been able to push through it.
Investigation revealed the alcove had no large occupants nor any recent
visitors. His were the only prints in the soft soil near the spring, and the
grasses and flowers were undisturbed. Only a family of rabir occupied a rocky
den beside the waterfall. That night Jason lit his lamp, and wicked it very low,
though he thought it unlikely a felven could get through the narrow canyon or
climb down the sheer walls. He slept soundly and awoke fully restored. "I'll
stay today and leave when it gets dark. I've still got enough meat and oil for at
least two nights. That ought to be enough, with two full canteens, to take me to
the Golden Horns."
Then it occurred to him to climb the nearby crags and see if he could spot
the Golden Horns. He cached his pack and supplies and made his way down
the narrow defile. Near its exit, he found a rock chimney with good handholds.
The climb was pleasant in morning cool. At several hundred feet above the
desert floor, he saw south to the dark line of Great Barrier and east across the
long stretch of alkali through which he had labored so many hours. When he
looked west, his heart leaped. Near the limits of vision, three tall needles stuck
up against the horizon. "Three? Are there three horns?"
Two spires stood south of the third and the two looked like shafts of fire in
the early light. The third was dark. Neither Kilia nor Ru had mentioned a dark
horn. Yet, the two bright ones must be the Golden Horns. They looked close
enough that he could easily reach them in two days. With things looking up, he
turned his vision again south. His heart jumped. On the white plain he saw a
dozen dark spots. His brow wrinkled. The dots seemed to move and grow in
size
"Riders! The renegades are tracking me!"
He scrambled down from the tall crag and hurried back to his secret

alcove.
My tracks will lead them here. I can't let them trap me in this pocket.
He grabbed his pack and hurried through the small canyon. As he emerged
onto the gravel below the canyon, he got an idea. He dropped his pack near the
crags and descended to the alkali desert. The riders were not yet visible, and
he headed swiftly northwest. After a short distance he began to cover his tracks
carelessly, then back-tracked, stepping in his previous footprints. Engar had
explained this trick during training, and he was glad he had listened. He was
well into the crags when the riders came close enough for him to make out their
forms. His heart raced. One was much smaller than the others and was riding a
familiar smoke-colored stallion.
Kilia!
He almost shouted her name. Quickly, he scanned the other riders, but saw
no sign of Xar'van or Thistle.
Kilia; not dead!
His eyes studied her figure. She was bent forward, her tunic so covered
with alkali it was almost unrecognizable, and her hands were bound to
Smoke's saddle. Wild thoughts, angry thoughts, fearful thoughts tumbled through
his head.
Have they hurt her? Why is she with them? Do they plan to sell her as a
slave?
I've got to get her back!
Impossible! A dozen armed men surrounded her, any one more than a match
for him. How could he go against such a throng?
I must get to Eyrie and bring back help.
Then he remembered the terrible thing done to him when the renegade,
Brenard, took him captive. Bile welled in his throat. "I've got to get her back!"
The renegades milled below the crags, then dismounted and studied the
ground. Jason saw them discover his false trail and saw when they followed
his tracks to the small cleft. He heard them talking, their voices sounding
hollow in the rocky gorge. They gathered again on the alluvial fan, then split
into three groups. One party of four, led by a woman, headed on foot into the
cleft below him. The largest assemblage, five riders, headed northwest
following his false trail. Three men remained with Kilia and began to set up a
small camp among boulders below the gravel fan. Jason could see, at the edge
of their campsite, the broad sandy wash he had followed the night he came to
the crags. It coiled southward, sinuously sprawled on the desert like the body

of a great serpent.
His legs shook as he climbed from the crags, but he did not hesitate. The
party in the cleft was out of sight, and he darted down to look across the gravel
slope. The riders going northwest were almost out of sight, and he bent double
and raced along the base of the crags, keeping his eyes directed toward the
renegades setting up camp. They were preoccupied, so did not see him.
Breathless, he sprawled into the wash and flattened in the sand. On his
belly, he squirmed toward the camp. The sun was still low and the bank of the
wash provided a narrow strip of shade. That made it cooler and made it harder
for the renegades to spot him. He wriggled until he heard voices, then lifted his
head. The renegades, hardly two dozen paces away, were gathering rocks for a
fireplace. They chatted cheerfully and clearly felt safe for they had taken off
their helmets and body armor. They wore only sirkelns and mokads, taking
advantage of the cool morning air. Their weapons, close at hand, leaned or
draped over nearby boulders. Kilia, bound hand and foot, lay against a boulder
opposite the renegade's campsite.
Jason wriggled out of his cape, to free his own limbs for action, and
bundled it with his pack in a bend in the wash. He snugged up his breast plate,
the only armor salvaged from the cliff cave, and plucked the six hummers from
his belt, stacking five in his left hand, one in his right.
It's now or never.
He bolted up, bringing with him a shower of sand and gravel. As he burst
out of the wash, mouthed a Kroll war cry, delivered with all the power in his
lungs. The renegades froze, and his first hummer buried itself in the nearest's
chest. His second was away before the first renegade hit the ground. He got off
two more hummers before he closed and saw one thud into a second renegade's
leg. The third renegade ran for his bow and had it up and the arrow nocked
when Jason reached him. Jason brought his tagan down hard and caught the
bow before fully drawn. It tore from the renegade's hand, but the man was well
trained. He ducked back and came up with a sword.
A hummer, thrown from the side, cut a streak across Jason's forehead and
he twisted off-balance. As he fell, throwing with his left hand, he side-armed
both his remaining hummers at the wounded renegade. They spoiled the man's
aim, thudding into chest and abdomen. Jason rolled, dodging the swordsman's
thrust. Rising and backing, he tried to blunt the man's charge with short, sharp
swings, but his opponent was experienced against the tagan and tried to sever
its cabling. Jason felt his heel catch and he tumbled backward. The renegade

lunged, driving his sword toward Jason's throat. A piercing scream broke the
swordsman's motion, and Jason rolled, feeling the blade on his face. He leaped
to his feet, and before the renegade could pull his blade from the sand, swept
his tagan across the man's arm, tearing to the bone.
"Taga! Taga!" The renegade's sword spun to the ground, and he clutched his
bloody arm.
Jason had no obligation to do so, but quickly backed off. Seeing the other
two lying on the ground, he raced to Kilia, pulled the knife from his belt, and
sliced through the rawhide bindings on her wrists and ankles. "You all right?"
"Yes, yes. They're coming!"
Jason heard shouts and saw riders charging from the northwest. He
grabbed Kilia's arm, half-dragging her toward the horven. She stumbled on
numbed feet. "I can't run!"
Jason let go of her arm. "Get ready to mount!" He raced toward Smoke, and
grabbing the animal's reins, mounted in one swift movement. He wheeled
toward Kilia. "Gee-up!"
Smoke leaped and Jason bent to reach Kilia's outstretched arm. She swung
up behind him. "Smoke'em, Boy! Run!" Jason dug his heels against the horven's
flanks and in seconds they were spinning across the plain in full gallop, half a
dozen mounted riders howling in pursuit.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Even carrying double, Smoke was lightly loaded and soon opened distance
in front of the pursuing renegades. "They're stopping," Kilia said exultantly.
"We've outrun them!"
Jason reined Smoke to a trot. The renegades had indeed stopped and he let
Smoke blow. The renegades stared for a few minutes, then turned back in the
direction they had come. "They're giving up!" Kilia cried. "They know they
can't catch us!"
Jason frowned. "I don't think so. They're going back for the others. They'll
follow us."
"You think so? Then come on! We've got to get away while we can."
Jason nudged Smoke.
"Faster!" Kilia cried. "We need to get far ahead."
"No, Kilia," Jason shook his head. "We can't ride fast for long in this heat.
Engar taught me that. Smoke will get too tired and hot. The renegades know
this, too. They'll follow slowly and ... and-- " Jason suddenly remembered he
had left everything in the wash: canteens, blanket, cape, lamps, everything. He
looked frantically at Smoke. "The saddlebags are gone! Where are Smoke's
saddlebags?"
"They took them. The renegades took everything."
"We haven't got any water!"
Kilia looked scared. "We haven't got anything - only Smoke."
Jason tried to swallow the lump in his throat. How long could they stay
ahead of the renegades without water? "What happened to Xar'van?" he finally
asked.
"He thought it was his fault we were captured," Kilia said through tears.
"They surprised him in the cave and took his throwing stones and tied his
hands. We thought they had killed you. When we got out of the canyon, Xar'van
got his hands loose and tried to free me. The renegades saw him. He fought
hard and got to Thistle, but the renegades chased him. When they came back
they had Thistle. I never saw Xar'van again." Kilia's voice was bleak.
"Poor Thistle," Jason murmured. "That little mare loved Xar'van. What
happened to her? I didn't see her with the renegades."
"They wanted me to ride her, but she wouldn't let me. She fought the

renegades, and I think they killed her. They were going to kill me, too, until one
said they could use me as bait to get you. That's when I found out you were
alive. How ever did you get away?"
"I wasn't in the cave when they came. I heard you yell, but I didn't get back
in time. The renegades trapped me in the canyon, but I found a couple of
canteens and went down into the desert. I thought you were dead until I saw
you with the renegades."
"Why did you stop? You should have gone on. You shouldn't have waited
for me."
"I stopped because I needed water. If I hadn't found a spring in those little
rocky hills, I would have died. When I saw the renegades, I started to sneak
away, but when I saw you I couldn't leave. I was captured by renegades once.
They tortured me. I couldn't let them torture you."
"Now we'll both die," Kilia said. "It's too far to Eyrie to get there without
water."
"Isn't there closer water? Maybe another spring like the one I found in the
crags?"
"I didn't know about that one. Even Ru didn't know."
"We've got to watch for mountains or dry streams. I found the crags by
following a wash."
As the morning wore, the sun climbed and soon they were panting with
heat. Without a cape, Jason's skin absorbed heat faster than perspiration could
carry it away and soon he felt raging thirst. Even Smoke began to falter. "We
need shelter," he told Kilia, his voice cracked by dryness. He squinted through
thermal shimmers rising over broken gullies and windswept sand. A slight rise
attracted his attention, and he headed Smoke toward it. Wind had carved a
hollow on the north side of a dune. "We'll dig out the sand." Jason slid from
Smoke's back. Kilia joined him and with their hands they scooped away the
surface and found cooler sand underneath.
"We'll make a tent with your tunic," Jason said. From a thin, scrubby bush,
he cut two sticks a foot or so long. Kilia's tunic was too small, even after
cutting it and opening it out, to make more than a slight shade when propped on
the two small sticks and set at the crest of the dune. Jason leaned his breast
armor beside it, then got Smoke to lie down against the sand, low on the north
side of the dune. He and Kilia dug themselves in as deeply as they could and
prepared to wait out the day.
"When I was fighting the renegades, I heard a scream," Jason said. "Was

that you?"
"I was copying you. I heard that awful screech when you came charging in
like a maniac."
Jason grinned. "It worked. I'm glad you learn fast; you saved my life."
"It doesn't look like for long," Kilia said.
"We'll make it; don't worry. When it's cool tonight, we'll look for a wash
and follow it to water. If we can stay ahead of the renegades, we'll be all
right."
But even in the shade of their sand pit, they lost body moisture and slept
only fitfully as the sun wheeled above. Smoke lay quietly, his head tucked
down, and weathered the heat better than they. The sun had not yet disappeared
when Jason wriggled out of the sand. The air was hot, but the intense radiation
was gone from the sky.
"I don't feel very good," Kilia said. "I'm so thirsty."
"We have to go. The renegades will be moving too."
Smoke got to his feet, and Jason was grateful for the horven's strength. He
pulled Kilia's tunic from the sand and draped it, more like a poncho now, over
her thin frame, then mounted Smoke and pulled her up behind. He tried to
ignore the thirst that had begun to swell his tongue, and while there was still
light, looked hopefully for another wash like the one that had saved him before.
But, though the land was crossed by occasional parched gullies, he saw no sign
water had been there in any recent time. The only living things he saw, other
than themselves, were scattered thorn bushes that sprouted at long intervals
like tiny sentinels.
Stars came, then darkness, and Jason remembered the lanterns. He
shuddered. They had to travel without light, in the open, exposed to wandering
felven. He flinched at every dark shape, and peered with frightened eyes at
imagined shadows. Kilia said nothing, but her arms were wrapped so tightly
around his waist that their pressure cut his breathing.
Guided by the stars, Jason kept a westerly course. Failure to cross a wash
deepened his despair as the hours passed and the moon finally showed on the
horizon, telling him that morning was not far away. No felven had found them,
but Jason wondered if that was an advantage. Being killed by a felven might be
quicker and less cruel than dying of thirst in the coming heat. When daylight
made vision possible, he stopped Smoke and twisted in the saddle to look into
Kilia's face. Her lips were cracked and her eyes were dull. He knew she had a
fever. And he knew he must look as bad. Thirst had become such an agony he

could think of little other than water.

He considered dismounting to look for a place to make a shelter before the
sun came again with its burning rays. But he was afraid if he got off Smoke, he
would be unable to get back on. He felt Kilia slip sideways, and her grip
lessened around his waist. She moaned softly and did not seem aware. He
drew a cloth from his belt and tied her wrists around him, then tied his belt to
Smoke's saddle. He pulled her tunic up, ducked his head under, and leaned
forward against Smoke's neck and nudged the horven into motion. With his face
buried in the horven's mane, he rode blind, letting the animal find its way
without guidance. He no longer knew or cared where they were going.
***
Jason was dreaming, back again, lying in the spray of water spouting from
black rocks in a narrow, flower-carpeted canyon. He reached toward the bright
drops, but when he opened his eyes he saw only blank sky. The water was real,
however, dropping slowly on his lips.
"Well, I see you're finally coming around," a thin, wispy voice said.
Jason rolled his eyes and looked into a small, dark round face with gimlet
eyes.
"Xar'van?"
"Not likely anybody else would be pouring water in your scrawny mouth in
this bleak land, Lad. Now up with you, you've lounged here long enough."
Jason hunched to a sitting position. Xar'van's hand steadied him while the
spinning in his head settled. "Kilia?"
"She's sitting yonder, sipping back the moisture she sweated away."
Xar'van motioned toward a small figure, propped in the sand under a blanketsunshade. "Now let's get you into the shade alongside her."
With Xar'van's help, Jason got to his feet and wobbled across the sand,
then dropped into the shade beside Kilia. Xar'van handed him a canteen. "Sip
from it; don't take it all at once."
"We thought you were dead," Jason mumbled.
"A misapprehension," Xar'van said. "One some not so friendly renegades
made as well."
Jason filled his mouth, savoring the water as it slid slowly down his throat.
He remembered the sickness when he drank too quickly at the spring and was
more prudent this time.
"How did you get away?" Kilia asked Xar'van. "I saw the renegades chase
you and they brought back Thistle."

"They thought they'd done me in with a good stroke to my side," Xar'van

patted a thick bandage wrapped around his torso. "But I dropped over the edge
of the cliff and lodged up in a crevice until they decided I'd fallen to my
ending. Thistle's a good girl; she broke free and we sort of found each other.
When I went looking for you, I discovered the renegades had taken you down
into Aul'kalee, and so I figured Jason must have gotten away. I followed,
though I'll admit I was banged up enough to make the going slow. I fetched up
at those little snaggledy hills just as the renegades were pulling out, chasing
after you. From the sign, I figured out what had happened, and I found Jason's
canteens and pack half-buried in the sand. Thistle and I rode a circle around
the renegades, night and day, and got ahead of them. Good thing too. I found
you two sprawled out here in the sand, kicking back, taking your ease."
"Some ease!" Jason choked on a swallow of water. "It's a bit too hot for
lounging!"
"You're right about that. And we can't stay here; the renegades aren't far
behind. I hope you two are feeling up to some daylight travel."
"What about you," Kilia protested. "You rode all day yesterday and all
night too. Don't you and Thistle need rest?"
"Don't worry about me. I'm tough as leather and Thistle is desert born. She
can outlast anything that lives or runs in Aul'kalee. I'm some worried about
your stallion though; I don't think the renegades were too particular about
seeing he got enough water before they brought him down here."
"Smoke? Is Smoke all right?" Jason started anxiously; he had almost
forgotten his mount.
"For now. But a run in the sun isn't going to do him any good; you either I
suspect. The sooner we get started the better. You think you're up to it?"
"I am," Jason got shakily to his feet. "How about you, Kilia? Can you
ride?"
"'Course I can!" She turned onto her knees and crawled from under the
sunshade, but shuddered when the hot sun touched her body.
"Better cover up." Xar'van handed Kilia her tunic and pulled down the
blanket shade and fashioned a shroud for Jason.
Smoke trembled when the children climbed on his back, and his head was
hanging, but he trotted after Thistle without hesitation. Jason looked ahead into
the bleakest desert he had yet seen. Even the thorn bushes had disappeared, and
dead flat pans, blinding in the harsh sun-glare, stretched to the limits of vision.
Squinting against the powerful radiance, Jason thought he could make out a thin

vertical line far down on the western horizon, but heat-shimmer distorted the
view so he could not be sure.
Thistle set a strong pace, moving with surprising speed for such a small
horven. At first Smoke kept up easily, but as the day wore, the stallion began to
flag. His breath came in harsh rasps as he labored through deep sand in the
searing inferno. Jason sagged too, and even repeated sips from his canteen
scarcely seemed to ease his thirst. Kilia's eyes again lost their luster and she
wobbled so much Jason began to think he might have to tie her to him again to
keep her from falling.
"Uh, oh. We got company!" Xar'van's piping voice broke through the fog
that had settled around Jason, and he looked up, then back. Vague shapes
merged with the heat ripples rising above the alkali pan they had just crossed.
"We're going to have to run for it!" Xar'van yelled. "We'll try to make the rock
towers ahead!"
Jason had not seen the towers, but now he saw two golden shafts rising
sheer from the desert floor. "The Golden Horns!" Kilia croaked. "Eyrie is just
ahead!"
"Gee-up!" Jason roused Smoke and the stallion leaped valiantly ahead.
Xar'van wheeled Thistle in behind. "Smoke'em, Boy! Run!"
For a time Smoke ran as strongly as ever, even putting distance between
himself and the pursuers. But heat and lack of water had taken their toll and the
stallion began to wobble, his great strength failing. Jason looked around
desperately and saw Xar'van's strained face behind.
"He can't run anymore," Jason cried, tears running down his face. "We've
got to stop or he'll die!" Even as he spoke, Smoke stumbled, then with supreme
effort, righted himself and wobbled to a stop. Slowly the horven sank to his
knees, breath rattling in his throat. Jason bounded down, Kilia with him, and
grabbed the stallion's muzzle to keep him from falling. But Smoke sank to the
ground and rolled to his side. "Oh, Smoke, please get up!" Jason cried.
But the horven could only raise his head, dullness filming his eyes.
Xar'van hit the ground beside Jason and wheeled Thistle alongside Smoke.
"Down girl. Get down! You too, Jason! No time to worry about your mount
now!" Thistle obediently dropped beside Smoke and Xar'van barked, "Have
you got any weapons, Jason?"
"Only my tagan. I used all my hummers."
"Damn! All I have is a kalard and some rocks. The renegades got my
throwing stones - the ones I could take the limb off a tree with."

"You can get away on Thistle!" Jason cried. "Ride to Eyrie and bring back
help!"
"Don't be silly, Boy. You'd be dead before I got a third of the way. Don't
look so worried. I may not have my best weapons, but I'm a long way from out
of this game. I don't intend to give you or Kilia up easily." He stacked rocks on
Smoke's flank and loaded one in the pouch of his kalard.
From out of the heat hazed desert, eight or nine horven and their riders
swam into view, coming at a gallop, raising a cloud of alkali dust that gyrated
behind them like some demented monster. Xar'van rose to his full height,
looking more like a feisty squal than a mighty Warrior, and began to swing his
kalard in slow sweeps around his head. Jason uncoiled his tagan and crouched
ready, his heart in his mouth. He looked at Kilia, then drew his dagger and
handed it to her. "Don't let them take you."
Xar'van released his first stone while the renegades still seemed
impossibly far away. Yet Jason watched with amazement as a horven reared,
throwing its rider. Moments later, a second rider sprawled in the dirt, brought
down by Xar'van's second rock. Arrows began to kick spurts of sand around
Smoke.
Jason pulled Kilia down behind Smoke, and together they peered over the
fallen horven's flank. Xar'van hopped onto the animal's hip, unarmored,
ignoring the arrows whipping around him. His kalard hummed, then snapped
forward and still another rider fell. Now the renegades were almost on them,
and Jason could see their dark, fiery eyes glaring from under their helmets, and
he could hear their angry war cries and the snorting breaths of their horven.
Rising, he answered with his own war cry, and tagan in hand, stood ready to
battle.
But before the renegades closed, a sound Jason had not heard before
floated on the air, high, lilting, and enormously powerful. Jason saw the faces
of the renegades change; their eyes widened and he saw terror in them. They
dragged back on their reins, and he saw the haunches of their horven sink and
showers of sand spit forward. Turning, he saw behind him, silhouetted against
the horizon, two dozen Warriors glinting gold and mounted on steeds that
looked like running fire. The wild sound came from them - from a horn blown
by one who rode near the lead.
"Khaar-Dan!" Kilia was racing toward the mounted Warriors.
Seconds later all became a swirl of Warriors, powerful red steeds, sand,
and shouts. Under a shower of arrows, the renegades fell like mown florn.

"I take it these are friends of yours," Xar'van said as Kilia rode up,
mounted behind one of the gold-armored Warriors.
Kilia was laughing excitedly. "These are Warriors of Eyrie!" she cried. "I
want you to meet my uncle, Khaar-Dan!"
***
They rode into Eyrie in a triumphal procession, with Khaar-Dan in the
lead, and Kilia and Jason flanking him on Eyrie mounts. Xar'van was half a
length behind on Thistle, and even Smoke, after some rest and water, had
gotten to his feet and tagged along slowly in the rear. The village turned out to
cheer, and it seems the messengers of Faland had been busy so that everyone
knew about Jason's mission and the desperate flight across Aul'kalee. The
village leaders took the trio in hand and soon had them ensconced like royalty.
After they bathed and had a few hours rest, a celebration was held in their
honor.
Midway in the festivities, held in the village green as evening shadows
stole from the Golden Horns and lifted the heat of day, Khaar-Dan rose and
made his way to a makeshift podium. He brought Jason up beside him. "As all
of you know, we citizens of Eyrie owe this young man a great debt of gratitude.
He risked his life against great odds to save our Kilia, daughter of Ru. She is
with us now because of his courage and daring." Wild cheering broke out, and
Khaar-Dan raised his hands for quiet. "We would not think of insulting Jason
or his friends by offering reward for their selfless behavior, but I learned that
Jason's horven, Smoke, a magnificent animal that served him well in Aul'kalee,
fell, and though alive, will not run again. We hereby pledge to Smoke a home
in Eyrie's pastures for the rest of his days." This pronouncement triggered
another round of wild cheers.
"Thank you," Jason beamed through tears.
"We can't leave our young friend without transportation," Khaar-Dan
continued, then turned with a flourish to his niece. "Kilia, please bring Jason
his new mount!"
Kilia, grinning from ear to ear, came forth leading a black and red horven.
The crowd quieted until the only sound heard was the slight thump of the
horven's hooves as they struck the turf. It took a moment for Jason to realize
what he was seeing. The horven was huge, larger than Smoke, a mountain of
red and black fur with muscles that rippled like flowing water. Jason was
unaware that his mouth had dropped open and he was staring. His heart began
to trip. The animal's fur was mostly black, but swirls of red began at its muzzle

and swept along both sides like coils of flame.

"Dragon Fire!" Someone in the crowd whispered.
"Khaar-Dan's great stallion!" another murmured.
Kilia walked slowly across the green and handed the lead to Jason. "He's
yours. My uncle wants you to have him. His name is Dragon Fire."
Jason buried his face against the horven's cheek as the animal bent its head
to nuzzle him, and both knew at once that they were meant to be together. When
Jason looked up, Khaar-Dan, tall and strong as a tree, was standing beside
him. "Thank you, Jason. Thank you for saving my Kilia."
***
Safe in Khaar-Dan's home in Eyrie, Jason and Xar'van, along with Kilia,
recuperated. Xar'van's wounds healed and the cuts on Jason's face faded. Jason
rode Dragon Fire every day, accompanied by Xar'van on Thistle and Kilia on
her own horven, a solid red mare named Ruby. They raced through flowery
fields and across open plains in the splendor of the land between the Golden
Horns - Horns that marked the eastern and western limits of a mesa a hundred
legons square that rose half a legon above the desert floor. Due to a happy
coincidence of wind and terrain, copious rains filled abundant rocky
reservoirs that dotted the land. Between the stony reservoirs, fields, cultivated
and wild, running with goleaps, rabir, and fluttering with squal, stretched
luxuriously beneath a sky filled with golden light reflected upward from the
pale yellow stone that lined the reservoirs and gave the land its aura.
"This I think is the most beautiful place I've ever seen," Jason said one
afternoon as he stretched lazily beside Kilia. They were resting in the shade of
a willen tree beside an azure reservoir with Dragon Fire and Ruby picketed
nearby. They had been soaking in the reservoir and were now letting the warm
air dry them. Jason gazed upward at the enormous west tower, a vast mass of
yellow stone that reared straight upward more than a legon above the mesa.
"Why did Ru ever leave it?"
"Not everyone can live here," Kilia said. "It's beautiful and peaceful, but I
like it in Ruvendale too. I'm glad Ru moved there and took me, else I would not
have met you." She smiled and stroked his arm.
Jason blushed. "I can't stay here, or in Ruvendale either," he said softly.
"I know, but we can enjoy it now. Come on, let's go see how Smoke is
doing."
Kilia got up and slipped into her tunic. Jason dressed and they mounted and
rode across a meadow of tall grass and wispy blue flowers to a stone-fenced

paddock.
"Here, boy!" Jason called from the back of Dragon Fire, and Smoke trotted
over. He was getting back his wind and the fire was returning to his eyes.
"Good boy," Jason leaned and patted the horven's muzzle. "I'm so glad you're
all right. You almost died for me and Kilia, you know. Well, you won't have to
run anymore in the desert. You can stay here from now on; Khaar-Dan has
promised you a home for always."
"I wish you could stay, too," Kilia told Jason. "Then I wouldn't want to go
back to Ruvendale."
"I have to complete my mission."
A darkness crossed Kilia's face and both turned to look north. Fifty legons
beyond the north edge of the mesa, they saw the third tower rising alone in a
stark basin. It soared almost as high as the Golden Horns. "I can't believe
you're planning to climb that," Kilia said. "Khaar-Dan says no one has ever
been to the top."
"He also said the crystal chamber is below the eye at its top. I have to find
the way up; it's what I'm here to do."
"When will you go?"
"Soon, but not today. Come on. I want to hear the music at the square!"
They galloped toward the village of Eyrie half a legon away.
***
Three days later, Jason on Dragon Fire, Xar'van on Thistle, and half a
dozen Eyrie Warriors came together early in the morning. "We can take you
only to the tower," Khaar-Dan said. "We are forbidden to climb with you."
"I know." Jason looked at Kilia, standing aside, eyes downcast. She would
not be going.
Khaar-Dan glanced above. "Clouds are gathering; we're due a rain. I still
think you should wait until the storm passes."
"I can't. It's time to act. I felt it yesterday. Besides the clouds will make it
cooler when we cross the desert."
"True enough," Khaar-Dan said.
"Well, let's get this show moving," Xar'van piped with unaccustomed
impatience. "We'll be all day getting to that tower as it is."
Khaar-Dan led, with Xar'van and Jason next, and the rest of their guard
bringing up the rear. They rode north across the mesa to a trail that led
downward to the desert. Single file they descended, then strung out across
alkali plains with character now familiar to Jason. Clouds kept at bay the

worst of the heat. The sun, near setting, cast smoky light through broken clouds
as the entourage reached the foot of the black tower that rose like a dark fang
from the white desert.
"On the north side, notches are carved in the rock," Khaar-Dan said when
he saw Jason studying the sheer walls. "They go up several hundred feet. I
climbed them once, as have others, but they end abruptly and no one has found
a way beyond them."
Xar'van slipped from Thistle and trundled, with his short, rolling gait,
toward the tower. Jason followed, his head tilted so sharply he felt strain in his
neck as he tried to see the top of the monolith. The upper reaches were lost in
clouds. "It doesn't look natural," he said. "It isn't like the Golden Horns. There
are no slopes of broken rock at the base and white sand surrounds it. It doesn't
belong here." His voice shook as he realized the implications. "Somebody
built this! How could anyone build something so huge?"
"It was built by the Ancients," Xar'van said. "Before the demon wars."
"I've seen this kind of black stone before - in Or'gn! I saw a black monolith
there, only smaller."
"I've seen it too," Xar'van said. "It has a door bound by lithan chains."
"I remember, and the chains can only be cut by an opaline scimitar. That
must be why I was sent here - to get the scimitar. It must be at the top of the
tower!" That night Jason tossed, dreaming of smooth black walls and of
struggling upward, then falling back, spinning down to stop abruptly, a splash
of red on a snow-white plain.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Rain came near morning, falling gently, dampening the desert and washing
dust from the air so that everything smelled fresh. Dawn arrived, pale orange,
with rosy streaks through breaking clouds. Jason was up first, though Xar'van
was already stirring and soon joined him. Khaar-Dan and his Warriors
prepared breakfast of rabir kurduc and wild florn biscuits, and Jason ate with a
strong appetite in spite of nervousness.
After morning meal, Khaar-Dan went with him to show him the notched
route up the north wall of the black tower. They were camped near the
southwest corner, and it was nearly half a legon along the west wall, thence
around the corner to the north side. The notched route was near the center, a
quarter legon farther on.
"There must be a reason for the notches," Jason said as he studied the
grooves cut in the smooth black rock.
"Maybe." Khaar-Dan sounded skeptical. "I've already told you, it goes
nowhere."
Jason squinted at the top of the monolith, barely visible. Puffs of cloud
floated past, and it seemed as though the soaring pinnacle was floating, moving
against the blue and white sky.
"The rock's wet." Xar'van swiped his hand in the lowest notch. "It'll be
slippery."
Jason tested the notches, cut three or four inches into the surface, a foot
wide and half that high, with the bottom of each flattened and cleated, and each
end rounded and shaped to make an easy handgrip. They felt secure even if
wet. "It looks easy," he said.
"Be careful," Khaar-Dan warned. "A man fell here a few years ago."
"As your protector, I'll climb up first and take a look around," Xar'van told
Jason, and stuck his hands in the lowest notch.
"I should go first," Jason said. "I may need to see something - something
Khaar-Dan and the others missed - something only I will recognize."
"I saw nothing unusual," Khaar-Dan said, "but perhaps you're right. If the
Master sent you to climb this tower, there must be a reason. I'm sorry I can't
stay, but the Master calls me and Eyrie's Warriors to other service. You needn't
fear renegades. None will challenge you again so close to Eyrie."

***
Xar'van reluctantly admitted Jason might be right and should climb first.
After Khaar-Dan and his Warriors left, he busied himself building a new camp
while Jason began to inch his way up the dark face. The sky cleared, and
desert dryness soon evaporated the moisture from the stonework. The
handholds and cleated notches made fine grips but the work was hard and the
height unnerving. Soon Jason found himself hundreds of feet up, his heart
thumping, and he found it hard to shake memory of a dream in which he ended
as a red splotch on the white sand.
Although shadowed and without cape or armor, exertion brought sweat by
the time he saw the upper limit of the notches. All the way, he had searched for
clues, but had seen nothing. The wall was nearly smooth, broken only by slight
cracks that marked joins between huge stone blocks. At the last notch, he stared
upward with dismay. It looked as far to the top as when he started, and with
nothing but smooth rock above. He noted only a slight shift in stone coloration
immediately above the ladder, to which, at first, he attached no significance.
But while getting back his wind he remembered the songs of Eyrie. The Stone
Song was suddenly in his head, and it was as though a light turned on in his
brain. "Ru was wrong. It's not about the sun!" As he recalled the words, he
suddenly knew what they meant. "It's a key like I first thought!"
The words ran through his head as the melody formed on his lips. "Sing,
sing, and the light shall give way. Sing, sing, and the light shall return." He felt
a little foolish as his voice, distorted by excitement and sounding like the
warbling of a slightly demented bird, echoed off the stone wall. Yet, hardly had
the last note died than the lighter patch of stone above folded soundlessly into
the darkness. "Yes! Yes! I got it right the first time!"
Success made him giddy. Reaching upward, he gripped the edge of the
opening and pulled himself up. He stood in the mouth of a ten foot square
passage and whooped and danced. Light pouring through the opening was
soaked up like water on a sponge. He pulled a lamp from his belt, opened it,
and struck fire. The yellow glow offered feeble challenge to the tunnel's
darkness but allowed him to see the shaft go straight back then turn left and
begin an upward, clockwise spiral. He hesitated. He itched to go on, but
experience had taught him prudence. He owed it to Xar'van to tell him what he
had found before he traipsed off exploring on his own.
At the lip of the tunnel, he stretched on his stomach and hung his head over.
It looked appallingly far to the desert floor where he saw a tiny blanket lean-to

and Xar'van's even tinier figure moving near Thistle and Dragon Fire. With a
sigh, he began the long climb down. When he stood on the ground and told
Xar'van of his discovery, the gnome's brows rose. "So, I was right; there is
more to you than meets the eye. It seems you have the power to sing rocks into
obedience."
Jason blushed. "I sang a song key. It was not the rock that obeyed, but
whatever mechanism locked it in place."
"Maybe, but I heard your song and spent a deal of time looking for the bird
that produced such beautiful sounds. I had no idea it was you."
Jason's blush deepened. "It'll be hard to climb with armor, weapons, and a
pack."
"You won't be alone," Xar'van said. "We'll haul up what supplies we need
and cache the rest. Thistle and Dragon Fire will be safe down here."
"How will we get everything up? We can't carry it all."
"We'll fasten slings to our belts. It may take more than one trip, but we'll
manage."
Jason looked up and groaned. "It'll take a lot of trips."
Xar'van snorted. "What did you expect? Quests are not for the lazy! Now
let's get to it."
The rest of the day they crawled up and down the black wall like tiny bugs,
hauling things up in slings dangling below their bodies. By evening, Jason
could not remember when he had been so tired, though Xar'van seemed as
fresh as at the beginning. And, in spite of his small size, the gnome had carried
heavier loads than Jason.
"I must have been up and down a hundred times." Jason slumped next to a
small fire where Xar'van had a pot of kurduc bubbling.
Xar'van laughed in his chiming voice. "You're given to hyperbole, I see.
You took three loads up the wall, same as I. Hardly a hundred trips."
"I made an extra trip before we started," Jason said. "Besides, it feels like
a hundred; I ache all over. I'm glad the clouds came back to keep it from getting
too hot." After supper, he rolled into his blankets and fell asleep instantly.
During the night clouds built, and Jason woke in the morning feeling damp
and groggy. He crawled out of the shelter and was greeted by a stiff wind. The
tower's top was hidden by swirling mist that reached even below the highest
notches.
"We should have better secured our supplies," Xar'van said as he peered
upward into the gloom. They had left everything exposed at the mouth of the

tunnel, not wishing to chance the indefinable hazards of the dark interior.
"Wind might scatter our belongings and undo a day's labor."
Jason looked upward. "Let's go right away. Maybe we can get up before
the wind gets too strong."
Xar'van agreed and they skipped morning meal, snacking on biscuits as
they disassembled camp and stashed the gear they were leaving behind.
Xar'van released Thistle and Dragon Fire, knowing the horven would not go
far, yet would be free to fend off predators if need arose. Wearing armor and
carrying their weapons, they began the climb in a soft rain. Rivulets ran down
the bare rock. Xar'van climbed first, slowly and methodically, forcing Jason to
climb slowly as well. The boy chafed until his hand slipped and he teetered.
After that he climbed even more slowly than Xar'van, and was fifty feet behind
when the little gnome reached the top. As Jason clambered into the opening,
the wind swung from the southwest to the northwest and began to howl into the
mouth of the tunnel. Hastily, they dragged their supplies deeper inside, then
Jason sang the Stone Song. A stone slab pivoted from the tunnel roof and
sealed the portal. Lamp-glow glinted in spatters of wet as they mopped their
rain-slicked faces. Jason shivered.
"We'll make base camp here," Xar'van said.
Jason laid out his blankets and stacked supplies along the wall. When
ready, they started to hike up the gently sloping spiral tunnel. Hardly had they
begun than they were startled by a loud thump. Turning, they saw a solid stone
wall blocking the tunnel they had just traversed.
"Well," Xar'van piped, "looks like we won't be returning the way we came
after all. Unless, of course, you can sing this stone out of the way."
"Are we trapped?" Jason asked.
"Why don't you give that stone song of yours another try."
Jason sang, but the blockage was unmoved.
"Probably a dead-fall," Xar'van mused. "Once in place, it can't be raised
except by brute force. From the look of it, I doubt you and I can muster the
necessary force."
"Then we really are trapped."
"What do you mean, trapped? Come on. We're not trapped as long as
there's a way open."
"Yeah? Well, look ahead. Doesn't look like much of a way to me." He
pointed toward a row of shafts rising from the tunnel floor, barring the way.
"Does present a conundrum." Xar'van brushed a hand over his bald pate as

he examined the new obstacle. Each five-foot shaft, made of four metal strips
half an inch wide honed to razor sharpness and joined at a common edge, was
hinged in a slot in the floor. Above the sharpened tips, the tunnel roof dipped
leaving less than six inches clearance. The spikes were three inches apart in
staggered ranks that extended out of sight around the tunnel's curvature.
Jason examined the hinges, then gingerly pressed a spike's flattened
surface. It yielded when pushed strongly. Xar'van wrapped his hand with
leather and pulled hard. Small as he was, putting his back to it, he bent the
spike to the floor.
He could not hold it. "Yeowch!" He shook his fingers as the spring-loaded
hinge popped the spike erect with a loud twang. A trickle of blood started
where the spike had nicked his hand. "I doubt we can retract enough blades to
get through. The edges are sharp as swords, and it would take both of us to
hold even one. We'd be cut to pieces before we could get through the first
rank."
"We're stuck," Jason said. "We can't go either way."
"Try another song. They must be good for something."
"I've only got two more songs, and I don't see how they apply."
"Sing anyway."
Jason faced the army of spikes and thought a moment, then began the
Crystal Song. It was the most difficult, and he had to concentrate. When he
started to sing, he felt sadness so intense it made his voice break, and he halted
in confusion.
Xar'van's small face took on a dark somberness. "You make it sound as if
we're already dead, Boy. I don't think I like that song."
"It's a sad song. I'll try again."
"What about the other song? Sing it first."
"The Servant Song? I thought it less likely, but it is cheerful. Here goes."
Jason sang confidently - the Servant Song was easiest of the three - and the
notes made him grin.
"That's more like it." Xar'van laughed. "We need a cheerful song to raise
our spirits."
Jason stopped singing. "Do you hear something? I thought I heard a sound."
Xar'van raised his head. "I do hear something - a faint rumbling."
"Uh, oh! Look behind!"
The mass of stone that had so mysteriously dropped to block the tunnel had
now flopped forward and was sliding toward them like some gargantuan

shuttle, filling the passage from side to side.

"It'll shove us into the spikes!"
"Jump! Get on top!"
They leaped, grabbed the edge, and hauled themselves up, barely tumbling
into a notch on top as the stone slab roared toward the spikes. They heard
tremendous racket as it crashed into the steel forest, slamming the blades
forward into grooves in the floor.
"Duck!" Jason yelled.
As they swept under the low ceiling above the spikes, they huddled in the
narrow groove on the slab's upper surface. Moments later, the space overhead
opened out and the stone slab ground to a halt.
"Wow! Some ride!"
"Your song did it, Jason!"
"I know what the words mean now. Listen: 'Good servant, I need your help.
Your back is broad. Your strength is great. Carry, carry, oh please carry me.
When my task is done, I'll call again. Stand fast by me, Good servant.'"
"I see," Xar'van said. "The stone is the servant."
"Yes and it'll wait for us. It'll wait until I need it again, and that means we
can get out of here the way we came in." His relief was immense. "Come on!"
He hopped off the stone. "There's only one song left, the sad song. When I find
out where it's used, I bet I'll find the opaline scimitar."
As they hurried ahead, the tunnel narrowed and its coils tightened until it
ended at a circular shaft. Jason and Xar'van looked into a hundred foot
diameter hole that dropped into nothingness and extended upward into equal
nothingness.
"There are notches in the wall," Jason said.
"They form a spiral running upward."
"That's the way we need to go. We can climb them I think."
That was a task easier said than done. The notches were small, poorly
formed, and each was offset laterally making it necessary to reach to the side
with each reach up. More importantly, the wall tapered toward the shaft's
center, creating a slight overhang. This forced them to hold themselves with
constant arm tension.
Within minutes, Jason felt sweat on his forehead, then on his arms and
hands. Sweat made his grip less secure and he began to feel the strain. His
lamp, slung on his belt, cast a distorted shadow of his body upward, and the
shadow limited his view. He could see only a few notches ahead and had no

idea how far he had to climb. His arms started to shake. "I can't climb much
farther," he called to Xar'van.
"It's too difficult," Xar'van piped. "Something doesn't feel right about this
anyway. The handholds are getting smaller and the overhang is becoming more
severe."
"I need help," Jason wailed. "I'm slipping." His pack tugged dangerously
on his shoulders.
"Cut loose your pack!"
"I can't! If I move my hand, I'll fall!"
"I'm coming!" Xar'van cut loose his own pack and began to climb rapidly.
Jason felt his fingers sliding and groped with his left foot for the next lower
notch, then his right foot slipped. He dangled briefly, his pack a dead-weight.
He felt Xar'van's hand brush his ankle, then he was falling. Darkness engulfed
him as the wind of falling blew out his lamp. He felt himself turn slowly, and
felt the rush of air tear at him. He fell and fell and fell - then something
slammed into his back. The wind whooshed out of his lungs and he felt himself
rising, then falling again. He fought to breathe.
"Jason?" a thin voice peeped.
Air whistled through his teeth as he strained to make his lungs work.
"Jason?"
"Xar'van?" Jason croaked. "Is that you?"
"Are you all right?"
Jason tried his limbs. They seemed to work. "I think so." He hunched to a
sitting position and heard clacking. A light flared. Xar'van, on his stubby knees
a short distance away, was holding a lantern. Jason's own lantern lay nearby.
"What happened?"
"We fell onto a shock-absorber," Xar'van said. "This spongy substance was
apparently meant to break our fall. Can you move okay?"
Jason wobbled to his feet, bouncing on the billowy surface. "We landed on
a pillow?"
"We fell into a trap, but one not meant to kill us. Hey, take a look over
here." Xar'van jounced to the wall and pulled on a handgrip. A door swung
open on a narrow channel. Inside, a black iron ladder extended upward into
darkness. Jason collected his lantern and pack and followed Xar'van. "At least
the ladder is easy to climb."
Xar'van reached a landing with a door at one end and a metal plate
opposite. He pushed on the door and almost fell through. He was teetering on

the edge of the central shaft from which they had just come.
"Look at this, Xar'van." Jason was studying the metal plate opposite the
door. Inset in its center was a circular dark stone that looked like polished
obsidian. Xar'van waddled over. Jason stroked the polished dark stone, then
jerked his hand away. The stone turned white and a loud whine bellowed.
"Uh, oh! What did I do?"
Xar'van touched the stone, and it darkened once more. The whine died
away.
"It's a switch," Jason cried.
"It activates an air flow," Xar'van said. "I felt a strong draft when it was
on."
Jason hit the button again.
"Look!" Xar'van was leaning out the door into the central shaft. "The floor
is rising."
"It's an elevator," Jason yelled. "Come on!"
They jumped onto the billowing surface.
"What's an elevator?" Xar'van struggled to keep his feet on the rising
surface.
"A way out, I think. But this is the strangest elevator I've ever ridden. It's a
giant inflating balloon."
The floor rose faster as the shaft narrowed upward.
"This is where we started." Jason bounced toward the tunnel entrance as
the billowing surface drew closer.
"Don't we need to go higher?"
"You're right." Jason settled back.
"Look sharp! The ceiling is coming up fast."
"I see a railing. Grab it!" The flexible surface jounced to a stop, then
immediately began falling. Jason and Xar'van scrambled onto a narrow
catwalk a few feet below the ceiling.
"I see a passage." They followed the catwalk into a narrow hallway.
"Watch yourself. This whole place may be booby-trapped."
Steep stone steps curved upward. Jason climbed eagerly at first, but an
hour of steady climbing took the spring from his step. It was hot in the narrow
stairwell and, except the light from their lamps, was pitch-dark.
"How about a break?" Xar'van said after a second hour.
"I'm ready." Jason slumped. "We must have climbed a million steps."
"Come, come, that's more hyperbole," Xar'van lowered his small frame

alongside, "though I admit the true number must be considerable."

"We ought to be near the top by now."
"We are," Xar'van said. "At least we're not far from something. If you look
ahead, you'll see a lightness on the walls, more than is coming from our
lamps."
Jason's spirits rose. "I was so busy looking at my feet I didn't notice. Let's
hurry and see where the light's coming from."
Xar'van chuckled. "I thought you were exhausted."
"Being almost somewhere makes a big difference."
"We'll eat first," Xar'van said. They ate florn biscuits and dried goleap
meat and washed it down with cold drog. They ate quickly, for Xar'van was as
eager as Jason to see what was ahead. When they started it quickly became
bright enough to safely turn off their lamps. Hurrying, they saw multi-colored
light streaming from above. Jason double-stepped the last few risers and
emerged into an immense circular room filled with rainbows.
"The whole room is made of crystal!"
Sunlight cascaded through crystalline shafts hanging from a translucent
ceiling hundreds of feet overhead. Xar'van came alongside, his face shining in
the myriad-hued light, and together they tip-toed into the brightness, passing
from red to orange, yellow to green, blue to violet. They walked on a marble
floor polished until it shone and patterned in black and red. A circular structure
forty or fifty feet high and made of dark green stone stood in the center. Around
the green stone, a golden staircase wound to the top. They climbed and Jason
felt abrupt, unexpected sadness, so strong it made him gasp. It was like the
sadness he felt when singing the Crystal Song, and suddenly he knew what he
had to do.
At the top of the green stone, they saw in its center a pale blue circle. Jason
sat cross-legged facing the blue. Tears welled in his eyes, and he looked at
Xar'van. The little Warrior looked back with the saddest face Jason had ever
seen. He glanced at the ceiling. There were no crystals immediately overhead,
only a single sickle-like object hanging with its point straight down. "The
opaline scimitar," Jason murmured.
"You know what's going to happen, don't you?"
"I must sing for the scimitar."
When he began, his voice shook a little, then steadied. His heart trembled,
and tears streamed down his cheeks, but he did not stop. "Unbroken light,
shining brightly, falling through crystals, entwined in their heart. Pure gold

from above, divided, made pure, shattered and sundered, their treasure set
loose."
His voice floated upward, keening on notes so high they were almost
beyond hearing. The crystals began to break. They fell like rain, shattering, a
million disintegrating prisms carrying the sun's golden light with them. Then
the scimitar fell, streaking downward, and plunged into the heart of the blue
stone. It vibrated dully while Jason sat with his head bowed. "It's done."
Xar'van put his hand to the scimitar, and a shaft of golden light suddenly
swathed him. For a moment the tiny Warrior looked made of iron as his arm
withdrew the blade. It shimmered with the iridescence of pearl as he held it
above his head. The golden light faded and Xar'van could no longer hold the
blade aloft. It drooped, then its tip dropped to the stone.
"It's too heavy for me, yet I was privileged to lift it from the stone!"
Jason tried to lift it and found he could barely bring it free of the floor.
"It's the greatest weapon in Faland," Xar'van whispered. "Only one man
can wield it."
"John," Jason said. "I must take it to him."
They wrapped the blade with leather and cloth and carried it between
them, for neither could manage it alone. Though the crystals were broken over
the floor, the vast chamber was filled with brilliant sunlight. They passed
through the glory of light and entered the stairwell by which they had arrived.
The long steps down were more painful than they had been on the way up, for
the weight of the scimitar was oppressive. Yet they persevered, and aching in
muscle and joint, finally dragged the scimitar onto the catwalk above the inner
shaft.
"We'll have to jump." Xar'van peered into the dark shaft. "I hope the
cushion is still there."
"It will be. We are meant to get out of here." He shoved the scimitar off the
catwalk, then stepped into empty space. Xar'van followed. Jason felt his rear
slam into the cushion and his teeth rattled. An instant later he heard the whump
as Xar'van hit.
"You okay?" Jason lit his lamp.
Xar'van got to his feet and retrieved his pack which had jolted from his
shoulders.
"I'll start the elevator," Jason said. He climbed the iron ladder, then joined
Xar'van on the rising surface. As they approached the entry tunnel, they stood
ready to heave the scimitar off then jump clear. The elevator did not continue

upward, but subsided as soon as they got off.

They found the servant-stone waiting and climbed aboard, nestling the
scimitar in the notch between them. Jason sang the Servant Song, and they
clattered through the spikes, then slid to a stop where the tunnel turned toward
the outside. Jason sang the Stone Song and breathed a sigh of relief when once
again they looked on the desert of Aul'kalee.
"There's Dragon Fire!" Jason saw his stallion, looking small far below.
"I see Thistle out wandering as usual." Xar'van pointed toward a tiny gray
speck two legons away.
"She'll come running quick enough when she knows you're back."
They slid the scimitar over the edge and watched it fall into white sand at
the base of the tower. Most of their supplies, unneeded as it turned out,
followed. The climb down was routine. When they stood again at the base of
the tower, Jason looked up, relieved but sad too. His adventure was coming to
an end.
***
Khaar-Dan and his Warriors escorted Jason, with Xar'van and Kilia,
across Aul'kalee to Waydn. The escort made the trip so easy Jason could
hardly believe he had struggled so hard, almost dying, when first he crossed
that lonely waste. At Waydn, Khaar-Dan and his men turned back to Eyrie
while Jason, Kilia, and Xar'van climbed the trail out of Aul'kalee. Jason felt
jumpy, especially near the top where the trail turned into the narrow cleft in
which renegades had captured his friends. It was late, and the sun had dropped
below the horizon when they passed the cave at the lip of the cliff. They did
not stop.
The moon was up when they made camp in the open with a good view of
the surroundings and well outside the small gorge. They saw no sign of
renegades, but Xar'van stood guard first and later insisted that Jason and Kilia
stand guard together to keep one another awake. The trip to Ruvendale was
uneventful. Jason began to relax when they reached the farmland, and he and
Kilia again went on wild gallops across the fields, this time not on a lumbering
elder stallion, but on the incredibly swift Dragon Fire with Ruby at his side.
Jason was sure they could outrun the wind.
Xar'van left them at Ruvendale. Jason had hardly time to renew his
acquaintance with Ru and the brothers, Yen and Roben. He awoke early the
morning after arriving and went to the stream to bathe. Kilia came from the
house. "You're going today, aren't you?" Her face was somber.

"I have to. I have to take the opaline scimitar to John."

"I wish I could go. Is there time for another ride?"
"No. I'm sorry." Jason toweled and shrugged into his tunic. "I want to make
Forod before dark."
Breakfast was subdued; even Yen and Roben knew Jason was leaving and
were sad.
"Thanks for everything," Jason told Ru as he tied the lunch she had made to
Dragon Fire's saddle.
Ru set aside her cane and took him in her arms. "May your travels be
peaceful." She crushed him to her bosom, a trace of moisture in her eyes. "You
will come again, won't you?"
"I promise."
Jason turned to Kilia. Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and
kissed his lips. "You're the best friend I've ever had!"
Jason climbed on Dragon Fire. "I've truly liked it here. I love all of you."
His eyes were strangely stinging when he nudged Dragon Fire and began to
ride down the meadow. At the forest's edge, he looked back and saw them
watching: Ru and Kilia, Yen and Roben. He splashed through the stream and
onto the forest trail leading toward Forod.

PART ELEVEN: AROON

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Outside Horath's chamber, Martin withdrew from his pocket the small
sphere given him by Trenel. It was similar in shape and size to an expanded
Mentat eye, but different from those with which he was familiar. It was not a
visual instrument, and its size could not be changed, nor could it be moved
telekinetically. It seemed, instead, to be some form of com-device. He thought
that, perhaps at last, he had gained access to the secret communication system
that moved information so mysteriously around Faland. He touched the sphere
gently with his mind. "Go to the small house behind the weapon shop," it told
him.
Briefly, he considered returning to the village green to let his friends know
what was going on, but something stayed him. Horath had said they all had
summons of their own, and he feared talking with them might interfere with
their tasks and possibly place them in danger. The sun had dropped below the
palisade and the streets were in shadow. He hurried to the town plaza, then
down the narrow south street to the weapon shop. It had not yet closed for the
evening, but he did not go in. Instead, he noticed a small alley along one side an alley he had previously ignored. He made his way along it and into an
overgrown lot. Squinting in the gathering dusk, he spotted a small log house,
only vaguely visible, nestled in a copse of trees. A faint yellow glow outlined
a window heavily shrouded by an inner curtain.
Martin knocked on a weathered, plank door. In a moment, a stooped and
gnarled woman, shabbily clad in peasant's tunic, her scraggly orange hair
bleached almost yellow with age, opened the door. She spoke with a guttural
voice, little more than a croak, "I'm Chisen, Horath's sister. You must be
Martin. My brother told me you were coming." With a claw-like hand, she
pulled him through the door and slammed it. "Must not let anyone know you're
here. I'm told you'll need a disguise, eh?"
Martin looked at the old woman with surprise; she looked nothing like
Horath. "Your brother didn't tell me much. Why do I need a disguise?"

Chisen cackled. "Just like my brother. Never tells anyone more than they
need to know. You're going south, to Kroll country. They don't take kindly to
strangers. Come, follow me."
Martin's heart jumped. Kroll country? From what he had heard, the
prospect did not cheer him. He followed the old woman through a small,
sparely furnished room lit by an oil lamp hanging above a smoky fireplace, and
into an even smaller room containing a bed and next to it a small chair and
stand. The stand held a basin, a pitcher of water, and a jar containing some
dark substance. Laid out on the bed were a number of ragged garments.
"Take off your clothes," Chisen ordered. "Put them on the chair."
Martin's brow shot up. He watched Chisen pour water into the basin and
add dark powder. "Hurry," she said while mixing the powder and water with
her fingers.
"Not likely." Martin eyed the concoction suspiciously.
"Don't be stupid! If you don't want to be recognized, you'll have to look
like a native. This stain is made from sanden nut shells. It's harmless, but it'll
darken your skin. Now take off your clothes and help me apply it."
"A little dye isn't going to make me look like a native," Martin protested.
"What about my eyes and my hair?"
"Your hair will take dye," Chisen said. "You'll wear a cloak, and if you
don't look too directly at people, you'll pass. Now, get started. There's little
time."
Martin slipped off his mokads and sirkeln, and dipped his fingers in the
murky liquid. He wondered how permanent the dye was.
"It won't wash off in water," Chisen said, as if to answer his thoughts.
"Scrubbing won't touch it, but it'll wear off in time."
When they were almost done, Chisen wiped her hands and said, "Finish up
while I fetch the color for your hair."
Martin put the last touches on as Chisen returned with a jar of orange
powder. She added some to the liquid remaining in the basin. "Lean!" She
grabbed his shoulders and pushed his head into the basin, then worked dye into
his hair, massaging it down to his scalp. While he blotted his head, she told
him to put on the clothes laid out on the bed.
Martin donned a peasant's sirkeln, tunic, and mokads, then went through his
own sirkeln and transferred his Mentat tools, hummers, first aid kit, lamp and
flint, oil, and money to his new garments. He discovered capacious pockets in
the sirkeln and tunic and was surprised to find in them a number of small items

of unknown purpose.
When he was dressed, Chisen eyed him with her sharp black eyes. "You'll
do." She chuckled hoarsely. "You're a hide merchant now, as nondescript as
any on the road."
"You said I'm supposed to go south into Kroll country. Do I have a specific
destination?"
"Riven, of course, across Fariver in Ray'ne Forest. When you get there, go
to the weapon shop for further instructions. You'll travel as an itinerant hide
merchant, carrying biven and elken hides to sell in Riven. A cart is loaded in
back. You must leave at once, as quietly as possible."
"I'll be going alone?"
"Until you get to Riven you'll be safer alone. Hide merchants are among the
poorest of Faland's merchants, rarely attacked by renegades or Kroll before
they sell their hides. In Riven you'll have other things to worry about."
Martin did not like the sound of that but followed Chisen outside to a
small, two-wheel cart piled high with hides and hitched behind two small
burros. A wooden seat, attached to the front, was situated so that the hides
served as backrest.
"How will I find my way?" he asked, as he climbed onto the wobbly cart,
wrinkling his nose at the smell of the hides. The cart listed dangerously until he
settled near the center.
"Head east from Or'gn. You'll intercept the Riven Road in the Glu'me forest
east of Sapro's Inn. Take it south. You'll find a map in your belongings and
supplies for the journey. You'll also find navaid, wherstone, and weyring, all of
which you'll need."
Martin's eyes widened. "You mean after all we went through to get a
weyring from Blackwater Cave, now you're just giving me one?"
Chisen laughed with her hoarse cackle. "You've much to learn. Blackwater
Cave was a test. You passed it quite well, I might add."
"How many more tests?" Martin asked. "Is this another?"
"As I said, you've much to learn. Now be off with you."
Martin found the reins looped in a clip beside the seat, and took them
awkwardly. He had not driven a cart before and his perplexity showed. "Don't
worry," Chisen said. "You'll catch on soon enough." She cackled and slapped
the near burro's rump. The cart lurched. Martin tugged hard on the right lead
and barely swung the animals past Chisen's small log house. A moment later he
rattled through the alley into the street, somehow turning the burros toward

Or'gn's gate.
It was dark as Martin passed through the gate. When the burros were
moving smoothly, he lit a lamp and hung it on the cart side. He drove far into
the night, stopping only briefly to relieve himself and stretch the kinks from his
legs. Occasionally, he saw other lights moving through the moonless night.
Sometimes he spotted them legons away, moving soundlessly on a line toward
him. Then, an hour or more later, he would hear the creak of harness, plopping
of hooves, and rattling of wooden wheels rolling over hard-packed roadway,
and a peasant cart, much like his, would loom out of the dark. As they passed,
he would nod curtly and hear a grunt in return. He did not talk to the passing
peasants.
The burros walked slowly, and he was still in distant sight of Or'gn when
the sun came over the eastern horizon and made him duck his head against its
glare. He rested briefly and ate a light morning meal, but did not make camp.
All day he continued as the air took on heat. He became drowsy, and in late
afternoon nearly fell off the cart half a dozen times. He pulled off near a farm
and camped just outside the farmer's gate. The gate was open, and though the
premises looked deserted, he hiked up the drive to fill his canteens and get
water for the burros from the farmer's well.
After eating he bedded and fell asleep immediately. He awakened promptly
at first light and lay a moment, half expecting to hear Susan and Robert stirring
up the fire, beginning breakfast. Orange rays slanted through tall prairie grass
and gilded the hides piled high on his cart. He rolled out of his blankets hungry
- he had eaten only lightly the day before - and took time to stir up florn cakes
and fry a slab of porven from the food box on the cart. Chisen had seen well to
his needs; the box was full, and he found a sword and armor stashed beneath
the hides.
The burros were rested and had fed well on lush prairie grass. They started
off with a spring, and Martin drove alertly, enjoying the cool morning and the
splendid farmland that swept away on all sides. However, as the hours crept
by, monotony dulled his senses, and he decided being a merchant, especially a
solitary one, was not to his taste. In early afternoon, he heard hooves behind
and swung around in his seat. He was surprised to see three mounted Warriors
rapidly overtaking him, followed by a large wagon drawn by four horven.
Clucking to his burros, he pulled off the road to allow them to pass.
As the riders drew nearer, he saw that the tallest was a black man and was
delighted when he recognized Brom. His pleasure at seeing a friend almost

caused him to betray himself before he remembered he was traveling

incognito. He turned his face at the last moment and Brom passed with scarcely
a glance. Out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw the other two Warriors, a
woman and a man so small Martin had taken him to be a child. When the
wagon drew abreast, Martin saw a huge droid driving it, and behind the wagon
two droids rode with half a dozen horven.
It was a substantial war party, and though disappointed at not being free to
greet his friend, Martin was glad Brom had gotten a good contract. Made level
six, too, he noted as he guided his burros back onto the road. He drove slowly
until Brom's wagon pulled far ahead.
By evening, Martin reached a small canyon crossed by a wooden truss
bridge. He pulled up and looked across the bridge toward a line of dark trees.
"The Glu'me forest, I presume."
Noting the late hour, he decided to camp on the farmland side and wait
until morning to enter the forest. A rutted passage took him to the stream. Near
the clear flow, he found a campsite in a meadow.
Red-winged birds, singing cheerily, awakened him in the morning.
Overhead, thin clouds turned pink. He ate breakfast and got under way quickly.
When he rattled across the bridge, he was amazed at how abruptly the terrain
changed, from grassland to deep forest. The trees rose to great height, their
interlocking branches closing over the road so that he found himself driving
through a green tunnel. Deep shade kept undergrowth to a minimum, and he
could see a fair distance among mottled trunks. The roadbed felt solid under
his wheels, not deeply rutted, yet was damp and springy so that his burros
made little sound. He rode without stopping, enjoying the quiet, until well past
noon. Shadows were deepening when he spotted a palisade through the thick
growth.
Must be Sapro's Inn.
He considered stopping for the night. As he drew nearer, his Mentat senses
stirred. "Robert?" His heart quickened, and he drew the burros to a stop.
Closing his eyes, he opened his mind. Robert's presence was unmistakable,
very near. "He's at the inn. Asleep, I think."
Martin clucked up the burros and headed toward the gate, then stopped,
shaking his head. He looked at his brown-stained hands. "I can't let Robert
know I'm here. It would break my cover." Even to stop at Sapro's Inn would be
risky; Robert might recognize him. Sighing, he turned the burros and rolled past
the gate. He indulged himself in one thing, though. When beyond the palisade,

he pulled aside and took from his pocket a Mentat eye. He directed it toward
Sapro's where an open window gave him entry. Careful to keep his eye near
the ceiling where its shimmering surface would go unnoticed, he found Robert,
asleep as suspected, in a room on the second floor.
"He's been hurt!"
The boy's blanket was turned back and Martin saw a scab on his chest.
Quick analysis showed him the wound was well-healed. Nevertheless, he felt
a surge of anger and drew back his Mentat eye, snatching it with his
outstretched hand, and quickly took out his com-sphere.
"Horath! What's going on? What's happened to Robert?"
The sphere responded, "Your senses are becoming keen. Robert is okay as
you have concluded. You must leave him to his task. Provision has been made
for his protection."
"Brom?"
"A reasonable deduction."
"How did Robert get hurt? Was Brom with him?"
"Robert was alone when attacked by renegades. He acquitted himself well.
Brom helped him get to Sapro's and will stay with him."
"Why was a child sent alone into renegade country in the first place?"
Martin asked, his voice still strong with anger.
"You must trust your friends. Robert is a child, true enough, but much
stronger than you know. His task is hard, but within his ability, and you will
find your own task no less difficult."
"What about the others? Are they in danger too? Why aren't you telling us
what's going on?"
"When the time comes for you to know, I will not need to tell you. Your
friends are all safe." The com sphere went dead, and Martin knew Horath had
withdrawn. Grumbling, he drove until he found a small clearing a few dozen
feet off the road. In it a small spring welled from among boulders. Nearby was
a fireplace and Martin pitched his tent near it. He slept fitfully and woke while
it was still dark. He ate cold meat and biscuits, washed down with hot drog,
then hitched the burros and was on the road before dawn's first pale gray
lightened the sky.
Shortly, he arrived at a junction marked with a rickety sign that proclaimed
Rooden 75 legons east. It also pointed south to Fragaz and Woren. Searching
his pockets, he found the map Chisen had given him, looked up Rooden-Or'gn
Road and located the side road to Woren. It was labeled Riven Road, and

Woren lay more than two hundred legons south. A hundred legons beyond that,
across a range of hills called High Ridge, was Fariver, and beyond that, Riven.
Fragaz lay at the end of another road branching east more than a hundred
legons to the south.
Martin whistled. "Looks like I have a lot of ground to cover." Then he
added, "Apparently I'm stuck with this cart for a long time."

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

The road south, though narrower and rougher than the Rooden road, was
heavily used and mostly well maintained. It climbed gradually, winding among
huge trees, and sometimes crossed wooden culverts over small runnels where
fresh water gushed from fern covered banks and flowed through small gravelly
washes. Perched atop his hides, Martin occasionally passed groups of roughlooking fighters not wearing the headbands of honorable Warriors. These he
took to be renegades, but true to Chisen's words, they did not attack him and
generally passed in surly silence.
Four days after turning onto the Riven road, Martin encountered a steep
rise and was forced to climb down and assist the burros by placing his
shoulder to the rear of the rickety cart. It was not a long rise, and though the
effort required was large, he welcomed the exercise and the break from
monotony. At the top he stood panting and looked at a forest abruptly changed.
Dark conifers gave way to broad-leaved trees whose lofty crowns allowed
more light to reach the forest floor. Brilliantly plumaged birds swarmed among
the branches and filled the air with music while squirrel-like creatures darted,
chattering with strangely loud voices that reminded him of unmuffled lawn
mowers. His map labeled this the Hileav Forest, which he thought fitting as the
huge trees carried their leaves high above the ground. Happy to be in such
pleasant terrain, he climbed on his cart and urged the burros forward.
For two days, he drove contented. From time to time, he passed merchant
carts, some pulled by burros, others by the merchants themselves. At night he
camped by springs, sometimes with other travelers though he stayed aloof from
these, afraid his blue eyes would give him away. Three days into Hileav, he
heard the sound of overtaking horven hooves. He pulled aside to let the faster
wagon pass. It was driven by an old man, more prosperous than most
merchants judging from the wagon's size, the two fine horven pulling it, and the
great heap of merchandise it contained. Two young native Warriors, both level
one, were riding guard on the wagon. They studied Martin closely as they
passed, their weapons ready, but when they saw that he was a harmless hide
merchant, they smiled pleasantly and nodded.
Martin kept his face shadowed until the wagon disappeared ahead.
However, he had barely begun again when, rounding a slight bend, he saw the

wagon stopped in the road. It had taken on two new occupants who now
perched on the load with the guards. It seemed a curious thing, for Martin had
talked enough with other merchants to know it was rare for anyone to pick up
strangers.
As he drew closer, Martin's pulse notched up. He felt a familiar presence.
Seconds later, he recognized Susan. He wanted to rush forward and make
himself known, but as when he recognized Robert, prudence guided him. He
could see that Susan was okay, and he waited quietly until the wagon moved
forward. Almost immediately he saw its occupants jump down and begin to
trot alongside. The driver whipped up the horven, setting a brisk pace as
though suddenly aware of a need to hurry. That gave him pause, but he could do
nothing. He consoled himself by thinking that perhaps the merchant had urgent
business not related to Susan's mission.
Martin's slow burros fell far behind and he almost missed seeing the
wagon turn east. When he came to the turning point, he sat a moment looking
after it. It was headed toward Fragaz. Briefly, he considered consulting Horath
but figured it unlikely the old master would tell him about Susan's mission. He
clucked up the burros and continued toward Woren.
***
Two days later, the Hileav Forest gave way to low shrubs and stark, stony
hills. Martin felt desert heat almost like a blow and left the forest with regret.
Far ahead, looming on a rocky flat, he saw stone walls and concluded he was
nearing Woren. It was the first stone-walled settlement he had seen, and he
studied it with curiosity. A stone portal, flanked by manned towers, opened to
the north. Oddly, the main road did not bypass the town but seemed to end at
the portal.
Woren can't be the end of the road. My map shows the road continuing
south to Fariver.
The mystery was solved when he arrived at the portal. A straight avenue,
carrying the main road through the settlement rather than around it, ran to
another portal on the south. Not only was Woren the first stone-walled
settlement he had seen, it was also the first with two major entrances. As he
entered town, he noted a large market on his right. It occupied a stone building
surrounded on three sides by a covered porch. Next to the market was an inn,
and Martin directed his cart toward it. He felt uneasy at the prospect of staying
in town, but it was late and he felt it would not make sense to continue
traveling that evening. Rather than search for a village campground, he elected

to splurge on a room with access to a warm bath.

"Park cart near stable," the inn's proprietor told him. He was a small,
wizened native man, neatly dressed in a beaded tunic with his pale orange hair
drawn back and held by a green headband. "Corral burros. No one bother. One
night?"
"Yes." Martin fished in his tunic for a rall. "I'll dine here too."
After paying, he led his burro cart around the building to a corral and
stable at the back. He did not find an attendant, but unhitched the burros and
left the cart alongside the stable, then put the burros in the corral. He found a
fodder bin and bucket and fed and watered the burros before returning to the
inn. The proprietor had already assigned him a room, and he went upstairs. His
room opened off a hall near a passage that led to communal showers. The door
had no lock, and Martin pushed through into a small, clean space, furnished
with bed, chair, and table. A window, through which the last rays of the setting
sun were now streaming, opened west. Though quite warm, the room was light
and airy and Martin felt pleased. He dropped his bag on the bed, stripped to
his ukeln, and taking a clean ukeln, towel, and soap, headed toward the shower
room. It was well kept, its stone walls and floor spotless. No one else was
using it, and Martin showered leisurely, soaking in sun-warmed water flowing
from a roof-top reservoir.
Light had disappeared from the sky by the time Martin emerged, but he did
not go right away to eat. Instead, he decided to take a walk to work the kinks
out after so many hours of riding.
He quickly discovered that Woren was smaller than Or'gn and all its
businesses were located along the main thoroughfare between the two gates. A
few narrow side streets led into residential areas. Martin turned onto one of
these and discovered a forested park with a camping green and a small pond
fed by the village spring. He circled the pond and discovered some worn
pathways leading into the forested area, now darkened in the fading dusk.
Faland's small moon peeped over the east wall and already threw light enough
to cast shadows. He went only a few paces into the forest, then returned to the
green. He noticed several people that must have just arrived, for he had not
seen them when he first crossed the park. They had a large covered wagon
pulled by several horven and were apparently preparing to camp. They worked
in almost total silence, with none of the usual banter he had come to associate
with natives.
As he watched, Martin felt a suddenly uneasy. He could not put his finger

on it, but he felt something was not quite right; something indefinable was
missing. He continued across the green, his route bringing him close to the
campers. Their figures were indistinct, illuminated only by stray light from the
night-lights burning along Woren's walls. They were dressed in the long, robelike tunics typical of many peasants, yet their attire seemed incongruous. As he
drew closer, he realized these peasants had all drawn the cowls of their tunics
up to shield their faces. The hair at the nape of his neck began to prickle.
When he came abreast, the dark shapes, though seemingly paying him no
attention, shifted subtly toward him. His steps faltered, and he darted a glance
behind. He was startled to see some peasants closing ranks behind him. He
looked for a way out.
Too late! A dozen dark bodies rushed him, closing from all sides. Martin
reached for his Mentat metal, but before his fingers could close on it,
something dark fell over his head and he felt sudden crushing weight. He
crumpled, and felt his arms pinned. A solid blow thumped the back of his head.
***
He was swimming in a warm dark sea, stroking upward, looking for light.
His arms felt heavy. Something moved against his thigh, and the sea gave way.
He felt his body heaving and lashed out. Mud engulfed him; he raised his head
and opened his eyes.
"Where am I?" The words croaked out of his mouth along with spittle and
dirt. He coughed. As consciousness strengthened, he realized he was lying on
his side, his hands bound behind his back, his ankles tied. He was nearly naked
and covered with mud. He saw light glinting off water. Swinging his head, he
saw a large fire burning a few dozen feet away. Dark human forms were
squatting around the fire. An insistent drumming attracted his attention, and he
identified it as rain falling on leaves. He looked up and saw thatching, and to
the side, black forest. Rain was falling into the forest.
Martin saw that the thatching was supported on vertical poles and formed a
roof that angled upward in the direction of the fire. The walls were entirely
open.
"Where the hell am I?"
He struggled to remember. The last thing he clearly recalled was the
village green in Woren and dark shapes swarming around him, but he had a
sense of time passed since then - time during which he was jarred, pounded,
and hammered. He watched the figures around the fire and saw light glinting on
naked male bodies with splotched green and tan skin.

Kroll! I've been captured by Kroll!

The dark-cowled figures in Woren must have been Kroll too.
Something is missing. His heart started ramming against his ribs. I sense
no one.
"There's no one here!" It was a startling revelation. In the weeks since
becoming a Mentat, he had grown sensitive to people, yet now he felt nothing
though many Kroll sat nearby.
What are these Kroll? They're not people.
Except for the mud-soaked ukeln wrapped around his loins, all his clothes
had been taken. He mind-searched for his Mentat tools and felt a measure of
relief when he discovered a sliver of Mentat metal and a collapsed Mentat eye
still in place in the waist band of his ukeln. He was grateful he had secured
these separately; the others of his tools were gone.
Do the Kroll know what the tools are? They must have taken them,
otherwise I would sense them nearby. Only a Mentat can use them. Are there
Mentats among the Kroll?
Not likely, he decided, because a Mentat would have found the Mentat eye
and metal still on his person. Wriggling, he tested his bonds. Though they were
well tied, his body was muddy from the soaked ground, and mud was slippery.
He concentrated on the slipperiness, visualizing his hands sliding through the
bindings. It took only a moment to free himself.
He studied the figures in the flickering fire light. They seemed
preoccupied, their attention on the fire and a man speaking in a hoarse singsong voice. The forest was only yards away, and he felt sure he could slip into
it ahead of pursuit. But what then? He had no idea where he was and knew
nothing about the surroundings. It was raining, and though the moon should be
visible above the clouds, it was pitch dark at ground level. That meant felven
would be abroad, and he doubted rain would deter them. On top of that he had
no clothes, no armor, no weapons, no first aid supplies or food.
It's going to be a long night.
He began to slither toward the edge of the thatched shelter. As he slipped
into the open, he felt steamy rain pelting him and glanced up at the lesser
darkness of cloud-shrouded sky beyond the shelter roof. Keeping his eye on the
Kroll, he slipped toward the forest. He had almost reached the trees when the
alarm sounded. In an instant, he was among the trees, snatching the Mentat eye
from his ukeln. Expanding it, he sent it aloft. Though he could see nothing with
his eyes, the sphere gave him a shadowy picture of his surroundings.

The Kroll stopped at the trees, milling, holding aloft sputtering torches.
Good, they're afraid of the dark too.
He hurried into a forest choked with rotting logs and tangled with creepers.
His Mentat eye allowed only a few feet of visibility, so he quickly lost sight of
the Kroll camp. He knew he could easily get turned around, so he found a large
tree and climbed upward as high as possible. In a sturdy crotch, partially
protected by overhanging leaves, he settled to wait out the night.
The rain eased by morning and sun spread misty light through the high
canopy. Martin brushed back his sopping hair. The Kroll had taken his map, but
he had studied it closely and committed most of it to memory. Though he did
not know with any precision where he was, it was obvious he was somewhere
in Ray'ne forest. That meant he was south of Fariver, hundreds of legons from
Woren where he was captured.
If I go north, I should strike Fariver. I can follow it upstream to Riven
Bridge, then follow the road to Riven.
From the map, he knew Kroll occupied all the area between Riven and the
Western Sea, a vast region, and he did not know where he was within those
lands.
I must have been drugged. It might have taken days to get here. I wonder
how the Kroll travel through the forest? On a trail, perhaps?
He climbed higher. From the rising sun he got his bearings. The canopy
was lush, densely green, filled with birds and small, nimble creatures
cavorting among the limbs, many moving as silently as ghosts, their mottled
bodies blending so well they virtually disappeared when not in motion. In the
dense verdure he saw no openings or pathways. He did discover a large, pink
fruit and found its flesh soft, sweet, and delicious. With breakfast provided for,
he descended and set out northward through heavy growth, his Mentat eye
expanded and alert.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Three days after escaping the Kroll, Martin climbed a tree near Fariver
and looked with wonder across its vast width. Even from his high position, he
could barely see the trees on the opposite shore. He judged the river to be
several legons wide. In his days in Ray'ne forest - the name seemed apt for it
rained most of the time - he saw no large animals and subsisted mostly on
fruits, leaves, nuts, and an occasional bird or small animal brought down with
a tiny Mentat arrow. At night he built small fires, struck with Mentat heat, and
sheltered in hollow logs or the upper limbs of tall trees. His body leaned and
strengthened, and he felt fitter than at any time in his life. He saw little sign of
Kroll after escaping their camp. That changed, however, when he dropped
from the tree. Along Fariver he spotted a much-used pathway, and on the water,
sitting like a shadow, a small boat.
Martin shrank into the trees and watched the slim craft, paddled by half a
dozen Kroll, glide silently upstream, driven by its occupants' powerful strokes.
He thought briefly about building himself a boat, or perhaps stealing a Kroll
craft. He quickly dismissed the idea, however, because he knew he would be
easy to spot on the river.
During the next days, Martin often saw Kroll in boats or walking along the
trail. His Mentat eye gave him warning, and he concealed himself until they
passed. He made good time, yet it was four days before he glimpsed the towers
of the Riven bridge. He had expected a large bridge because of the great
breadth of the river, yet was not prepared for what he saw. Gleaming in the
rising sun, twin towers soared upward into swirling mist. Huge cables swept
in graceful catenaries between the towers. The roadbed hung beneath. The span
seemed impossibly long, many legons, and carried the road hundreds of feet
above Fariver's rolling waters. As an engineering marvel, it equaled anything
Martin had seen on Earth.
He was still absorbed in the wonder of the bridge when he heard horven
hooves and the rattle of wagon wheels. He darted into a clump of brush.
Several horven-drawn wagons, escorted by honorable Faland Warriors, were
crossing. He glanced at his garb, consisting only of a ragged ukeln, and
wondered if he dared reveal himself. He had no armor or weapons and neither
sirkeln nor headband, and his skin was splotched where Chisen's dye had

begun to wear off. He might easily be mistaken for a Kroll.

I'll have to chance it, he decided, and strode onto the road. The party was
well-armed, perhaps two dozen Warriors with several droids and extra
horven. They were nearly a legon away, and Martin stood in the center of the
roadway and waited He hoped his lack of arms would stay their hands until
they came close enough to talk. Then, as the Warriors drew nearer, he felt
sudden tingling. His heart began to beat faster. Something touched his mind.
"Engar!"
The lead Warrior raised his hand, and the entourage halted. Martin saw
from his eyes that Engar did not recognize the ragtag savage who blocked the
road and called his name.
"It's me, Martin!"
"Martin?" Engar's voice sounded incredulous.
"None other," Martin answered.
"Ye gods, man, what have you done to your skin? And your hair?"
"A disguise, though it seems to work only on my friends."
Engar slid from his horven and grabbed Martin in a bear hug. "Damn! I was
just on my way to rescue you!"
"Rescue me?"
"Horath said you were taken by Darc'un's agents and sold to the Kroll."
"Horath? You've spoken to Horath?"
"By message. I had just joined a war party to push the Kroll out of central
Faland when Horath's agent told me you were captured and ordered me to
assist. I commandeered a contingent, led by Kazil, but it looks like it wasn't
necessary; you managed your own rescue!"
"I got away, true enough, but I can definitely use your help. The Kroll got
my Mentat tools and the small sphere Trenel gave me. It's a com-link to Horath.
I need it to complete my task, and I've no idea what the Kroll did with it. I'm on
my way to Riven now, to get supplies and find a way to get the com-link back.
I'm also supposed to meet someone at the Riven weapon shop."
"My men and I are at your disposal," Engar said. "Shobul!" He turned to a
woman Warrior. "Saddle and bring up a horven." He turned back to Martin.
"Perhaps we can shake your com-link loose from those Kroll devils."
Shobul brought the horven and a sirkeln, armor, weapons, and a red
headband.
"You're a life-saver," Martin told Engar as he buckled on the sirkeln and
wrapped the headband around his forehead. "The Kroll took my headband

though I thought taking a headband was forbidden in Faland."

"Darc'un, it seems, makes his own rules."
"So I've discovered." Martin finished dressing and mounted.
"There's someone I want you to meet." Engar dropped back alongside a
stocky, powerfully built level six Warrior. "This is Kazil, my second in
command, as good a man as you'll find in Faland."
Martin extended his arm.
Kazil clasped in the Warrior way. "I've heard of you. You're the Mentat
Warrior."
"I hope you're not too disappointed."
"Not at all. You're the first I've ever heard to escape the Kroll and survive
alone in Ray'ne forest."
"Kazil has campaigned in the Ray'ne," Engar explained. "That's why I
chose him to lead this motley crew. Do you have a plan for locating the comlink? If it was not in the Kroll camp, it could be anywhere. It might not even be
in Kroll hands."
"I hope to get a lead in Riven. The sooner we get there the better."
***
Fifty legons south of Fariver, Riven rose from the jungle like a muddy
fungus. Its palisade of peeled logs dripped with greenish ooze nourished by
constant drizzle. Within the settlement there was no escaping the cloying odor
of soaked and rotting wood. Engar had pushed all night, through steady warm
rain, along a road which, though built on a bed of rock and plank, was covered
with a layer of thick mud. The horven hooves splashed muddy water upward
creating a dirty haze though which riders, horven, and wagons passed.
Everything became as saturated with muck as the surrounding forest.
Martin was reeling, and his companions seemed in no better state, when
they passed through the gate. The gray dawn was only a shade less dark than
night. Oil lamps flickered on the palisade, and along the dreary main street
shops were just beginning to open.
"We'll camp in the green," Kazil said, heading the group down a broad
avenue. "It has permanent shelters and a place to buy dry firewood."
Martin was relieved to find the village green more inviting than the
business district. The shelters were similar to the one under which he had
awakened in the Kroll camp, though these were better made. Each was built of
vertical poles tied together with cross beams. Over the whole, a sloping
thatched roof kept off the rain and was so tightly woven that almost no water

leaked through. The sides were open, but the floor was covered with raised
planking, a decided improvement over the mud-floored shelters in the Kroll
camp.
Two shelters were already occupied by smaller groups, but the camp was
large, and Engar selected a pair of adjoining shelters for his men. The half
dozen droids worked with stoic efficiency, joined by the less eager hands of
the Warriors, and soon had tents pitched on the planking, canvas up to guard
against wind-blown rain, and a large blaze kindled in each shelter's central
fire-pit.
Martin hunkered down gratefully to a huge plate of kurduc, slabs of dark
bread, and a bowl of fruit. Gallons of hot drog steamed over the fire, and
everyone ate and drank their fill. Though not cold, or even slightly cool, Martin
was glad to get out of the rain and rubbed down vigorously with dry towels,
then change into a clean ukeln.
"Two-hour guard rotations," Engar announced. "If anyone goes to town, go
in groups. I don't want anyone taken prisoner by the Kroll. We'll have slack
duty today, so make the most of it."
Fed and dry, Martin was happy just to crawl into his blankets. When he
awakened in midafternoon, the rain had subsided and weak sunshine filtered
through broken clouds. The saturated air brought sweat that drenched as much
as riding in the rain. He ate again, then asked Engar to join him in a visit to the
weapon shop. Engar asked Kazil to accompany them as well, for the native
Warrior knew the settlement, and the weapon shop was off the beaten track.
"Through here." Kazil led them into a mostly abandoned section of Riven.
"Riven was once more populous, and part has fallen to ruin."
They ducked through a dilapidated, partially collapsed log building, then
through an overgrown lot to a large iron-gate in a stone wall. Kazil pulled on a
bell-chain. The ringing brought an old man, tall and ramrod straight, who
peered at them from a face that looked as if made from stone.
Kazil bowed. "We're looking for the Weapon-maker." He held out a small
bag of ralls. "We have money for a Riven blade."
The old man reached a gnarled fist to take the bag, which he weighed in his
hand. He opened the gate and nodded to them to follow.
"It's the only way to get in," Kazil whispered. "Unless you show money and
a willingness to buy you won't be admitted."
Their guide led them to a long, stone building, set in a clearing. Thin
streaks of yellow light shone through windows blackened with grime. A curl of

dark smoke rose above a massive chimney at the building's far end. Inside was
even warmer than outside, and the odor of burnt sulfur and quenched metal
assaulted them. The building was mostly vacant, except for skeletons of old
machinery, but far away, almost lost in the gloom, was the cherry-red glow of a
fired-hearth. Loud clanging echoed from near the hearth. The noise beat on
their ears like a giant's gong.
The stone-faced elder led them to a work bench near the hearth. Martin
stopped, astonished. Behind the bench, standing on a low scaffold, a gnarled
man half the height of their guide, but as wide as he was tall, raised an
enormous hammer in a massive fist and brought it down on a red-hot metal bar
held with tongs against a squat anvil. The cherry-glow of the metal glinted off
the smith's wide head, showing matted hair as black as night and a face totally
hidden by gray beard.
Martin watched the hot iron flatten and take the shape of a blade, and he
thought this one a blacksmith even Bertha would find hard to match. No one
spoke until the Weapon-maker dipped the hot iron in a water barrel. Steam
wreathed his head as he looked up, and Martin's brain spun as fierce gray eyes,
more piercing even than Horath's, locked on his.
You're a Mentat! The thought leaped from Martin's mind.
And you are Martin. You're late!
You know as well as I the Kroll had me.
It should not have been.
Martin detected disapproval in the mind-words of the weapon-maker.
"How can I recover my com-link?" he asked in normal voice.
"I am Borath," the Weapon-maker said, his voice soft but resonating with
power.
"These are Engar and Kazil," Martin said. "You sent them to rescue me."
Borath's eyes glittered. "Horath was right; you learn fast, but don't
conclude too much too quickly. I have something of yours." He put down
hammer and metal and reached with a knotted hand into a drawer beneath the
bench. He withdrew a small leather pouch. Martin could not help a sharp
intake of breath when he saw the pouch and recognized it.
"My Mentat pouch. How did you get it?"
"Kroll are fools," Borath said. "But it's best you guard this with greater
care in the future."
Martin took the pouch. "Why was I called here?"
"In the clarity of a diamond, deception can be unveiled. Take a diamond to

Sorf at the Prime of the Silver Way. When you know the way to the golden key,
place a talisman at Prothan's gate."
"I don't understand. What does that mean?"
"Southeast of Riven you'll find Blak'mine; your weyring will show you the
way. You must wrest a diamond from Aroon's grip and take it to Woren. The
rest will become clear." Borath turned away with a dismissive gesture.
"Wait just a minute!" Martin shouted. "I'm tired of being kept in the dark.
Who is this Aroon? And where's Sorf? I don't know what you mean by the
Silver Way? I think I'm entitled to a better explanation."
"You have enough information," Borath said. "You're wasting time and
there's little enough of that. Now be on your way. Take these two with you," he
gestured toward Engar and Kazil, "but take no one else! And speak of this to no
one!" With that, Borath snatched up the iron he had been shaping and laid it in
the heat. Taking up another bar, white with heat, he returned to his anvil and
began to pound.
Martin stared a moment, then turned to Engar. "Looks like I've learned all
I'm going to here. Are you up for a trip to Blak'mine?"
"I am!" Kazil said instantly. "I've heard rumors of Blak'mine's great
treasure."
"Beats slugging it out with the Kroll," Engar said with a grin. "But who has
the weyring? Didn't we leave it with Linda?"
"I have one." Martin opened his pouch. Along with his Mentat tools, the
pouch held the navaid, wherstone, and weyring given him by Chisen and even
two dozen of the ralls the Kroll stole from him.
"Let's get out of here," Kazil said. "This hammering is getting to my head."
"Wait, Friend!" A gravelly voice snarled out of the gloom and their stolid
guide suddenly materialized beside them. "You have a blade to choose."
They had forgotten Kazil's purchase, but now followed the guide to a rack
lit by an oil lamp. Dozen's of daggers, axes, maces, swords, and even
brodsrds, glittered on the rack.
"Choose from these." The guide indicated a collection of daggers. "Their
worth matches your payment."
Kazil tested half a dozen weapons for heft and balance before deciding on
one that fit his hand with special closeness.
***
The next day, Kazil put Shobul in charge of the main force with orders to
return north and rejoin the campaign against the Kroll. It had begun to rain

again, and Martin stood outside the palisade with Engar and Kazil in the warm
drip and consulted his weyring. When the ring spoke, it gave him only the
cryptic message, "Blak'mine is not in range."
"Borath said it lies southeast," Engar observed with a shrug. "If we head
southeast, perhaps we'll come close enough for the weyring to sense
Blak'mine."
Neither road nor trail penetrated the forest south or east of Riven, and
Martin peered into the fetid vegetation and grimaced. "We can't take horven,"
he said. "We'll have to live off the land and what we can carry on our backs.
Even armor is too great a burden."
"I'm not leaving mine," Kazil declared. "I've fought Kroll in the jungle, and
they move so silently they can be on you before you know it. I'd feel lost
without my armor."
"Suit yourself," Engar said, "but I'll trust Martin's Mentat eye to give us fair
warning, and in this heat, armor may be a liability."
Ultimately, even Kazil parted with his armor. "I don't know how I let
myself be talked into going naked into Ray'ne forest. I hope you two know what
you're doing."
Each carried a pack, but kept it light. They took their weapons, lamps and
extra oil, first aid kits and personal items, but little else. His days in the forest
had taught Martin to recognize some edible fruits, nuts, and leaves, and through
judicious use of his Mentat metal, he could bring down small game. Kazil had
garnered an even broader knowledge of forest edibles, and had a Provo's skill
in food preparation.
The Ray'ne forest closed around them, almost entombing them in a
suffocating mass of half-rotted vegetation. They kept their course only by
constantly consulting their navaid. Martin kept his Mentat eye out front, but
thick vegetation limited even its usefulness. Through the day, the cloud cover
lowered until streamers of misty rain occluded even the treetops and the forest
floor became so dark it was necessary to light lanterns.
"Oomph!" Kazil cursed under his breath. "This is impossible!" He slashed
at a tangle of creepers that rose from the muck like massive cobwebs.
"Snaven!" Engar grabbed Kazil's arm and pulled him back. A huge black
head slid through the green, swiveling on a supple neck, glaring from slotted
eyes. Kazil raised his sword.
"Wait!" Martin said. "It means us no harm. Let it pass."
Kazil lowered his arm as the snaven, a dozen yards long and thick as a

man's body, slipped into the tangle and vanished. "How did you know it
wouldn't attack?"
"A feeling," Martin said. "Sometimes I can sense menace."
"Except Kroll?"
"Except Kroll," Martin said. "I don't think Kroll are living beings. I don't
sense droids either."
Kazil shuddered. "It could have been Kroll hiding in the tangle as easily as
a snaven."
"It's getting too dark to travel safely," Engar said. "We'll camp until the
clouds lift."
***
For several days, their only enemy was the forest. Some days they made no
more than half a dozen legons as they crept, snail-like, over, around, and
through dense snarls and among tree trunks so closely spaced they could barely
slither between. They slogged through swamp or bog, chest deep in black
water or sunk to their waists in sucking mud. Occasionally, they found it
easiest to travel high in the trees, working their way from limb to limb with the
aid of ropes made from vines.
"Where is Blak'mine?" Martin asked the weyring for the thousandth time.
"Blak'mine lies at 63 legons, bearing 141 degrees," the weyring replied in
its scratchy mechanical voice.
"What? You finally know where it is?"
"Blak'mine lies at 63 legons, bearing 141 degrees," the ring repeated.
"Good," Engar said. "We're on the right track."
"About time," growled Kazil. "But 63 legons? It'll take another two weeks
to cover that, and we've got it all to do again when we start back."
"You really know how to cheer a guy up," Martin said. "We'll camp in the
treetops tonight. I don't see anyplace around here with less than a foot of water
on the ground."

CHAPTER SIXTY

Over the next few days, as the trio moved farther southeast, they gained in
elevation, and the almost perpetual rain gave way to intermittent drenchings.
Though the forest floor was drier and less densely vegetated, the trees became
taller and the canopy more occlusive. In the deep gloom, Martin and his
companions made better time than at first expected, and it took less than a
week, rather than the two Kazil had feared, for the weyring to guide them to a
steep, forested ridge that rose, like a serpent's spine, from the surrounding
jungle.
"We're nearing the ridge top," Kazil said, struggling upward through thick
growth.
"Weyring says we're at Blak'mine's coordinates now," Martin said.
"I've found something," Engar called "Looks like an old roadbed. I see
signs rock was chiseled or blasted from the slope here a long time ago."
Martin squatted beside Engar. "Might have been a mine access road. Let's
follow it."
Kazil spotted the mine entrance even before Martin picked it out with his
Mentat eye. A dark oblong hole penetrated the rock beneath an overhang near
the ridge top. Trees had grown up around the entrance, and their spreading
branches covered it from above. Martin sent a Mentat eye into the opening. "I
feel Mentat resistance inside but not strong near the entrance. We could use
Robert's silver amulet about now."
"We need to prepare before we go in," Engar said. "We've enough oil for
several days, but we need extra food. I suggest we take a day or two to hunt."
***
Searching out game on the high ridge proved pleasant after the dankness of
the jungle. Trees were sparse, and grassy open spaces appeared, tucked in
small coves between fang-like boulders. East of the mine, sturk wheeled lazily
around a high crag that rose into a sky as often clear as cloudy. A spring-fed
pool, surrounded by greenery containing unyuns, grensrd, and other edible
plants, made a fine setting for a hunting camp. The spring's fresh water was
welcome after weeks of foul jungle broth, and the pool made for delightful
bathing. Most rain fell in the afternoons leaving mornings clear and cool,
perfect for hunting, and they soon had a good store of sturk and rabir, which

they dried over smoky fires made from pungent wood found growing nearby.
When ready to enter the mine, they were rested and well stocked with meat,
fruits, nuts, and roots.
"Set one lamp high, one low," Engar said as they entered the cavern. "We
have a fair supply of oil but no way to replenish it."
"I can generate some light with my Mentat eyes," Martin said as he took
lead and sent a faintly glowing sphere ahead. They followed a horizontal shaft,
shored by timbers, straight into the ridge. It ended abruptly at a dark vertical
shaft containing a wooden ladder bolted to the wall.
"You hear anything?" Kazil asked.
Engar nodded. "Moaning - far away."
Martin pushed his Mentat eye downward against increasing resistance. "I
see a landing a hundred feet or so down."
"Ladder's in pretty poor condition," Kazil observed, "and this place sure
stinks."
"Ha. If you think this place stinks I'll wager you were never in Blackwater
Cave," Martin said. "I'll go first." He backed onto the ladder and heard the
wood creak as it took his weight. He descended easily, however, and heard the
others coming down. A horizontal shaft led to another vertical, this one deeper
than the first. At its bottom, horizontal shafts ran in two directions, and other
horizontals branched from these.
They spent most of a day exploring the array of horizontal shafts, mostly
drilled in firm rock and still in good condition though some shoring timbers
had rotted. They found two more vertical shafts, both dropping below the
limits to which Martin could push his Mentat eye. Loud moaning came from
one that offered great resistance to Martin's Mentat power.
"Anybody want to guess which shaft most likely leads to the diamond?"
Engar asked.
"The one with the evil sound," Kazil said. "I've heard the stories about
guardian demons."
"I'll go down alone," Martin said. "Neither of you is equipped to fight a
Mentat."
"I hope you're kidding," Engar said. "I may not be a Mentat, but I don't
consider myself helpless in a fight against one."
"I don't like the prospect of facing off against a Mentat," Kazil admitted.
"But I've never backed down from a fight. Let's get on with it."
"Not just yet," Martin said. "We need rest first. We've been at this for

hours."
Engar agreed. "I suggest we go topside and come back tomorrow."
The following day, they descended directly to the moaning shaft. This time
they carried creeper ropes, and when Martin started down he was protected by
a safety line.
"It's getting wetter," he called. "Some ladder rungs have rotted away." He
glanced up to a tiny circle of yellow light and judged he had descended at least
two hundred feet when the safety line ran out. Mentat pressure prevented him
from pushing his Mentat eye more than a few feet down. He saw light
reflecting from water below.
"I'm almost down. I'm going on without the line." He inched down the
slime-coated, half-rotten ladder. Abruptly, a rung gave way. The lurch pulled
his hand from the rung above, and he pitched backwards. The fall was short,
but the stop bone-jarring. He heard glass break and his light went out.
"Martin!"
The voice echoed in the shaft. Shaken, Martin rolled, reaching with his
mind for his Mentat sphere. He could not make contact and fumbled for his
spare lamp. A sharp pain on his lower leg made him yell.
"What's going on? Are you all right?"
"Something's biting hell out of me!" Martin lashed with his foot and felt
sharp claws raking. He extracted Mentat metal from his belt, mind-shaped a bit
and slammed it on the stones. In the flare he saw dozens of pale yellow, ratlike creatures without fur or eyes. Heads bobbed as yawning jaws, filled with
needle-sharp teeth, flicked open and shut. He kicked the nearest as he grappled
his spare lamp from its pouch.
"I'm coming down," Engar yelled.
Martin fired his lamp and watched the shapes shrink back in the light.
"Watch out for the rungs; some are missing." He wiped slime off his legs and
examined tooth and claw marks. Poma stopped the bleeding.
Closer now, the moaning had become an insistent whine, and air wafting
along the shaft stank of rot. Scummy seeps trickled down the walls. Martin
moved aside as Engar, face and arms covered with slime, dropped beside him.
"Slumgut!" He swiped his face; his mouth twisted with disgust. "I had hoped
never to see the stuff again. You all right?"
"As long as those critters stay away." Martin nodded at a ring of closepacked yellow bodies at the limits of the lantern light.
"Damn! Ugly little beasts, aren't they?"

"To say the least. But they don't like light. They were on me in an instant in
the dark."
As he spoke, Kazil came crashing down, having missed the last two ladder
rungs. He cursed, spitting slumgut.
"At least you didn't break your lantern," Martin noted as he helped Kazil to
his feet.
The yellow squirmers shuffled back as the trio moved along the corridor.
The moaning and Mentat resistance increased, and Engar and Kazil drew their
swords.
"The sound is coming from an opening in the ceiling" Kazil pointed with
his lantern.
"Looks big enough to crawl into," Martin said. "Mentat resistance is
coming from there too."
Directly under the opening, the moaning seemed strangely muted, but a
strong air stream blew downward. When Martin pushed a sphere upward, he
could not force it into the opening. "Something with a lot of power is in that
hole, and it definitely doesn't want us in there."
"Can't be more than 18 inches wide," Engar said. "Smooth walls, wet and
slippery, no ladders, no hand or foot holds. I don't see a way to climb in."
"I can see in with my Mentat eye," Martin said, "but not far enough to see
where it leads."
"Stand on my shoulders," Kazil said. "Maybe you can get a better look."
Martin climbed on Kazil's broad back and reached into the crevice,
stroking the walls with his hands. He felt Mentat power, as deep and strong as
he had yet experienced, but it felt oddly familiar and gave no impression of
malevolence. He was puzzled.
"We may have to go out and get timbers," Engar said, "and build a ladder."
"Great," Kazil groaned. "We'll also have to rebuild several hundred feet of
ladder on the way in."
Martin extracted Mentat metal from his belt and shaped it into a bar with
sharpened ends. He wedged the bar in the crevice with the sharpened ends
jammed against the walls. With one arm, he pulled himself upward while
shaping a second bar. This he jammed above the first, then began to pull
himself up, hand over hand, moving a bar upward with each pull like a climber
on a peg-board.
"Careful!" Engar shouted. "We can't follow!"
Mentat pressure increased and began to tug at the bars. When Martin

resisted, the harrying force shifted again to his Mentat eye, without which he
would be blind. Yet, even handling both bars and the eye, he held his own and
glimpsed the top of the shaft. Scanning with his Mentat eye, he saw a large
chamber lined with glowing white rock. He worked upward until high enough
to place a bar across the shaft top. As he pulled his head upward into the room,
he glimpsed the vague outline of a small figure that seemed to sprout from a
raised platform.
His head tumbled. "Horath!" He heaved himself upward into the chamber,
and when he got to his knees, saw that the figure on the platform was not
Horath but a small, wizened man, shrouded in a white robe that appeared to
glow in the soft light.
"Aroon, at your service," the diminutive man said. He rose and floated
toward Martin. All Mentat resistance ceased and Martin now saw that the man
was a dwarf, hardly four feet tall, with shaven, pinched face, white hair
stroked back and falling to his shoulders, and eyes like black embers.
"Your Mentat powers have grown. Even more than Horath led me to
expect."
"Then you are in contact with Horath?"
"All Mentats are in contact with Horath."
"Then I was right. Horath is the Faland Master!"
"Not quite," Aroon chuckled. "But close enough for now."
"What's this about? Why am I on this quest and where are my friends?"
"You have more to do before you will have your answer. There isn't much
time." Aroon drew from his robe a small object. "You came for this, I believe."
"The diamond! Yes, I did come for a diamond." Martin held out his hand
and Aroon placed in it a blue-white diamond the size of a rall, its perfectly cut
facets gleaming in the pale light of the chamber.
"The unveiler of deception," Aroon said, his voice reverent.
"Borath told me I had to wrest it from your grip, yet you hand it to me
without resistance."
Aroon laughed, his deep sound filling the chamber. "You overcame my
resistance more easily than expected. That's good. It means you just might have
a chance of completing your quest."
"That's encouraging." Martin's voice held a touch of sarcasm. "I suppose
you're still not going to tell me exactly what I'm supposed to accomplish. Can
you at least tell me where my friends are and how they're doing?"
"Look in the sphere Trenel gave you."

Martin had almost forgotten the com-link. He fished it out of his pocket and
held it, looking quizzically at Aroon.
"It connects with a grid of Mentat viewers suspended above much of
Faland. Through it you can access the grid and see the terrain below. You can
also link with other Mentats. Your com-link also provides a search utility that
allows you to locate specific individuals and to observe what they're doing."
"That explains a lot," Martin said. "Like how details of battles and
challenges are transmitted over great distances. But, who receives the
information?"
"Mentat monitors serve in every settlement. They keep appropriate
officials informed of important events."
"Is Darc'un a Mentat? Does he use the grid, too?"
Aroon's face darkened. "Darc'un is more complicated than that, my young
friend, but there'll be time enough later for you to explore that mystery. You
wanted to know about your friends. Enter the com-link with your mind and
visualize a subject."
Martin looked into the sphere's translucent depths, then touched it lightly
with his mind. He employed the technique used to enter his Mentat eyes, and
found himself floating above a verdant ridge that wound, like a great serpent,
through dense jungle. He realized he had left the chamber and was above the
ridge in which Blak'mine was located. The feeling was exhilarating, but also
unnerving, for he lost all sense of his physical self though he knew he was still
in the chamber with Aroon.
Then he saw Aroon floating beside him. "Spectacular, isn't it?" The dwarf
grinned. "I thought you might like it."
Martin tried to move and saw the landscape shift. He laughed excitedly,
like a child. "It's like flying in a dream."
He dipped and swerved, then noted the gentle tug of a restoring force.
When he relaxed, it quickly returned him to his original position. "How far can
I move?"
"Test it," Aroon said.
Martin willed himself into motion, and felt the tug increase. In moments he
was straining. He returned to center, then attempted to move downward. He
could barely reach the treetops.
"You'll eventually be strong enough to reach the ground," Aroon said.
"Each grid viewer is anchored to a given location. If you want to change
locations, you must visualize a place you know or can describe, or a person

you want to track. You'll go to the location or person if known to the grid and
in range of a viewer."
Martin studied his present location while letting himself drift. The air was
mostly clear, though banks of cloud hung in scattered columns over the jungle.
Far north he saw the misty, half-veiled waters of Fariver and still farther away
snow-covered mountains that reached to the horizon. Southward, the jungle
stretched into a sea of clouds. In the direction of Riven, clouds obscured the
town itself, but he picked out the cables of Riven Bridge, glistening like silver
cobwebs strung on enormous towers.
"There isn't much time," Aroon told him. "Call up your friends. You'll see
they are all safe."
Martin visualized Carol and immediately felt tumbling. The landscape
blurred, then flashed white. Out of the white, a new set of images resolved images of an unending desert and a rugged volcanic peak rising like a black
fang from pure white alkali. The appalling beauty so absorbed him that at first
he did not see movement on the flanks of the volcano. Then he focused on a
thin line of horven-mounted Warriors threading their way up a winding trail.
They were nearing the top of the wind-worn peak, thousands of feet above the
desert.
Zooming closer, Martin picked out individual riders, eight in number. And
among them, riding behind the tall black Warrior who led the party, he saw
Carol. His heart leaped. She was shrouded in alkali-coated desert robes, but
had turned back the cowl of her jacket, and her black hair, shiny as a raven's
wing, swept behind her in the strong wind that swept the crest of the volcano.
She was riding a blue horven mare as beautiful as she.
Who is that with her? Then he recognized the tall, dark leader. Brom!
Quickly, he swept his Mentat view along the column of riders and his heart
jumped again. A silver-haired boy, lean as an oak sapling, was riding a gray
mare as beautiful as the one on which Carol was mounted. Robert is with her!
They have joined forces!
Three other Warriors and two droids completed the party and behind them
five pack animals, a well equipped expedition. The poise of the riders showed
strength and confidence. He saw no trouble there - not at the moment - and felt
wonderful relief.
He shifted his attention to the peak, wondering what had attracted them. At
the crest, gleaming in the midday sun, a dark obelisk pointed to the heavens
like some giant's finger. He could not get close enough to see detail, but made

out lines of markings incised in the polished surface of the spire. Runes, he
realized, and understood at once why Robert was going there.
"Time is fleeting," Aroon's voice intruded on Martin's musings. "You've
only time for a quick check on your partners. I suggest you move on."
Martin felt tumbling and was again over Blak'mine. He brought up a quick
image of Linda and watched his visual field resolve into the checkerboard
pattern of farmland. A road, taut-line straight, crossed the fields , and at the
limit of his vision, he saw a settlement's palisade. Triod, he recognized at
once.
He saw three riders on the road and dipped lower. One was large, riding a
night-black horven of great size. On either side, the smaller riders pranced on
horven as remarkable as the great black, one the color of sunshine, the other a
sleek black stallion streaked with red. Even across the distance, Martin felt the
presence of Linda, Jason, and Bertha.
The partners are joining up. He felt exultant, but became aware of Aroon's
urgency and quickly called up Susan's image. The scene confused him. He saw
only dense forest, partially covered by swirling mist. It was a moment before
he recognized Susan's signal, centered below, then picked up John's. Moving
lower, straining against the Mentat restoring force, he skimmed the treetops and
glimpsed a narrow ribbon of road, then three riders, shifting beneath the trees
and mist.
Susan's red hair, partly covered by a Warrior's helmet, cascaded like flame
over her shoulders. She led on a horven as red as her hair. Trailing by a horven
length, a tall black woman rode beside John who was astride a snow white
stallion so huge Martin almost mistook it for a berven. A moment later, he was
in the chamber again with Aroon. "It's a powerful tool," he said.
"You'll find it useful in the days ahead," Aroon said. "Now you must go.
Return to your friends in the tunnel below. When you get outside, travel east
along the ridge until it turns south. From there go north to Fariver. You'll find a
ferryman who will take you across. Horven will await you. Woren is directly
north from there. Use the Mentat grid to help you find the way."

PART TWELVE: DARC'UN

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Martin slouched wearily in Dusty's saddle, only half attentive as the

stallion, given him by Aroon, carried him up a rocky slope toward the crest of
a low ridge. Since leaving Fariver, he had learned to trust Dusty. The animal
had an uncanny ability to find his way through the outback with only minimal
guidance. Now Dusty leaned into the slope, side-stepping around occasional
boulders, moving with sure strides that carried him and his rider quickly to the
crest.
"Whoa." Martin came awake at the ridge top. Dusty sidled to a stop and
Martin straightened, gazing northward into a green and fertile valley. Bunch
grass, like an old man's unshaved whiskers, grizzled the downslope and
gathered in wiry tufts around smooth dark rocks that poked through like mole
mounds.
Engar, trailing behind on Thor, nudged up alongside. "We're almost there.
That's Woren on the left." He nodded toward a stone-walled settlement near the
west end of the valley.
Martin's lips puckered as though he had bitten into something disagreeable.
"I'd have preferred a more felicitous setting for our rendezvous."
"An understandable sentiment," Engar said, "in view of your previous
experience in Woren."
"I was jumped by Kroll thugs in that wretched town, a fact that doesn't
speak well for its security."
"You won't be alone this time."
"I know. The others have already arrived. I was watching in the Mentat
grid when John and Susan arrived early this afternoon, and the others have
been in Woren for two or three days."
"What about Kazil? Were you able to check on him?"
"He's in Riven, safe and sound after a long float down Fariver."
"Everyone's accounted for then."
"With a few tales to tell, from what I've learned." Martin urged Dusty along

a faint trail that cut northwest toward the Riven road. Sun gilded the feathery
tips of bunch-grass and spread orange blush across the slope. Dusty's ears
pricked forward and caught settlement sounds. His nostrils twitched as they
filled with the odor of green fodder and fresh water, and his steps quickened.
Sun smeared the horizon, then vanished in a rugose flare as they rode through
Woren's south gate. Lamplighters were working along the wall, and Martin
saw, silhouetted against the sky, guards atop the twin towers bracing the north
gate.
"I presume our partners are at the green?"
"Right," Martin said and turned Dusty onto a side street that ran past a row
of small log dwellings. They rounded a low stone parapet and entered the
village green.
A brown blur hurtled toward them. "Look everybody, they're here! Martin!
Engar!"
Martin reined back, but before he could dismount, Jason vaulted onto
Dusty's back and threw his arms around him. "Now everybody's here! We're all
together again!"
"Hey! Let me get down! Let me see what you look like!"
They piled off Dusty and Martin turned Jason and held him at arm's length.
"Damn, it's good to see you." He swept the twelve-year-old into a bear hug.
Seconds later Carol came alongside, then Susan and Linda. Everybody was
hugging, shouting, and talking at once. Engar climbed off Thor and John took
the reins of both horven. Susan herded everyone toward the campfire. "You're
just in time. I knew you'd get here for dinner. I made lots. Let's feast!"
***
For two days, tales of personal adventure filled their time as each
recounted the marvels they had seen, the wonders they had experienced, and
shared the fruits of their journey. John distributed lithan armor acquired from
Borath at Riven.
"It's remarkable how well this stuff fits," Bertha noted as she buckled into
hers. "A good thing since I don't have tools good enough to work this hard gray
metal. I've no idea what it is, and it's a deal stronger and harder than anything I
know."
"The Armorer at Riven must have known it was for us when he made it and
somehow got our measurements," Jason said.
"I also have bronze amulets." John handed out metal discs. "Each fits in the
slot in the center of your chest plate."

"This is supposed to keep us warm?" Susan asked as she clicked hers into
place. "How does it work?"
"I expect we'll find out when we go someplace cold," Robert said. "I
could've used something to keep me warm in the Snowy Mountains."
"I have something for John." Jason darted away. Moments later he returned,
his back bent under a great long bundle he had kept stashed beneath his
blankets until everyone was present. He laid it on the ground, and everyone
gathered around while he dropped to his knees and began to unwrap the leather
cloth. As the scimitar's blade emerged, John's jaw dropped and he knelt beside
Jason. The huge weapon, wickedly curved, was as long as his great brodsrd,
gleaming like polished pearl, and the light cast back from its surface struck the
eye in iridescent waves that changed with each movement. John hefted the
opaline scimitar and made the blade sing as he swung it in a mighty arc.
"It will cut lithan chains," Jason proclaimed. "At least it will when it's
wielded by the strongest swordsman in Faland. I got it from the Black Tower,
beyond the Golden Horns of Eyrie, with the help of Kilia and Xar'van and the
people of Eyrie."
"I also have a gift for Martin." Linda held her hand palm up. "A gold ring,
traded from Boro for the hundred rubies I took from Dre'cave where I met JaDrun'."
"And I have a gold amulet from Mordat's Castle." Bertha displayed a shiny
pendant suspended from a golden chain.
"Hang on to these things," Martin said. "We'll know when we need them."
"I brought a talisman," Susan said. "But I don't know how to open it. It has
runes."
"Let me look." Robert took it eagerly and began to ponder and puzzle over
the strange markings on Shendun's egg.
***
The third morning after Martin's arrival in Woren, after the morning meal,
he called an assembly. "It's time to decide where we go from here. I talked to
Horath this morning in the Mentat grid, and he urges us to move on. The Kroll
have mounted a major attack on Targ and a band of Cha'kur are sweeping down
on Oshan even now. I'm not sure what's going on, but the tug and pull between
Darc'un and the Master is intensifying."
"Who is Darc'un? Have you found out?" Bertha asked.
"I've been thinking about what Aroon told me - or rather what he didn't tell
me. Darc'un, and the Master, too, may not be persons. The Mentats are

connected in some way with the Master and may also be connected to
Darc'un."
"You mean Darc'un and the Master may be like the two sides of the Force
in Star Wars?" Jason asked. "Like the dark side and the light side of the
Force?"
"Whether that straight forward I don't know, but I do think there's a
connection between them."
"All well and good if there is, but what are we supposed to do?" John
asked. "I don't hold with speculation. If we've got a job, let's do it or decide
not as the case may be."
"Let's not go off half-cocked," Carol said. "I want to know the purpose of
this so-called quest, and I'd like to know before we go a step further. If we're
involved in some weird quarrel between Mentats, I'd like to know we're on the
right side."
"Honey, I doubt you get absolute answers to questions like that," Bertha
said. "I figure a body goes with the side she's on and makes it right as she can."
"I think you pick the side that feels right," Jason said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You pick the side that keeps to the honor. I wouldn't fight for someone that
nails people to trees, or shoots people in the back, or kidnaps people."
"Kid makes sense," Engar said. "I joined this partnership because I like the
way we do things. It's not a bad way to choose sides."
"Maybe," Carol said, though her tone made it clear she was not entirely
convinced.
"Voice your doubts," Martin said.
"In my experience, life isn't that simple."
"Bottom line is, we have to make a decision," Engar said. "Second
guessing ourselves isn't the best way to do it."
"I agree," Martin said. "By deliberation or default, we will choose a
course. But Carol's right too; our decision should be made with caution. For
my part, I want to play the hand out and finish the quest."
"Me too," Jason said promptly. "Kilia and Ru are on the quest, and I know
they wouldn't do something they thought was wrong."
"Brom and Thinbar and Jakar too," Robert added. "They were with me."
"And Tserof and Florence," Susan put in.
"And a lot of others," Bertha said. "We've all made good friends these past
weeks, and from the stories I've heard they're all good people, not likely to be

on some nefarious escapade."

"Well, if you're still with me," Martin said, "that puts the ball in my court.
Robert, have you learned enough about the Silver Way to know your way
around it?"
"The Silver Way is a transporter," Robert said. "It isn't hard to use once
you know the password and have a silver key. I used the emerald I got at Thun
to read the runestone on Hi'Mtn, and from the gray runes I got the password.
Carol brought the silver key from Kymira, and she unlocked the transporter
terminal on Hi'Mtn. I punched up Woren on the control panel, and it only took a
few minutes to get here. That's why Carol and I were first at Woren."
"Where can the transporter take us?"
"The control panel lists seven destinations: Riven, Oshan, Forod, Targ, and
someplace called Spectacle, besides Hi'Mtn and here."
"What about Sorf?"
"No place called Sorf is listed."
"Got any idea what 'Prime of the Silver Way' might mean?"
Robert shook his head in the negative.
"Well, Sorf is supposed to lie at the Prime of the Silver Way. A little
exploration of your transporter may be in order."
"We can't take our horven, at least not all of them. I don't think Skyfire or
Raven would fit because they're so big. Carol and I barely got Gulner and Blue
Mist in, and we had to bring them one at a time."
"Maybe we won't need them at Sorf," Martin said.
"We can't all fit in the transporter at the same time," Robert said.
"Perhaps just you and I should search for Sorf," Martin said. "You can
return for the others after we find it."
"Now hold on," John rumbled. "No telling what you might run into. You'll
need backup. With my new scimitar," John pulled the opaline blade from the
sheath harnessed over his shoulder, "I'll make any attacker think twice if he
makes a move on you."
"Fair enough. The three of us will go." Martin turned to the others. "While
we're gone, check out Woren. See if you can find Prothan."
***
The transporter proved as cramped as Robert said, and Martin found it
remarkable the boy had managed to get Gulner, let alone Blue Mist, inside.
"Do I hear humming?" John cocked his head as he squeezed into the small
chamber.

"The transporter makes sound all the time," Robert said. "It's hardly
noticeable now but will get louder when we start to go."
"Looks like a touch sensitive panel." Martin was examining a pattern of
colored symbols on the wall.
"It's the control panel," Robert said. "I enter the password by pressing the
colored marks, then I punch in the destination code. Destination codes are in
the directory." He pointed to seven place names written in English. Alongside
each a series of five runes matched certain of those on the pad. "As you see,
Sorf isn't listed. Where do you want to start?"
"Spectacle, I think," Martin said. "None of us has been there."
Robert moved his fingers over the panel. The hum got louder and the
destination directory lit up. As he tapped in the code for Spectacle, he warned,
"Brace yourselves. It's easier if you're sitting down." He dropped to the floor
with his back against the wall. "Gulner hated this next part."
For an instant, Martin felt as though the bottom had dropped out of the
chamber, then he felt a dizzying lurch that toppled him against the wall. Before
he could right himself, enormous pressure drove him to the floor. He saw John
stagger, then brace his hands against the wall, stubbornly resisting the huge
force. The hum smoothed to a gentle whine. Four or five minutes later the
pressure abruptly ceased. Martin felt vertigo as the chamber seemed to slide
sideways, then the pressure slammed back. John dropped to a knee, then quit
fighting the crushing force and settled beside Martin and Robert. Another lurch
and vertiginous sideslip was followed by a return to normal. The door slid
open and Martin heard a muted roar coming from outside.
"Wow, some ride," John said. "Must be a high acceleration device,
wouldn't you say?"
"Several times normal gravity," Martin agreed. "We accelerated to the
midpoint, then the chamber spun around and we decelerated. Probably traveled
several hundred legons in those few minutes."
Climbing to his feet, John poked his head outside. Sunlight, streaming into
a large stony cavern, splashed an ocean of brilliance across an irregular floor
of water-worn rocks. Walls vaulted upward, then joined sixty or seventy feet
overhead. The roar came from beyond the sunny opening.
Martin crossed the cavern and stepped into the sunlight. The sound took his
breath away. He walked across a level apron of broken rock and stopped at the
edge of a gorge. A wall of water tumbled into a lake that filled the bottom of a
gorge, then spilled to the left down a mist-shrouded cascade.

"Fariver!" Robert came up beside Martin. "I told you how it was. This is
like the waterfall at Thun."
"It's a spectacle, all right," John yelled above the roar. "Puts Niagara to
shame."
Blowing mist dampened the rocks and wet their skin. Martin found a
smooth boulder near canyon's edge, sat and withdrew the Mentat com-link
from his belt. From the grid high above, he saw the vast ribbon of Fariver
snaking between soaring, snow-capped peaks. Leaping rapidly from grid-point
to grid-point, he stepped northward along the river until he was above Thun,
two hundred legons away. It was as awesome as Robert had described it.
Ducking low, he scanned the cliff alongside Thun and saw where Robert had
fallen. He shivered when he realized how close Robert had come to dying.
Returning to Spectacle, he grid-hopped south, following Fariver down
enormous stretches of rapids until it widened and slowed as it flowed into the
jungle. He swung over the river where it made a long, sweeping bend that
turned it westward toward the sea. Then he picked out the ferry where he and
Engar had crossed after leaving Blak'mine, and where Kazil had left them to
take a boat downstream to Riven.
Martin queried the grid for Sorf and continued to get no answer. When he
returned to Spectacle, he found he could not locate any grid-points farther east.
Peering into the blank land of knobby hills, contorted waterways, and isolated
forested valleys, he realized he was on the edge of the grid, at the limit of the
Master's reach.
Perhaps Sorf is beyond the grid somewhere in the blank land. Dropping
back to normal awareness, he discovered Robert and John still immersed in
the view.
"What did you learn?" John asked.
"I see no obvious place to go from here. No roads or trails lead to this
overlook, and I found no buildings for tens of legons around."
"Maybe this is a viewpoint," Robert said, "like those in National Parks
back home."
"I don't see any clues to Sorf, and one or another of us has been
everywhere else the transporter goes."
"Maybe the directory isn't complete," John said. "Maybe there's a hidden
code."
"Hey, maybe that's right," Robert said. "Maybe the transporter goes to
unlisted destinations as well as those shown."

"Good point," Martin said. "Could be that our one clue, that Sorf lies at the
Prime of the Silver Way, gives us the code for another destination."
"Let's look at the runes again," Robert said.
"Any unused runes? Any not used in the known destination codes?"
"The symbols don't represent phonemes and aren't standard Faland
pictographs. I think they're numbers. Some are used more than once and I
noticed something about the destination codes. Look at the lead rune for each.
They're all the same, which makes me wonder why they're there; the other four
runes are enough to describe the seven choices."
"I count seventeen runes," Martin said. "That's a prime number. Maybe
Prime of the Silver Way has something to do with prime numbers?"
"Seventeen is the seventh prime and there are seven locations," Robert
said, his face flushing with excitement. "Counting from the top, the lead rune
for each location is the last one, the seventeenth. Maybe that's it. Maybe Prime
of the Silver Way means seven repeats of the seventeenth rune."
"Give it a try."
John seated himself heavily near the door, his scimitar resting between his
legs. Robert's fingers flew as he tapped out seven seventeens. He waited
breathlessly. "Nothing's happening."
"Did you punch in the password before you started?" Martin asked.
Robert grinned sheepishly. "Oh, yeah. I forgot." He hit the keys for the
password, then tapped number seventeen seven times. Still nothing happened.
"Shucks. Guess it wasn't such a good idea."
"Maybe," Martin said. "But there's more than one possibility. There are
seven primes, as you pointed out. Try entering all seven: two, three, five,
seven, eleven, thirteen, and seventeen."
"I think the runes are numbers; I didn't say I know what the numerical
assignments are."
"Let's suppose they're arranged in numerical order. There are a limited
number of possible sequences. Take your best shot and if that doesn't work try
something else."
Robert started to enter likely combinations. On his fifth try, the floor
lurched, followed by a sinking sensation, then enormous pressure. "We're
going!"
And with no idea where.
***
Pressure ceased and the door opened. Light flooded in, and they saw that it

came from hazy sunlight streaming through a semicircular wall of translucent

windows. The wall enclosed a room perhaps a hundred feet across. A domed
ceiling rose high overhead. The room was empty. They eased from the
transporter and heard their footfalls echo on stone flooring. A fine layer of dust
recorded their steps as they spread out.
"Another viewpoint," Robert said. "I see mountains outside - through the
windows."
"Is this Sorf?" John whispered, as though unwilling to break the silence in
the huge chamber.
"It looks like an observatory. Whether Sorf or not, I don't know." Martin
was standing at the perimeter, looking through glass hazed by a thin film of
dust. Outside he saw range on range of mountains darkly shrouded with conifer
forest. He glanced up, noting the sun angle. "We're facing south. Let me see if I
can get a look from the Mentat grid."
He took out his com-link and in a moment was high above, looking down
on a shining building capped with a large dome. Below the dome, the structure
sprawled onto a granite peak that rose, in isolated splendor, above the nearer
ranges. Below the overhanging glass windows, a balcony encircled the dome.
Stone steps led from the balcony to a delicate swinging bridge that crossed a
chasm to a second, smaller observatory without a dome. It held a raised central
obelisk. When Martin tried to move his view closer to the obelisk, he found he
could not.
He hopped rapidly among nearby grid-points and found a settlement the
link told him was Targ. The link did not identify the dome, and when he tried to
contact Horath, he could not. Puzzled, he returned to his self-point.
"I found a door behind the transporter," John said. "It opens to the second
half of this dome. In it I found a spiral stair leading to a lower level. Is this
Sorf?"
"I still don't know. I found out roughly where we are - in the Southern
Forest, south of Targ. This observatory isn't identified in the Mentat grid."
"There's another observation platform outside," Robert said as he trotted
over from the far wall. "I saw it through the window. Did you see it from
above?"
"Yes. It can be reached from the lower level."
"Looks like a big stone on it, like the runestone on Hi'Mtn. Maybe it has
runes."
"I tried to get a close look but was held back by Mentat power."

"You think it's hostile?" Johns brow rose.

"Something held me off, like Aroon did at Blak'mine, but this seemed more
unfriendly."
"Maybe I can persuade it otherwise." John patted the scimitar slung over
his shoulder.
"We'll check it out. Stay here, Robert, until we see what we're up against."
"No way! I'm the Rune-reader. Besides, I was shot by renegades, fell off a
cliff, fought a snowy griven, and saved a friend from an eagen. I've earned the
right to go where I decide." Robert's face flushed and his eyes sparkled with
anger.
"Kid's got a point," John said. "Might be we should hang back and send
him to check it out before we go across." There was a twinkle in his eyes.
"Could be you're right," Martin said. "I keep forgetting Robert isn't a kid
anymore. Okay, Robert, we'll all go."
The spiral staircase took them down to a stone-lined chamber carved from
the mountain. Wooden chairs and tables, dust covered, were stacked against the
wall and other rooms opened to either side. Opposite the stairway, a short
passage led to the outer balcony. John muscled open a glass door to the
outside. Opposite the door, a gossamer bridge sparkled in the sunlight. It
seemed a frail span. Martin lofted a sphere to inspect its anchors.
"It's like the bridges on the Trail That Hangs in Air," Robert said. "They're
very strong, though they don't look it. It will hold us."
"Those bridges were maintained," Martin said. "Doesn't look like anyone's
been here in a long time. The bridge appears intact, though, and looks in good
condition."
"We'll cross one at a time," John said. "I'm heaviest; perhaps I should go
first."
Martin sent his sphere across and felt immediate resistance. "There's a
Mentat shield around the obelisk, but I feel no Mentat presence."
"My silver amulet is cool," Robert said.
John drew his scimitar. "I won't take any chances." He moved onto the
slender strand and felt it sway under his weight. He moved with confidence,
absorbing the rocking motion with his knees, and reached the far side without
incident. He beckoned the others to cross.
"We'll go together," Martin told Robert. Mentat pressure increased as they
neared the observatory and its obelisk. Martin collapsed his Mentat sphere and
returned it to its pouch, unwilling to spend energy until he saw a need.

John was studying the obelisk. "Darndest thing I ever saw. It looks like
something crawling on the surface, but when I touch it there's nothing there."
"It does look odd." Robert reached his fingertips to the obelisk which
seemed covered with writhing bands of light and dark. "It's perfectly smooth.
What makes the wave pattern? It looks like ripples on a pond."
"In the clarity of a diamond, deception can be unveiled," Martin said and
rummaged in a belt pouch. He extracted Aroon's diamond and held the bluewhite stone to his eye. In the diamond filtered light, indigo letters danced in the
rippling waves, and the letters spelled words: "Or'gn is reference; seek the
Well-of-Fire at the birth of the sun; gold is the key to the key."
Grinning, Martin turned to the others. The grin froze on his face. He saw a
dark cloud moving toward them with astonishing speed. "Birds," he yelled,
"coming fast and they don't look friendly!"
"Get across the bridge," John roared.
Robert darted onto the span, with John at his heels. Their hasty steps set the
bridge gyrating. John went to his knees, but Robert timed his steps to the
rhythm and kept going.
"Watch your eyes!" John yelled as the birds, with wings that spanned a
man's reach and talons like daggers, began to drop from the sky. Lifting his
scimitar, he swept a dozen aside with a single stroke. Others came down like
bullets.
Martin shaped Mentat metal into small darts which he drove in tight arcs
around his head, clearing a path through the diving birds. As he fought his way
onto the bridge, he sent a dozen darts ahead to clear a way around Robert and
John."Get to the main building!"
Robert's agility carried him free of the bridge. In each hand he swung a
razor-sharp hummer, slashing at the birds even as they slashed at him. Blood
ran down his arms. He turned, urging John on, and a bird hit him in the face. He
screamed. Birds piled around him as winks of silver light, mingling with the
birds, flashed through and through the flock.
"Run Robert!"
The boy clutched his face and swung wildly at the fluttering dark shapes.
John stepped off the bridge, and holding himself as a shield over Robert,
herded the boy toward the observatory building. Martin raced over the last feet
of bridge and was into the main building only steps behind his companions.
John put his back to the door and heaved as Martin chopped down the few
birds that had gotten through. Robert sank to the floor, moaning, clutching his

left eye while blood spurted through his fingers.

"Get him to the transporter," Martin yelled.
John lifted Robert in bloodied arms and sprinted toward the stairway.
Martin was up it ahead of him, then across the dome and into the transporter.
When John crowded in with Robert, Martin had already entered the password
and was punching in the code for Woren. Pressure settled to a solid crush, and
John dug his first aid kit from his belt. He pulled Robert's hand from his face
and blanched. He poured poma and frenwort on the wound and wrapped it
with a bandage. Robert's moans subsided, and he lay still, held to the floor by
the enormous acceleration.
***
Linda was at the terminal in Woren when the battered wanderers returned.
Her look of hopeful joy turned to horror as the trio, awash in blood, staggered
out of the chamber.
"Get Carol!" Martin barked, and Linda was gone before the sound of his
voice died away.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Robert was lying on his back looking up through leafy crowns of oaken and
mapeln into a sky as brilliantly blue as a freshly laundered turquoise sheet.
With his good eye, he watched a bird wheeling slowly and shuddered. He
reached with his fingers and stroked the bandages covering his left eye. He felt
no pain, but his belly knotted with anxiety. For three days, since the bird attack,
he had not let himself think about the possibility that he might have to look at
the world for the rest of his life through one eye. Rolling to his side, he saw
Carol coming. His heart beat faster. It was time to take off the bandages, and he
could see the worry in her eyes in spite of the smile on her lips.
"Well, are you ready to get those rags off your face?" Carol bantered
lightly.
Robert nodded and reached to begin untying them himself. Carol helped,
her smile giving way to an anxious frown. But, as the bandages came away, the
frown changed to astonishment.
"I can see," Robert blinked in the brightness that struck his eye. "It's okay!
My eye healed up good."
"Indeed it did." Carol shook her head in wonder. She leaned close, stroking
the brow above Robert's eye, and peered closely into its clear lens. "No sign it
was injured! Incredible!"
"You said it was no big deal," Robert reminded her, "but it was worse than
you let on, wasn't it?"
"In the Other World you would no longer have that eye," Carol said.
"I'm glad I had such a super Healer." Robert threw his arms around Carol.
"Your body did the healing," Carol said. "All I did was sew the pieces
together."
"I'm going to show the others!" Robert darted away through the trees.
When Carol was alone with Martin, she talked about what had happened.
"Robert's eye was beyond repair. The sclera was ripped through, the vitreous
humor drained, much of the cornea torn away; I couldn't even find the lens. I
sewed up an empty sack. There's no reasonable way it could have healed."
"Healing is magical in Faland."
"That's the word: magic. Robert's eye regenerated. What's going on,
Martin? It's as if . . . as if . . . we aren't even human anymore. I'm not sure what

to think." The anxiety in Carol's eyes echoed the doubt in her words.
"You're worried Faland isn't real, aren't you?" Martin said.
"Aren't you?"
"I'm still puzzled, but I no longer think Faland is a dream - at least not in
the ordinary sense." He put his arm around her shoulders. "I think you worry
too much. Besides," he grinned, "I'm sure you're real." He gave her a playful
squeeze. "I wouldn't like my reality without you."
"Your reality?" Carol could not help smiling. "You think this is your
reality? Like maybe you invented it?"
"A shared reality, but, thank God, not like the old one."
***
The day after Robert's bandages came off, he solved the puzzle of
Shendun's egg. He had been studying it the whole time while waiting for his
eye to heal. Now he realized the strange markings that spiraled around the shell
described a series of rotations. Applying these to opposite ends of the egg
released a lock and the egg fell into two parts. A small jeweled rod fell out.
"There are tiny runes on the stick," Robert said. "They spell out a name Prothan."
"It's the first talisman," Susan said, looking very important. "I'll bet it
belongs to Prothan."
"We found Prothan's gate a few days ago," Bertha said. "Martin, aren't you
supposed to visit Prothan?"
"This is what I've been waiting for. My instructions are to place a talisman
at Prothan's gate. Until now, I didn't know what that meant."
"I can take you there," Linda said. "I found the gate." She started off at
once, following a devious path that wound through thick growth until it neared
Woren's east wall. It ended at a wrought iron gate a dozen feet high and topped
with vicious spikes.
"Prothan seems wary of visitors." John rattled the gate and felt the strength
of the iron. "It's locked and would not yield readily to force."
"I could get us over the fence," Bertha said.
"How do you know this is Prothan's gate?" Martin asked.
"The storekeeper told us," Linda answered. "After I found this place, I
asked her about it because she seems to know everything about Woren. She
said Prothan keeps to himself. She didn't want to talk much about him, but I
think Prothan is a Mentat."
Martin took the com-link from his pocket and activated it. "Doesn't show a

Mentat near."
"Well, what about it?" Bertha asked. "Do I get us over the fence?"
"We should try the talisman first," Susan said. "I went to a lot of trouble to
get it."
"Honey, if you can open the gate with that teeny pretty, be my guest."
"Put it in the notch in the handle," Robert suggested. "Maybe it's a key."
Susan slipped the talisman in the notch. "Gate isn't opening."
Hardly had the words left her mouth when everyone jumped as a voice
boomed, "Who seeks Prothan?" Two giants appeared inside the gate, each a
head taller than John and half again his girth. Clothed in silver armor, they
carried shining staves held ready.
"I . . . I guess I do. I brought the talisman," Susan said.
A giant withdrew the talisman through the inside of the gate and inspected
it closely. "Who brings a gold ring?"
"I do," Linda called, and pulled the ring from her pouch.
"Bring it to the gate, Child."
Linda glanced at Engar and Martin.
Martin nodded. "Show him the ring."
Linda reached and the guard plucked the ring from her fingers. He touched
the gate with his staff, and it swung open. John stepped ahead of the others, his
hand on his scimitar.
"No!" A giant raised his staff. "The red-haired child only!"
Susan's eyes turned the color of dark emerald.
"You don't have to go, Honey," Bertha whispered. "We can try some other
way."
"No . . . it's all right. I don't think they plan to hurt me." She stepped through
the gate, barely dodging its swing as it clanged shut behind her. She glanced
back fleetingly, then followed the giants along a winding path into a heavily
foliaged garden.
***
"It's been nearly an hour," Bertha fumed. "Can't you see anything in there,
Martin?"
"I followed Susan with my Mentat eye until she entered a courtyard and
went down some steps into a tunnel. I was forced out when I tried to enter, but
I didn't sense hostility. I might be strong enough to challenge the force, but I
don't think it would be wise. I don't think Susan is in danger."
"The giants are coming," Robert sang out from his perch in a nearby tree.

He dropped, like a monkey, and ran to the gate.

The nearest giant touched the gate with his staff and it opened as before.
The second giant beckoned. "You may enter."
Martin led, following the first guard. The partners trailed in a loose cluster
with the second giant guard at the rear. They wound along a cobbled path to the
descending stairway Martin had seen with his Mentat eye. Broad stone steps
took them into a tunnel with brick-lined walls. An arched ceiling rose high
above even the guards' heads. Lamps, set in notches high on the walls, gave off
a dull yellow glow. Soot had darkened the stone, and the air smelled of carbon
smoke and stale oil.
They followed the guard, turning often, then saw brighter light ahead.
Voices drifted into the passage from a side room. Susan met them, her face
flushed and wet with sweat. Strings of damp hair hung over her forehead and
trailed along her cheeks. She had taken off her helmet and armor and was
wearing a tan, smudged smock "I'm almost ready. Come on in. The places are
already set." She ushered them in with animated gestures, then shouted to
someone behind her. "Clen, bring in the drog! Burba, see the bread is set out!
Hugel, get more food handlers!" Breathlessly, she turned to Martin. "We're
going to have a feast, and I'm in charge. The serving droids and the kitchen
staff are helping."
"Honey, you look like you've been through a war," Bertha growled. "Has
somebody been giving you a hard time?"
Susan grinned, mopping her brow with her smock. "Heck no! I'm hard busy
and the kitchen's hotter than Hades, excuse the expression, but this is fun!
Prothan wants me to fix a special meal; he's really nice. I can't talk now; I've
got more work to do. Please find a place at the table." She started across the
room, then called over her shoulder, "I'll only be a minute. Start with bread and
drog if you want."
The dining hall was only a bit wider than the outer passage, though its
ceiling was much higher. A double-door opened to one side, apparently
leading to the kitchen, and Linda disappeared through it. The partners eyed the
narrow table that took up most of the room. It was set for ten, though it
appeared hardly large enough to accommodate the number. The warm, close
air was steeped with steamy, delicious odors.
"You think it's safe to take off our armor?" Carol asked. "Susan's right
about the heat, and the ventilation could use some improvements."
"Susan took hers off," Jason said. "It must be safe."

"There aren't any demons." Robert held up his silver amulet to show it was
not glowing.
"You sense any problems, Martin?"
"Doesn't feel like a trap. I suggest we get comfortable and try to enjoy
whatever Susan has cooked up."
At that moment, a rotund individual shrouded in purple entered the hall,
popping from a side passage like a cork from a bottle. His round body was so
heavily draped it was impossible to see his lower appendages, but stubby
arms, ending in small, blunt-fingered hands, protruded from puffy purple
sleeves. His face bore an expression of mirth, and he laughed as soon as he
appeared, his broad mouth opening to show his pink tongue surrounded by
gleaming white teeth. His eyes, as purple as his robes, sparkled with pleasure.
A feathery plume fixed to the crown of his head, bobbed with each peal of
laughter.
Everyone gaped as the newcomer bustled to the empty chair at the head of
the table. "Prothan, at your service," he proclaimed in a gale of laughter. "Sit
down! Eat! It's time for enjoyment, my good friends! Oh, don't bother with
introductions; I already know you. Susan, the delightful dimpled darling, has
filled me in. Susan," he shouted. " Come join us! The staff can handle things
from here on." He settled expansively, grabbed a chunk of thick crusty bread
and began chewing. "Take off your armor. It's quite warm and I assure you it's
safe. I've no evil designs on you." Prothan burst into another peal of laughter.
Leery, Carol set aside her helmet but left on her body armor as she settled
at the opposite end of the table from Prothan. The others removed armor to
various degrees and sorted out along the sides of the table, John next to the
children and Bertha opposite.
"I apologize for the crowded facilities," Prothan said. "I'm not used to so
many guests, rarely more than one or two. Your presence is truly a pleasure."
"Considering the small size of your dining room, you have a rather large
kitchen staff," Carol noted.
"Bless, you," Prothan laughed. "Of course I do. I love to eat and the staff
accommodates my many exotic appetites." As he spoke, the serving droids
began bringing in plates of food.
Susan hurried ahead, eyes shining, and took the last vacant chair next to
Prothan. "I hope everything meets with your approval," she said in a voice that
said she was sure it would. "I used Quenayla's recipes; most I haven't tried
before."

"It smells wonderful," Prothan proclaimed. "I haven't eaten food cooked to
Quenayla's recipes in such a long time! You must truly be a Master Provo, my
lovely Susan." He chucked the girl on the chin, leaned close and with a twinkle
said, "Otherwise, you couldn't have fooled Shendun, could you, Child?"
Prothan's confidence proved well placed, for the food met his highest
expectations, due partly to the extraordinary herbs from his garden, planted by
Quenayla, and partly to the finesse with which Susan massaged her
preparations to bring out the subtlest nuances of herbal flavor. Prothan's good
cheer proved infectious and soon everyone relaxed. As they ate, they began
talking and laughing. When the serving droids started to clear the last of the
dishes, Prothan sat back sighing contentedly, looked around with his merry
expression, and let his eye stop on Jason. "A song! It's time for a song! Music
aids the digestion and I'm eager to hear the songs of Eyrie."
Jason flushed, but at mention of Eyrie his dark eyes began to sparkle.
"Clen, Hugel, Burba! Music to accompany our young singer!"
In a moment, the serving droids traded dishes and trays for uffstrin, drum,
and flute and took up positions behind Prothan.
Jason glanced at the droids. "Do they . . . I mean, can they . . .?"
Prothan roared. "Bless you! Of course they can! These three are most
remarkable droids. Show them, Clen; let's here the music of Eyrie."
The burly droids began, and from their instruments came melodies so
beautiful they brought an instant hush to the diners. Jason listened, his face rapt,
then added his voice to the music of the instruments. As the songs took hold the songs Kilia said would shake your heart - even Prothan quieted. Jason sang
the ballads of Eyrie, then the key songs - the song of joy and the song of
sorrow. All the moods of Eyrie were mirrored on the faces of his listeners as
the music unfolded.
When Prothan at last raised his hand to bring the music to a close, he lifted
melancholy eyes to the group. The laughter was gone from his voice when he
said, "It's time for this celebration to end, as all good things must. This is a day
for an old man to remember, but it's time for you to go." He turned to Martin,
and the Mentat Warrior felt tumbling in his head. In the vortex of Prothan's
eyes, he saw Horath and Boro and Aroon and a host of others, and something
so dark it froze his heart. The bleak impression was there only an instant, then
Martin was looking again at Prothan's ancient face, now creased with a slight
smile. "Susan knows what you must do. May your journey be successful."
Abruptly, he lifted from his chair, and as lightly as down, drifted from the

room.
The giant guards entered silently. The partners donned their armor and in
moments were outside again, washing the musty air of Prothan's warren from
their lungs, and listening to the clang as the gate closed behind them.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Martin called an assembly. Susan, who had been privy to Prothan's

message, addressed the partners, "Prothan gave me a second talisman in
exchange for the one I got from Shendun." She held up a jeweled rod very
much like the first, then handed it to Robert. "It has runes; Prothan said they tell
how to find East Cave."
Robert said, "These runes are simple letters and numbers, S460 and E940."
"Maybe they're bearings," Linda said. "They tell how to get to East Cave
so maybe the letters mean south and east."
"The numbers could be coordinates," Engar said. "South latitude and east
longitude, though we'd need a reference to interpret the values."
"I can help with that," Martin said. "I have a device Chisen gave me." He
rummaged and found a small, round object. "It's a wherstone. It has puzzled me
since I didn't need it on my journey. When I press the sides, two small numbers
appear on its surface. Both were zero in Or'gn, but change with location. I think
they show distance in legons from Or'gn along north-south and east-west axes.
That also makes sense in light of the Sorf message that says, 'Or'gn is
reference.'"
"Then East Cave must be 460 legons south and 940 legons east of Or'gn,"
Engar said.
Bertha whistled. "That's a mighty long way."
"Why do we have to go to East Cave?" Carol asked. "Haven't we had
enough caves?"
"To find the third talisman," Susan said. "Prothan said we have to exchange
the second talisman for a third in East Cave. But to get in we have to find a
gold key."
"I know where the gold key is," Robert said. "At the Well-of-Fire at the
birth of the sun, isn't it Martin?"
Martin's brow furrowed. "Seems a reasonable assumption in light of the
Sorf message."
"Well-of-Fire?" Carol groaned. "I'm not liking the sound of this."
"What is this so-called Well-of-Fire?" Bertha asked. "The Faland Master
never seems to tire of these silly riddles. Why can't he state things clearly?"
"This riddle's easy," Jason said. "The Well-of-Fire is probably a volcano."

Carol groaned again. "I knew I didn't like the sound of it."
Bertha snorted. "I came across a retired volcano down south when I was
looking for Mordat's Castle. It wasn't much."
"This ones lies east," Martin said. "I suspect the Well-of-Fire will be more
than a 'retired' volcano."
"How do you know it lies east?"
"That's easy," Robert chortled. "Birth of the sun probably means where the
sun rises, so if we seek the Well-of-Fire at the birth of the sun, we have to go
east."
"I don't recall any volcanos east of Or'gn as far as Rooden," Engar said.
"Nor beyond," Robert put in. "I went east out of Rooden to Thun and didn't
see any volcanos in the Snowy Mountains."
"It'll be beyond Fariver," Martin said. "In the Mentat grid I've seen the area
east of Or'gn as far as Fariver and there are no volcanos. The Well-of-Fire
must be in the blank land beyond the Mentat grid."
"I've glimpsed those lands," Robert said. "When I was with Brom on the
edge of Faland." His eyes grew wide. "Thinbar called the east area the lost
wilderness where no man, not even a native, has ever gone."
"If we get this mysterious third talisman, what then?" Carol asked. "Do we
take it someplace else to trade for a fourth talisman? What's the point of this
nonsense?"
"It's part of the quest," Jason said. "We have to do it."
"We did all agree to follow the quest to its end," Martin reminded Carol.
"What if it has no end?" Carol asked. "Does that mean we're going to
stumble around forever in the wilderness like idiots?"
"Maybe," Martin said.
"It won't be hard to find a volcano," Jason said. "They're pretty
conspicuous, you know. All we do is go east until we spot one. It's simple."
"Yeah, simple," Carol said. "We only have to cross the Snowy Mountains
and Fariver and beyond that God-only-knows what."
***
Ten days later the partners arrived back in Or'gn. They camped on the
green and immediately attracted a crowd of awed admirers, not one willing to
challenge the legendary followers of the Mentat Warrior. Even Jason and
Robert were now level five Warriors, and no one doubted that, outside the
Master, the small group gathered on the green was the most powerful force in
Faland.

"For all our success, I can't say our endeavors have proven very
profitable," Bertha grumbled as she counted the meager gold in her purse.
"How are our supplies holding up, Susan? I've only a handful of ralls, and I
suspect the rest of you aren't much better off."
"It doesn't matter," Susan said. "I was just at the market. Everything's free
for us. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Same thing's true at the other shops," Jason said. "We've got what's called
the Master's privilege."
"Really?" Bertha's face brightened.
"Fact is, we won't need a whole lot anyway," Martin said. "We're already
well equipped and about the only things we need are food and oil. I suggest
everyone see to their gear. We'll lay over a couple of days, then head out. I've a
hunch our next trip will be long."
***
Two days later, Trenel found Robert at the village green and talked him and
the other children into riding north with him to visit Sal'to and swim in Mulro's
pond. After the swim, they all lounged on the silky grass near the pond while
warm wind stroked away moisture on their bare skins. "This is like before the
quest," Linda said dreamily as she lay next to Jason.
"Will we settle down after the quest?" Susan asked. "Where we can hunt
and swim and just live?"
"Not for a while," Robert said. "We've a long way to go." He sounded
glad.
"Can I go?" Trenel asked Robert. "You promise I go some day. I practice
hummer. I strong."
"Not yet," Robert said. "You and Sal'to still have things to do here."
"Besides, Trenel, what you have here is special," Jason said. "You're
lucky."
Linda rolled to an elbow. "Why is Trenel lucky?"
Jason was on his back, hands cupped under his head, staring upward with a
melancholy expression. Linda stroked damp hair out of his eyes.
"He's home," Jason said. "We aren't. Don't you feel it? Don't you feel the
tension, as though something is tugging at you?"
Linda frowned.
"I feel it," Robert said. "I hadn't noticed before, but it does seem like
something is pulling at me. I think the tug has been there for a while."
Jason said. "Sometimes I can think myself up, just for a moment. I catch a

glimpse."
"A glimpse?"
"From above. Like I'm outside myself, looking down."
"Yeah. I see it now too," Susan said. "It's kind-of weird."
"What's happening?" Linda asked. "I think I'm feeling it too."
"It's the grid," Jason said. "The Mentat grid Martin talks about. I think
we're seeing it too."
"But we don't have a com-link?"
"I know." Jason sounded puzzled. "I don't understand it."
"I not see," Trenel said.
"Not me," Sal'to agreed.
Robert glanced at Trenel's small face screwed up with effort, his eyes
squeezed shut, and laughed. "It isn't that hard. Relax. If you can see it, you can.
If you can't, you can't."
Trenel opened his eyes. "Not see."
"It's time to go," Susan scrambled to her feet and grabbed her clothes. "It'll
be near sundown when we get back."
"I'll race you!" Jason leaped to his feet.
Susan was in the lead when she leaped on Redwing's back and sent her
flying like an arrow. Jason reached Dragon Fire a length behind, neck and neck
with Linda on Golden Dawn. Robert said a hurried goodby to Trenel and
Sal'to, then urged Gulner to a full gallop. They raced all the way to Or'gn,
covering the dozen legons in minutes so fast did their magnificent animals run.
They pulled up laughing and clapping, their faces flushed with blood from their
pounding hearts.
"Wow," Robert whooped. "Even the wind could not catch us!"
***
At first light, nine riders and seven pack horven, laden with supplies,
headed east out of Or'gn. Linda led on her golden mare, and Engar brought up
the rear on Thor, whose chocolate coat shone in the early sun. The string of
pack horven, guided by Susan, ambled in the middle of the procession. A pall
of dust rose above the group, for it had not rained in several days. All day they
moved east, and though they did not hurry, the Glu'me forest loomed darkly
before them when the sun touched the western horizon. No one was tired, but
Martin thought it prudent to stop while there was still light to see by.
"I know a good campsite a little north," Robert told Linda. "I understand
we're turning north here anyway, along Edge Creek."

"That's right. Martin took me up in the Mentat grid, and we couldn't find a
place to cross Fariver if we go east through the Glu'me and the Snowy
Mountains. We decided to go north to the bench lands near Great Barrier, then
east along the cliff past the headwaters of Fariver north of Thun."
"We'll miss the Snowy Mountains. I was hoping to show everybody a
Snowy Griven," Robert said.
"Yeah, what a shame," Linda said with a touch of irony. "Where's the
campsite?"
Robert heeled Gulner. "Follow me!"
A quick run took him and Linda to the pond where several weeks before he
had bathed. He circled the pond and pointed out a camp with good graze, tent
space, fresh water, and a place for swimming. The partners set out lamps
against the felven, found wood along the stream, built a campfire, and sang
songs and talked well into the evening. They awakened next morning for a
predawn swim, followed by a huge breakfast, and were on the trail as the first
rays of sun marmaladed the tips of somber firen trees crowding Edge Creek's
east bank.
For three days they worked north, passing Cambok's farm where Robert
had sheltered the first night of his journey. They did not stop and did not
glimpse Cambok or his family. When they reached the bench lands, they swung
east again, gradually drifting north until they picked up the trail along Great
Barrier. They passed through land lonely and spectacular, with stark vistas to
the north and a dark line of trees, barely visible, to the south. For Susan,
Bertha, and Linda this was their first visit to Great Barrier, and Robert and
Jason delighted in describing the wonders and horrors of Aul'kalee.
As days passed, the tie between the partners strengthened, and the children
learned that the glimpses they sometimes picked up from the Mentat-grid came
through their close union with Martin. Through him, they saw part of what he
saw, and Martin began to teach them Mentat skills. On the ninth day, with the
party strung out loosely along the Cliff trail, Martin sensed a warning through
the Mentat grid. It did not come through his com-link, but directly, for he had
gradually learned to make union with the grid without need of an intermediary.
The warning came from Horath, and it was with warmth and pleasure that
Martin linked again with his mentor and teacher. He saw Horath's eyes as
clearly as though he were sitting opposite the old man in the training room in
Or'gn.
"What causes such concern?" Martin saw the dark worry in Horath's eyes.

"A matter of great urgency. A black-robed Mentat, corrupted by Darc'un,

has gathered a force and is moving toward you under a Mentat shield. I don't
know the full power of this force, but it's traveling through the Glu'me forest
and will soon spill onto the plain near you."
"How long?"
"It could strike at any moment; even as we speak. Gather your people and
prepare to defend yourselves."
Martin raised his head and voiced the warning signal Jason had taught
everyone. He saw Engar, far away, put heels to Thor, and sweeping John and
Bertha with him, head toward Susan and the pack string. Glancing right, he saw
Linda, Jason, and Robert drop back and begin also to converge on the pack
string. Urging Dusty to a gallop, he scanned south where he had seen Carol
searching for medicinal plants. She had heard the signal and was heading in.
By the time Martin reached Susan, the party had assembled, and Engar had
organized into a defensive posture. "What's the danger?" The Warrior Captain
wheeled Thor to face Martin.
"A Mentat attack." Martin skidded Dusty into the ring of defenders. "I don't
know how strong. We need to find a better defensive position."
"I know a place," Linda said. "I saw it from the grid - ahead and to the right
- about three legons."
"Let's go," Martin wheeled Dusty behind Linda.
With trained precision, Carol, Jason, and Robert divided up the pack
string, each taking control of two horven. They grouped behind Susan who had
swung to follow Linda and Martin. Linda leaned over Redwing's neck and
whispered words of speed into the mare's ear. In seconds they were in full
gallop, the stronger Warriors spread out, weapons ready, forming a defensive
shield around the pack animals.
Martin divided his attention between the grid and Dusty's heaving back. He
spotted no attackers, but knew a Mentat shield could blind the grid. He erected
his own shield to protect himself and his friends. A dimpled hillock came into
view and Linda headed toward it. She led upslope into a boulder field.
"Good choice, Linda," Engar leaped from Thor's back. "We'll dig in among
the boulders."
Bertha dismounted on the run. "We'll build a stone breastwork. Susan,
assemble the horven by the rock outcrop on the north. That will form the base
of our defenses."
"Riders a couple of legons away, coming from the south," Martin yelled.

He sent up half a dozen Mentat spheres and sent them skimming over the scrub.
Immediately he encountered Mentat resistance.
"It's a large force," John yelled.
"Work in pairs as we trained," Engar shouted. "Take overall direction from
Martin. Jason's with me."
"I'll command through the children," Martin yelled. "Mind to mind; I've got
the strongest links with them."
Susan hunkered the horven next to the rock outcrop, then climbed with
Carol to find a vantage from which they could defend the remuda.
"Take the east," Martin commanded Linda. "Robert, you and John hold our
west flank. Jason and Engar take the middle with me."
Linda and Bertha began to roll boulders together on the east flank while
John and Robert stacked rocks on the west.
"We'll take a forward position," Martin told Engar. "And slow the attackers
as we fall back."
"I don't see them," Jason said.
"They've halted in a dry wash a legon away. They've got Mentat eyes out;
I've picked up three so far."
"Do you know how many fighters yet?"
"I can't tell, but there's just one Mentat - a woman I think - and she's got her
shield drawn tight. She's trying to break through my field. I suspect she knows
our strength, but I don't think she can read our deployment." As he talked,
Martin laid out his Mentat metal and began to divide it into portions he could
readily manipulate.
"I see movement." Jason's voice quavered. "Near that little line of bushes
way out there." He pointed over a boulder.
"They're coming," Martin said. "I've blocked their Mentat vision, but when
you see them they can see you so don't expose yourselves."
"I see more to the right," Jason warned.
Martin sensed wavering in the opposing Mentat field. "Our attacker is
dividing her force. She's beginning a pincher move, trying to flank us on both
sides." He flashed an alert to Linda and Robert.
"Horven riders," Engar shouted. "Coming fast!"
Suddenly the plain boiled with riders, some from the left, others from the
right. A swarm of Mentat arrows rose like a fiery cloud out of the central
shield. The riders were firing ordinary arrows as they came, and Engar,
Bertha, and John began to answer. The enormous reach of John's compound

long bow toppled riders half a legon away, but more rose behind.
"There's got to be at least a hundred," Engar shouted. "They'll breach our
lines!"
"Fall back!"
Martin had little time to worry about the riders. He concentrated on the
Mentat arrows spreading rapidly toward all the defenders. Dropping his
Mentat shield, he brought his full power to bear on the metal lumps before him
and whipped a dozen scythe-like missiles into the swarm of attacking arrows.
They cut through the blazing brands like a mower through a field of grain. He
captured dozens, quenched and deflected more dozens. A wink of motion
caught his eye, and Martin saw a Mentat metal bolus leap upward, splaying
into a multi-taloned sphere that raced toward him. Reflexly, he dropped his
own metal and mind-snatched for the bolus. Enormous force met him and the
bolus sprouted writhing masses of tendrils that lashed through the air like steel
whips.
Driven back, Martin saw Engar side-step toward the bolus, swinging his
sword at the tendrils. The Mentat force driving the bolus wavered, dividing its
attention between Martin and Engar. In that instant, Martin let go of the bolus
and reconstructed his shield, including the bolus within it. It collapsed, and
Martin mind-grabbed it, joining it with his own metal. He felt anger and
frustration from his opponent as he exploded the combined Mentat metal into a
fountain of tiny darts which he swept through the wave of attacking riders.
Horven screamed, riders toppled, others wheeled into frantic retreat.
Martin felt his opponent's focus weaken and took advantage to drive metal
shards at her Mentat eyes. Two brilliant puffs of light told him he had caught
her off guard and taken out two of the three eyes with which she had been
monitoring the battle.
He heard Bertha roar, "They're coming through!"
Martin switched attention to the east flank and saw Bertha standing on the
rampart, flailing. The air was filled with the screams of fallen and thrashing
horven and the crash of her great mace on metal armor.
"Swing to the east," he ordered Jason, who took off immediately with
Engar. Martin held the south with Mentat power alone while Engar and Jason
dove in alongside Bertha. For several minutes, there was only the sound of
battle, the scream of horven, the rush of hooves. Then, abruptly, the raiders
broke, retreating wildly, leaving behind a field strewn with their dead and
wounded.

"We won! We won!" Robert cracked his tagan and danced in circles.
Martin stared after the retreating army. "We won this skirmish, but I doubt
the battle is over. Did we take hits?"
"Nothing serious," Carol said. "Whatever you did, Martin, you kept most of
them off us."
"I hope our luck holds next time," Martin said, "and next time is going to be
soon. Our Mentat enemy is sending her force to encircle us."
"How many men does she have? We must have taken down half a
battalion," Bertha said.
"It's the largest force I've seen in Faland," Engar said.
"We've only seen part of it," Martin warned. "My Mentat eyes got through
her shield. She was over confident and attacked before assembling her full
force. More are joining her even now. We've got to break out of here before
we're surrounded."
"There's a canyon about five legons east," Linda said. "There we'd have a
cliff on one side and no one could surround us."
"We'd also be trapped against Great Barrier," Bertha said.
"We've no time to argue," Martin said. "We'll fight our way east and hole
up if forced to."
Linda bounded to Redwing's back and charged around the outcrop to the
north. Susan, with Carol and the other children, leaped to their horven and
snatched the leads to the pack animals. In seconds, the entire force was racing
down the north side of the hillock, swinging east. So quickly had they acted
that the attacker's ring had not had time to close. Still, pursuers sprang
suddenly from the scrub like weeds after a rain.
Mounted on their magnificent steeds, the partnership could have outrun any
pursuit, but the pack string slowed them. "We could cut the pack animals
loose," Engar shouted as they galloped.
"We'd have to turn back then," Martin said. "And with this force, Darc'un
could keep us from getting back to the farmland."
"They're gaining," Carol shrieked.
Martin scanned from above. He saw more than a hundred riders closing on
their rear. He sought out the dark Mentat.
"We'll have to turn and fight," John thundered.
"Susan! Robert! Jason! Follow Linda," Martin commanded. "Everybody
else, give them protection."
John wheeled Skyfire in a shower of gravel and reined hard. He faced the

onrushing horde, his scimitar raised, glowing like a bolt of fire in his hand.
Keening the Kroll war cry, he drove Skyfire straight into the attacking
multitude.
"We can't let him go alone." Bertha dragged back on her reins, nearly
setting Raven on his rump. Engar wheeled Thor and joined Bertha in a race to
assist John. So astonished were the attackers to find themselves suddenly the
attacked, they faltered. Before they could unlimber their bows, John rode into
them like a giant reaper, his great scimitar slashing through armored bodies
like a knife through butter. The enemy army disintegrated into a riot of milling
horven, fallen bodies, and terrified Warriors.
Then Bertha hit them.
Through the dust, Martin spotted a shadowy form, astride a blood-red
stallion, guiding her throng from a position well to the side. He kicked Dusty
and rode straight toward her. Too late, she sensed her danger. Withdrawing her
power from the battle, she tried to snatch the flattened disk of Mentat metal that
hurtled toward her. Martin sensed the shift in her concentration and detonated
the disk of metal. A column of fire rose tens of feet; the blast shook the ground.
Whinnying with terror, the dark Mentat's stallion raced, riderless, toward the
distant fringe of trees. Shocked by the awesome power he had unleashed,
Martin brought Dusty to a halt. All Mentat opposition had ceased and he felt no
Mentat presence anywhere. He felt numbed, almost afraid.
The blast, rumbling across the plain, halted the battle, and the dark Mentat's
remaining Warriors milled in confusion. Moments later, a leader among them
ordered retreat. The mass of Warriors was soon racing away to the west,
leaving the field littered with their fallen comrades.
"What the hell was that?" John rode to where the Mentat Warrior was
studying the marks of the blast. Skyfire's white coat, like the lithan armor of his
master, dripped with blood and Martin winced. He was reminded of Engar's
prophetic words when the Training-master had once said John was destined to
become a great Warrior of Faland. As John joined him, Martin dismounted and
knelt by a burned patch a dozen yards across. Bertha and Engar rode up, their
faces questioning.
"She's gone." Martin looked up. "The dark Mentat's gone."
"Killed?" Bertha asked.
"Gone. Just gone. There's no body - nothing."
"Her Warrior's are gone too," John said. "They ran off when they
discovered their leader had fallen."

Carol rode up. She looked frightened and exhausted. "We better close up
with the kids. They won't know what's happened."
"You go on. I'll be along in a minute," Martin said.
As the others rode away, he turned back to the burned patch. Carefully, he
went over the ground, working slowly through the burned area and many yards
outside it. He studied the tracks of the red stallion. The Mentat grid was still
functioning, and he picked out the kids with the pack string as they rode into a
small canyon at the edge of Great Barrier Cliff. Engar and the other adults
were tracking a few legons behind.
"Horath?" Martin got no answer. The grid seemed strangely silent, empty,
as though all Mentats other than himself had withdrawn. He followed the
others slowly, and when he came up with them, discovered they had found a
protected area in the small canyon, where a spring watered a tiny oasis, and
had made camp.
"No one was seriously hurt," Carol said, hardly believing her own words.
She had rested some but fear had not entirely left her eyes.
"I saw her once before," Susan said. "I saw the dark Mentat before."
"You saw her this time?" Martin asked. "How?"
"Through you. She killed Quenayla." Susan shuddered. "Is she dead?"
Martin frowned. "I don't know."

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

During the week following the battle, the partnership continued east with
no further assaults. Martin wondered at the silence of the Mentat grid, though
he continued to use it and found no diminishment in the visual overview it gave
of Faland. He continued, also, to train the partners, especially the children, in
Mentat skills. Linda became good at entering the grid and using it to scout their
route.
One day, when Linda was scouting the old way, from the back of Redwing,
she spotted a diminutive rider approaching. She recognized right away that the
rider must be of Clan Gartral, for Robert had described the little people in
great detail, and just that morning she had spotted the Clan's village while she
was in the grid doing her morning look-around. When she spotted the
Clansman, she looked to see if Robert was near. She knew he was eager to see
again the friends he had made on his great journey. When she saw him not far
away, she called to him, and he lifted his eyes. When he saw the approaching
rider, he immediately heeled Gulner and rode to intercept. He reached the rider
first, and when Linda came up, he was already talking excitedly to the small
Clansman. "Linda, I want you to meet Kran of Clan Gartral," Robert said as
Linda came up. "Remember? I told you about him."
Linda smiled and nodded. "Pleased to meet you. Didn't your father give
Gulner to Robert?"
"Yes. Robert saved my life. He's a friend of Clan Gartral and we're his
friend."
"You're quite a long way from home. What brings you so far?"
Kran grinned broadly. "I came to meet you and ride with you to our village.
We're going to have a great celebration."
"Celebration?"
"For you. To celebrate your victory. We heard about the battle against
Darc'un."
"You know about Darc'un?" Robert's voice showed his surprise.
"Of course." Kran's face sobered. "Renegades attacked us more than a
week ago. It was the first time anyone has attacked our village in many years.
We knew they were serving Darc'un and thought the time of dark changes had
begun. But now," Kran's face brightened, "the renegades have left! They left

when the Mentat Warrior defeated Darc'un's war leader in the Battle of High
Rock Knoll. Come on, let's ride! I want to meet the Mentat Warrior."
***
Late in the evening two days later, Kran, flanked by Linda and Robert, led
the Mentat Warrior and his followers around a familiar bend onto The Trail
that Hangs in Air. Two twists later, they entered the plaza of Clan Gartral's
village. All the villagers had turned out. Robert felt his heart pound with pride
as he rode at the head of the column, beside Martin, and greeted the people
who had befriended him so many weeks before.
The first stars had begun to appear above the soaring red-rock walls when
the Clan ushered the heros past great fires on which huge cauldrons bubbled,
sending up clouds of mouth-watering vapor. Snoli, Flan, and Ravil, and a score
of their friends, Clan children Robert had befriended, swarmed around the
newcomers. Robert slid from Gulner's back, knelt, and swept an armful of
children into his embrace. "It's good to see you guys!" he cried. "Come on,
Linda, Susan, Jason! Meet some of my friends!"
The plaza became a chaos of little people scrambling and shouting,
welcoming and hurrying, tumbling over one another with excitement as all vied
to meet the Mentat Warrior and his followers. But soon Efril, Clan Leader and
Kran's father, barked the crowd to order. The tiny children snatched the reins
of the horven and herded them toward the paddock, then poured like a swarm
of ants over a huge haystack and forked into the paddock a feast for their fourlegged guests.
Once the pack animals were freed of their burdens, the gear stowed, and
everyone shown to quarters in the guest caves, Robert led the partners to the
open-air bath. The weather was mild and no one needed urging to plunge into
the rock-lined pool fed by a clear waterfall. They splashed happily, relieved
for the moment of the need to stand guard.
"You'll love it here!" Robert enthused. "Clan people eat all the time, some
of the best food I've ever had. Not that yours isn't just as good, Susan," he
hastily added. "But they really like to eat here."
"We all like to eat well," Susan said. "And I'm glad I don't have to cook for
a while."
"Honey, you're right about liking to eat." Bertha's rotund frame shook with
laughter. "I'll take your cooking any time, but good food's always welcome, no
matter the source."
Clean, dressed in fresh ukelns and with their sirkelns polished, free of

armor for the first time in many days, they followed a merry clutter of children
to feast mats arranged around low tables heaped with great mounds of food.
Their hosts seated them with a flourish next to Efril and his family. Robert had
not mislead them; the food was as marvelous as he had described. Susan
avowed there was much to learn from the little people, and she added many of
their recipes to her collection, at least those she could talk the cooks into
sharing. As abundant as the feast was, it was quickly done, and since the hour
was late, everyone headed to the caves and sleep. The real celebration was
reserved for the next day.
***
Morning dawned clear. The partners awoke to find a huge breakfast laid in
the dining hall. That was followed by games and carnivals held in the plaza
with the astonishing beauty of Aul'kalee before them and towering red cliffs
behind. Efril had declared a holiday and no one left the village to work on the
trail. As he pointed out, there was little traffic anyway since Darc'un's
renegades had departed and other travelers were intimidated by the
lawlessness in the area.
Treated as honored guests, the partners did pretty much as they pleased.
Their offers to help with the work were largely refused, and they wandered the
grounds, enjoying the breath-taking performances of rope walkers and
acrobats. The little people spent so much time maintaining the spider-web
bridges of the Trail-That-Hangs-in-Air that they were excellent rope walkers
and many were skilled at the trapeze. Some demonstrated other skills,
including prowess with weapons. Bertha entertained the youngsters by
shattering boulders with her mace, while the partnership children put on a
dazzling display of targeting with hummers.
In the afternoon, when heat drove everyone to the shaded green near the
waterfall, Jason thrilled the little people with songs of Eyrie and left not a dry
eye when he sang the sad song, then brought laughter to every throat when he
sang the song of joy. The day ended with an even more immense feast than on
the evening before. Even Bertha had finally to quit, forced to admit she had
reached her capacity.
***
Late the morning following the celebration, the partners left Clan Gartral.
The little people had proved such wonderful hosts and had made their stay so
appealing that they parted with great reluctance.
"Will you be this way again?" Efril asked Martin as the two sat on their

horven. The clan leader had ridden the first few legons with the partners, but
now had to turn back.
Martin shook his head. "Seems unlikely, at least in the near term. But I
would like to return someday and spend more time with you. I'll be forever
grateful for the friendship you showed Robert."
Robert slid from Gulner's back and clasped arms with Kran, who had
accompanied his father. The two embraced wordlessly, and when Robert
returned to Gulner's back and Kran to his father's horven, there was glittering
in their eyes.
"Move out," Martin commanded.
The column moved away and Efril and his son began the ride back to their
village.
***
The Snowy Mountains loomed distantly on their right as the partners
continued east, but as the days passed the mountains became increasingly less
conspicuous and finally faded from view altogether. As they moved deeper
into the blank lands, they left behind the Mentat grid that overlaid the better
known regions of Faland and were no longer able to scout from above.
"Even the range of my Mentat visualization spheres is reduced," Martin
said as he sat Dusty at the brink of a small arroyo. Engar and Linda were
drawn up beside him. "I suspect the spheres draw power from the grid. I can
still shape Mentat metal, but that power may also diminish."
"The wherstone still works," Linda said. "It says we're 723 legons east of
Or'gn and 127 legons north. I think we're about as far east as the farthest we
could see from the grid. Maybe we should turn south so we don't miss the
Well-of-Fire?"
Martin glanced south toward distant low hills. "You're probably right, but
that means you'll have to scout without benefit of Great Barrier Cliff to guide
you. You'll have to ride out well ahead. When you do, I want an adult Warrior
with you."
"It'll be like the old days. Scouting will be fun again."
"More dangerous too."
"Martin's right," Engar told Linda. "Don't get careless. I doubt Darc'un is
finished with us, and don't forget this is his country, outside the Master's
reach."
"You two ride ahead." Martin turned Dusty from the arroyo. "It's still a few
hours until sundown. I'll bring the others along and we'll camp tonight in the

hills to the south."

Martin backtracked to the pack string and caught up with it meandering
along under Susan's guidance, with the other partners straggled around it,
riding at a slow walk. He swung the group southeast, toward the line of hills
Linda was scouting, and though his Mentat power was diminished, he lofted a
pair of Mentat eyes to help choose the easiest route through an increasingly
complex maze of washes, small canyons, and rocky hillocks. Nearing the hills,
Martin spotted Linda and Engar and skimmed a Mentat eye toward them. He
flashed Linda his current location, and she changed course to intercept.
"Engar and I found a good campsite," she called, slowing Redwing to pace
beside Martin. "It's ahead a couple of legons."
"The land rises to the south," Engar said as he reined alongside. "There's
good timber, and the area looks wetter. There's a stream near the campsite."
"I hope it has a swimming hole," Jason said. "I haven't had a swim for
days, and I'm getting tired of this gritty feeling."
"You might not need a swim. From the look of the sky, we'll likely get
rain," Carol said. "Clouds have been building all afternoon."
Big drops began to fall by the time they reached the campsite. "Cut some
poles," Bertha said, sliding off Raven. "Let's get up some tarps. You kids start
gathering wood. We'll build a fireplace by the boulders away from the stream."
She began to lay out camp among firen trees tucked between two low hills, and
next to a stream that raced along a rock-lined chute, spitting fountains of spray
as it dropped over a series of riffles. Jason ignored the rain and ran along the
stream until he found a clear, bubbling pool at the base of a little waterfall. He
pitched his tent near it.
Drops spattered among the trees while tarps and tents were raised, but the
light shower was more refreshing than annoying. After the tarps were up,
Bertha directed construction of a stone fireplace while the kids piled fallen
wood alongside. Susan built a fire and enlisted Martin and Carol to help
prepare the evening meal. John and Robert climbed a small hill from which
they could keep watch over the whole camp.
With neither cooking nor guard duties, Jason had free time and talked Linda
into joining him for a swim. In spite of the rain, they stripped off armor,
mokads, and sirkelns and left them in their tents while they raced, barefoot and
bare-limbed through the dripping woods. "If you guys don't mind, I think I'll
join you!" Bertha called when she saw the kids dashing toward the pool.
"Come ahead!" Linda's voice floated through the trees. A moment later,

there was a tremendous double-splash as she and Jason cannon-balled into the
clear water. They rose through the roil sucking air and laughing. The rain
quickened and kicked a layer of spume above the pool. Even with their heads
above surface, it was hard to get a clear breath, but Bertha, bobbing like a cork
and blowing spouts, ignored the driving rain, and the children used her like a
raft, piling on her ample form. They tried to sink her, but she wrapped her big
arms around them and took them under instead. Kicking free, they came up and
swam downstream, then turned ahead of the outlet and stroked through shallow,
fast water. Getting to their feet, they stood in waist deep rush, laughing and
shouting. A sighing sound, like the breathing of a giant, swept along the stream.
Wind bent the treetops and reached into the canyon, dashing rain in their faces.
"Oh!" Linda cried. "The wind's cold! I'm heading back to camp!" She
scrambled onto the bank.
"We're going!" Jason called to Bertha. She lumbered out of the stream and
followed as the children darted, streaming water, across ground growing
muddy under the strengthening rain.
"Quick! In here." Carol herded Jason and Linda into a tarp shelter where
Engar had built a warming fire. The kids crowded near the flames, reaching
fingers toward the heat, and listened to the snap of the tarps billowing and
flapping in the breeze.
"Better get out of those wet ukelns," Bertha said as she pushed under the
tarp, hauling with her an armful of dry ukelns snatched from the supply tent.
They toweled and wrapped themselves in fresh ukelns, then cleaned their
muddy feet and pulled on their mokads.
"It was worth it!" Jason mopped water from his shaggy brown hair. "A
swim in the rain! Yeah!" His face was flushed.
Carol began dishing up plates of kurduc stew. When Jason and Engar
spelled John and Robert on guard duty they dressed in waterproof capes and
carried a lantern. They climbed the darkening slope through trees bending and
creaking and shedding rivers. During the night, the rain increased with the
wind, and by morning the mild little stream had become a torrent. At breakfast,
the partners stood under dripping tarps in gray light filtering through thick
clouds and debated whether to hole-up until the weather cleared or press on
through the storm. Only after Linda assured everybody she could scout in the
rain, did they decide to break camp and make what distance they could.
"Everything's wet anyway," Bertha grumbled. "We might as well be moving
as standing here complaining."

"I never thought I'd be happy to wear armor," Carol said. "But this lithan
mail, with the bronze amulet, is warm enough to be downright comforting."
"We might get snow," Robert said. "Maybe we'll find some snowy
grivens."
"That's all we need," Carol said, climbing on Blue Mist's back, her leather
sirkeln squeaking as it slid on the wet saddle leather.
"Keep it close," Martin said as Linda started the column. "Even with
Mentat eyes, I can't see far in this downpour. You, too, Linda - don't get far
ahead."
***
The rain and wind lasted two days, then petered out during the second
night. To Robert's disappointment, it did not snow and he found no sign of
snowy griven in the increasingly verdant forest.
"Sunshine! What a welcome sight." Bertha cheered as she stretched her
bulk in the brilliant light of a clear morning. "Ah! The air smells so good. And
what a view."
They were camped on the edge of a meadow near the crest of a range of
softly rounded mountains, and from the meadow they could see legons and
legons of grizzled hills covered with dark green firen trees mistily clad in sunwarmed vapor. Water steamed from their tarpaulins, sending up milky clouds
that hung briefly above their tents. They strung lines and hung out their wet
clothes and ground cloths to dry.
After days of wet, the horven were especially frisky, and while the camp
dried, the kids organized impromptu races, and soon everyone was flying in
vast circles around the meadow, riding bareback and showing off the power
and beauty of their steeds. They did not get underway until after noon.
"We haven't covered much ground the last two days," Linda said as she got
the column moving. "Look at the wherstone." She held it out to Engar. "We're
still ninety legons too far north for the Well-of-Fire."
Martin, riding nearby, overheard. "Maybe so, but I think I already see it
from my Mentat eyes. Take a look." He touched Linda's mind lightly and guided
it into the visualization sphere.
"That smoke smudge?" Linda saw a blur on the horizon. "How do you
know it's a volcano?"
"It's far away," Martin said. "It must either be a volcano or a forest fire. I'm
betting on the former."
"It'll take a long time to get through all the forest between here and there."

Over the next days, Linda worked hard finding trails through the dense
forest, but most members enjoyed the slow trek through magnificent
wilderness. Sleek little deer-like devon were abundant, as were squal and
rabir, and the weather held fair after the storm. Susan found herbs, berries, and
roots along the streams and in the emerald-green meadows. It was easy living,
and in five days they drew near enough to see the volcano's blasted slopes and
make out a fissure from which a column of dark smoke was rising straight up,
then flattening and trailing to the south.
"Looks like it erupted recently," Engar observed as he nudged Thor up an
incline and drew alongside Martin. They were peering upward at jagged black
crags, etched against smoky sky like the spires of a gargantuan castle half
hidden in fog.
"Not too recently," Martin said. "There are green plants well up the slope.
It's been at least a few years since the last blow."
"Do we have to climb that thing?" Carol asked, her face drawn in a fierce
scowl, as she rode up.
"Some of us do," Martin said. "I expect that's where we'll find the Well-ofFire. I can't see a lot with my Mentat eyes these days."
Linda drew near. "We can camp in a meadow I found a short way from
here. It has good water, plenty of grazing, and it's protected from the wind if
we have another storm. I found a high rock where a guard can stand and see the
whole area."
"We may be here a few days," Bertha said. "I suggest we make a layover
camp. There's still daylight enough to get a good start if we don't dawdle."
John worked the kinks out of his arms by cleaving a couple of dozen eightinch trees with his scimitar. Bertha and Engar chopped them into poles and set
up tepee frames on which to stretch tarpaulins. Carol and the children strung
the tarps, while Martin laid out a fireplace. After cutting poles, John pitched in
with Engar to stack rocks for the fireplace. By evening, the camp was complete
with fire pit, dining lodge, and storage tepee. Bertha even put up a small forge.
"Never can tell what we'll need," she said. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared."
Near dark, Susan darted to camp with a hide bucket filled with water and
shouted, "I saw felven prints! Down by the water! A big one, and something
else, too!"
"Better get the lamps out. We'll have no moon tonight," Martin said.
Bertha followed Susan into camp. "The other prints belong to a forest
griven," she said. "I saw them in the southern forest. They may not be as big as

snowies, Robert, but they're plenty mean. And, unlike felven, they aren't put off
by light."
"Better post a double guard," Engar said. "Two people at the lookout, two
awake at camp at all times. That means only two shifts, so sleep will be
shorter than usual."
The following day, they divided into two groups. The larger, led by Engar
and including Bertha and John, went hunting. Susan and Robert accompanied
them, ostensibly to gather herbs, berries, and nuts, but really in hopes of getting
in on the hunt and maybe finding a griven. The second group, led by Martin and
including Carol, Jason, and Linda, headed up the volcano in search of the
Well-of-Fire.
Though carrying full armor and their weapons, Jason and Linda climbed
quickly above the adults, exultantly testing their strength against the mountain.
A slight wind pushed the smoke plume off the peak, away from them, leaving
the sky seamlessly blue. Though the climb was steep, often over jagged rock, it
was broken by shirt-pocket meadows filled with wild-flowers and dewdropped grasses that sparkled in the brilliant sunlight. Jason scrambled up a
rock tuft onto a tiny meadow, and seeing Martin and Carol far below, seated
himself and pulled out his flute. He piped a tune that blended with the songs of
the blue and gold birds that were warbling from rocky perches all around.
Linda listened, then began to sing along with the flute. Jason's brows lifted
in surprise. Linda followed the tune with precision, and when Jason finished
his eyes were shining. "I didn't know you could sing so well, Linda."
"I learned from you."
"I haven't heard you before. When did you practice?"
"When I'm alone, scouting, I sing sometimes. Bertha knew."
"You're really good! We can sing together sometime."
Linda blushed. "I'm not that good. I'd rather you not tell the others."
"Too late for that," Jason said. "You had a bigger audience than just me."
He was looking at Martin and Carol who were climbing the rocks below.
After that, the climb became steeper and they needed all their breath for the
work. As they neared the top, swirls of steam licked around them, bringing the
sharp odor of sulfide. Martin took Linda with him into a Mentat eye and sent it
questing through the steam and smoke. Sending the eye as high as he could, they
breasted the peak and looked into a caldera boiling with melt the color of live
coals. "We've found the Well-of-Fire," Linda cried. "A lava pit, just like we
guessed."

***
That evening, while they sat near the fire skinning a devon brought back by
the hunters, John said, "Now that we've found the Well-of-Fire, how do we
find the gold key?"
Martin squatted over a devon haunch. "I'm not sure." He began cutting
strips of meat. "My instructions are rather cryptic. Gold is the key to the key
doesn't say a whole lot."
"Doesn't really say the key is made of gold, does it?"
"But it is." Susan, who had been taking strips of meat from Martin and
hanging them on a drying rack, broke in. "Prothan explicitly said the key to East
Cave is made of gold."
"Sounds like Martin's instructions refer to two keys," Carol said from her
place beside the fire where she was scraping the devon hide. "Gold is the key
to the key. That sounds like we need a gold key to find a gold key, the usual
kind of nonsense we get from the Master."
"Prothan only mentioned one," Susan said.
"Maybe we already have one," Robert interrupted, his knife poised above
the devon carcass. "Maybe Linda's gold ring is a key."
"Nice try, Robert," Linda said. "But I don't have a gold ring any more.
Prothan's guard kept it."
"Oh, I forgot." Robert's face drooped.
"Hey, wait a minute, Honey." Bertha looked up from raking coals under the
drying rack. "Linda's gold ring wasn't the only gold brought back from our
adventures. I found a gold amulet in Mordat's Castle." She pulled the shiny
pendant from beneath her armor and fingered it slowly. "It's solid gold. I fought
one hell of a demon for it, and up to now I haven't found a use for it. Maybe it's
the key we're looking for?"
"Doesn't look like a key."
"Honey," Bertha snorted. "Surely you've learned by now that in Faland
anything can be a key."
"Maybe," Engar said. "But I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves.
Before we speculate on what is or is not a key, we need to find a lock."
Bertha laughed. "Good point."
"That'll be our first order of business tomorrow," Martin said. "We'll split
up and comb the area for anything out of the ordinary."
***
The next day the partners arose at dawn, ate their morning meal while

rising sun drew spirals of mist from the creek, then split into threes and spread
out across the craggy volcano that cradled the Well-of-Fire. In the heat of
midday, they returned to camp to report, rest, and swim in the cold water of a
deep pool at meadow's edge. No one found anything suspicious but they
resolved to explore further the next day. And each day, they did, circling the
caldera and criss-crossing the mountain. They encountered few hazards though
one morning Jason spotted a huge forest griven and spent an exciting hour
watching the beast forage in a lush meadow.
All the partners, even Engar who was slowest to learn, became adept at
seeing through Martin's Mentat spheres. They learned how to divide their
awareness between their normal senses and the Mentat eyes. First the children,
then the adults, began to move the spheres without Martin's help.
"We're all becoming Mentats," Carol said, and her voice said she was not
at all sure it was a good thing. She was lying on her back, in lush grass next to
Martin, resting after a long day spent scrambling over steep, broken slopes and
down vaporous, heat ravished inclines into a caldera where fountains of
molten rock sputtered beneath clouds of acrid smoke.
"Why does it bother you?" Martin asked, his head cradled in his hands. He
was looking upward, through half-closed eyes, at the dark green boughs of
firen trees.
"It's not natural - looking down on myself - floating like I'm outside
myself."
"In the Other World some people claimed to have out-of-body
experiences."
"I always considered that nonsense."
"When I was sick, I used to dream I was outside my body, looking down. It
made the discomfort easier to bear when things got really bad. When I learned
Mentat ways, I thought I was revisiting those dreams."
"You think this isn't real?"
Martin rolled to his side and reached a hand to brush the hair from Carol's
cheek. "I'm real." He stroked her arm. "You're real. You've always doubted.
Jason, I think, is the only one who never doubted. He believed Faland is real
right from the beginning."
"Kids accept; they don't think." Carol turned her face to Martin. "Bertha
still thinks she's dreaming. I asked her yesterday. She doesn't talk about it, but
she thinks she'll wake up some morning and things will be just like they were
before."

"What about John? He seems to accept Faland. And Engar - he's been here
longest?"
"John's an over-grown kid," Carol said with a dismissive wave. "Maybe
because he had Alzheimer's."
"And Engar?"
"He didn't arrive with us. How do we know he's not a machine?"
"Now you sound like a solipsist. How do you know anybody in the Other
World was real? I pondered that conundrum long before I awakened in
Faland." He smiled. "Suppose you aren't real."
Carol said. "A minute ago, you said I'm real. Have you changed your
mind?"
"Oh, you're real enough." Martin leaned on his elbow, kissed her, and said,
"Some realities don't require intellectual certainty. Maybe that's your trouble,
you're too intellectual."
Carol's eyes snapped. "Intellectual? I'll show you who's intellectual!" She
rolled to her side and grabbed Martin's head and drew his lips to hers.
"Carol!" A voice, drifted across the meadow. "Carol! It's time to start
cooking!"
Carol laughed. "Susan sounds like my mother, just when things were getting
good. But she's right. I do have kitchen duty this evening." She got to her feet.
"We'll finish this later."
Martin watched her go, a smile fading on his lips. He sighed. She raised
troubling questions - questions that bothered him more than he let on. From
high on the volcanic peak, he had tried to visualize the lands to the east and had
been unsuccessful. From the Mentat spheres, looking east was like looking
through a milky film, as though his eyes were fogged. Yet, when he turned his
normal vision west, all looked clear.
As dusk faded, Faland's small moon began to show through the trees.
Everyone drew close around the crackling flames as chill, carried by a slow
breeze, brushed their cheeks. The million stars of the galactic core painted a
glowing pattern overhead - a pattern grown familiar.
John stirred the flames. "Robert and I spotted an odd black rock at the edge
of the lava pool this afternoon. Heat and fumes kept us back, but it's good sized
and looked out of place. In the morning, when the early breeze carries the
fumes off the caldera, we might get close enough to check it out."
"I saw it too," Susan said. "It reminded me of the black building in Or'gn the one with the door bound shut with lithan chains."

"The Black Tower of Eyrie was also like the black building in Or'gn,"
Jason said.
Next morning found the group on the rim of the caldera, panting in the thin
air after a swift climb in semi-darkness. Their breaths rose in wispy puffs that
vanished in the indigo sky. To the east, a huge orange mushroom floated on a
bone-white sea of mist. Flame-red streamers, spreading from the mushroom,
arced halfway across the sky.
"Weird," Linda said as she stared at the sunrise.
"Beautiful," Bertha said.
Martin looked at it and shivered.
"The breeze is behind us," John said. "I see the black rock; it's clear of
smoke."
They started down, sliding in loose pumice, then scrambled over rocks as
sharp as knives. Heat swept up the slope like the blast from an open furnace.
Lava sputtered on the lake. A half-solidified crust heaved and churned.
"Wrap your faces," Bertha said, unnecessarily for each had pulled out a
ukeln, wetted for the purpose, and twined it around mouth and nose. When they
entered the lee of the black stone, the heat lifted a little. They gagged in the
cloying, rotten-egg odor of hydrogen sulfide.
"It is like the Black Tower." Jason put his hands on the stone, then jumped
back. "It's hot!"
"We can't stay here long," Engar warned. "Sulfide vapors are deadly."
"Runes!" Robert shouted. "I see gray runes!" With hands made shaky by
excitement, he grappled the Emerald-of-Thun from his belt and held it before
his eyes. "Key to the key; the golden amulet of Mordat."
"Like Bertha thought," Susan cried.
"There's more. From purest gold, forge the key hereon. Fit it to the vertex."
"Down here," John said. He was kneeling at the base of the black stone.
"I've found a pattern cut into the rock."
"Get a copy," Bertha said. "It looks like template pattern. I knew there was
a reason why I needed a forge."
"Hurry," Martin said. "The wind's shifting."
With nimble fingers, Robert and Susan traced the pattern on notepad paper.
Martin skimmed the top of the stone with his Mentat eye and found a coneshaped depression surrounding a circular hole.
"Let's go," Engar said. People had begun to cough as poison gas swirled
around the black stone. Wheezing and gagging, the partners retreated up slope.

Susan fell and screamed. John snatched her and charged upward like a bull.
They topped the crest and dropped into the cooler, cleaner air outside the
crater. They slumped, wiping their eyes, and coughed bitter phlegm from their
throats.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Bertha sat on the ground near the fire, the diagram of the key-pattern
between her legs. She looked up, scowling. "It's a blueprint. It's not a template
as I first thought."
"Can you make it?" John asked.
Bertha glared. "Honey, I can make anything - given the materials and a little
time."
"How about gold? Do we have enough?"
"Barely. Ralls aren't pure gold; they're an alloy, probably platinum-gold,
but I can refine them in a hot enough furnace. I think I can make do with what
we've got."
"We don't have a furnace," Carol said.
"That's not the biggest problem," Bertha said. "We can build a furnace.
More important, the key design is intricate - too intricate to make by
hammering - and we don't have enough gold to cover the loss if I try hand
machining. That leaves casting, which is best for this sort of thing anyway.
Trouble is, I don't have enough beeswax to make a blank from which to make a
mold." Bertha scratched her head, then continued rather sourly, "Maybe I can
make a pair of sand castings and weld them together, though that's definitely not
my first choice."
"Could we extend the beeswax with animal fat?" Engar asked. "I've seen
porven tracks, and they generally carry a fair layer of fat."
Bertha brightened. "Honey, you're a doll! It's worth a try, and if it doesn't
work I can always fall back on sand-casting."
Jason, who had been nodding by the fire, suddenly perked up. "Does that
mean another hunt? I want to go this time!"
Martin glanced up. "I'd like to be in on a porven hunt, too, but we shouldn't
all go. Maybe Engar, Jason, and me."
"Oh, me too!" Linda cried. "I didn't get to go on the last hunt!"
"Why can't we all go?" Robert jumped up from his seat beside the fire.
"There isn't anything else to do, is there?"
"Now that you mention it," Bertha said, "there are a few other things. Like
finding clay, putting together a furnace, making charcoal, making a bellows--"
"Okay, okay, I get the picture." Robert slouched back by the fire.

"Two teams," Martin said. "One to hunt a porven, one to help Bertha."
Next morning, Martin and Engar with Linda and Jason, set out early to
follow porven tracks east of the meadow. Bertha, with Carol and Susan,
headed downstream to hunt for clay where the water flowed in slow meanders.
John and Robert found a stand of hardwood, and John got his exercise by
slashing up bundles of wood for Robert to carry back to camp and stack for the
coking fire.
By midafternoon, the fire was burning in a stone oven, and John and Robert
were building a furnace for melting gold ralls. Bertha came back, with Susan
and Carol, leading a horven laden with clay from the lower creek. She and
Carol set to work stitching a leather bellows. The hunters killed a porven that
afternoon, but it was late before they got it back to camp. At the evening fire,
they skinned it and rendered the fat. Bertha began work on the key-blank, using
a mixture of animal fat and beeswax. She crafted the elaborate shape with
consummate skill, shaving away wax with small wooden spatulas she made for
the job.
"It's beautiful," Robert said as the pale form took shape in Bertha's hands.
"A mite involved for a key," Bertha muttered. Her face was drawn close to
the model as she made delicate incisions in the wax. "Ease of fabrication
apparently was not a design consideration."
"I suspect that's the point," Martin said. "Our quest is a test, and seeing if
you can make this key is part of it."
"I don't mind tests," Bertha leaned back and surveyed her work with a
critical eye, "but this seems a bit much. I hope our gold will be pure enough."
The next day, after putting finishing touches on the wax model, Bertha
mixed the clay, adding a small amount of tallow and working the mass into a
soft paste. She layered clay in the bottom of a carved wooden bowl, then set
the wax model in the center and packed clay carefully and firmly around it.
When the clay was packed, she set the mold aside to air-harden overnight, then
began preparations to refine the gold ralls. "Good thing for lithan armor," she
said as she stoked the starter fire. "Whatever it's made of, I don't think you
could melt it with a cutting torch. My helmet will make a fine crucible for
melting ralls."
The coking oven was dismantled, the hardwood having cooked overnight
into charcoal, and the smelting furnace loaded with charcoal. John worked the
bellows and brought the fire to high heat. Between melts, Bertha built another
oven from the remnants of the coking oven, placed the clay mold inside and

began heating it. When the wax melted, she poured it out, leaving behind a
perfect impression. She brought the heat up and fired the clay into a rock-hard
cast suitable for receiving molten gold. Two days later, Bertha stood over the
blackened clay, a small hammer in her hand. Driblets of gold had hardened
around the sprue through which she had poured molten metal into the cavity.
She was nervous.
"For heaven's sake, break it!" Carol said. "It'll either come out right or it
won't and there's nothing more you can do about it."
"Hold your britches, Honey," Bertha growled. "I've got to crack the clay off
just right so I don't damage the casting." She began to tap lightly on the bulging
outer shell. It broke easily, falling away with startling suddenness. There was a
collective gasp.
"It's gorgeous!" cried Susan.
"Fabulous!" Robert echoed.
"Wow!" John said. "I had no idea it would be so . . . so . . . so
magnificent!"
Bertha brushed away a few last clay fragments. Carefully, she lifted the
shining gold key and carried it to her blanket by the fire. She sat down, opened
her kit of metal-working files and routers, and began to pare away the excess
gold around the sprue. When she finished, she took the gold amulet from
around her neck and fit its slightly oval form into the notch at the base of the
key. It clicked in perfectly, and a delighted grin spread over her great, round
face.
John, who had been watching intently, smiled broadly when he saw the
pleasure on her face. "Well done! Well done!" He clasped the Master Armorer
around her waist, lifting her bulk two feet clear of the ground, and whirled her
around.
"Put me down, you big lummox!" Bertha thumped her huge fists against his
massive biceps, but she was obviously pleased.
With the key finished, everyone gathered around Bertha and escorted her up
the mountain to crater rim. They were in high spirits, for the day was young and
the air cool. At the crest, Jason warbled a song to express the pure pleasure of
being alive. But when they looked at the lava lake bubbling in the bottom of the
cauldron their smiles faded. Sulfurous vapor whirled around the black stone
and the wind carried to their nostrils the foul odor of brimstone.
"How ever can we get the key in the lock?" Susan asked. "We can't go
down there; the wind is wrong."

"Maybe we can make a mask," Carol said, but she was biting her lower
lip. "I'm not sure we can make a filter good enough to keep out the poisonous
gases."
"We'll need a ladder," Bertha said, "to get to the key-hole on top of the
stone. I can build one, but it'll be a chore putting it in place."
Martin sat on the edge of the crater, studying. "Maybe we don't have to go
down ourselves." He draw a lump of Mentat metal from the pouch on his belt,
ballooned it into a sphere, and floated it in the air. He mind-shaped a hook
extending below. "Hang the key on the hook, Bertha. Use the amulet's chain."
Bertha hesitated. "Honey, this is the only one of these babies we're ever
going to have. You won't drop it, will you?"
"I don't plan to."
Bertha draped the chain over the Mentat metal hook, and the weight
immediately dragged the sphere down. "Careful!" Bertha snatched at the
swinging key.
Martin compensated. "Don't worry, Bertha. I know what's at stake."
Everyone watched the metal balloon drift into the vapor-filled space above
the caldera. In moments it was hidden by swirling mist. Martin guided the
balloon with a Mentat eye. Though the distance was not great, he felt the strain.
It was the first time he had maneuvered Mentat metal with a dead-weight load.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the balloon and its dangling key. When it
was above the black stone, lined up with the hole in top, he straightened the
hook. The key fell into place. Instantly, he felt great force wrench his Mentat
metal from his mind's grasp. He groped for it.
"It's going to blow," Carol yelled.
The ground dropped like a fast elevator, then jarred to a halt. Rubble
sprayed upward and sent everyone tumbling.
"Run!"
Martin felt disoriented. A cloud of dust boiled up and Susan tumbled
against his leg. He helped her to her feet and saw the others running, climbing a
crumbling debris wall that was sliding them toward a jagged cleft newly
opened in the caldera wall. Grabbing Susan's hand, he fled with them. Lava
belched through the cleft, roaring out the side of the mountain. Tongues of flame
spread downward over old basalt, then roared into the forest. Trees popped
with a sound like cannon shot. Smoke billowed as the partners scrambled onto
solid ground. Engar darted over the rocky surface, his face blackened. "Is
everyone safe?" he yelled above the roar of flowing lava.

"Let's get off this mountain before the whole thing goes!"
"I knew this was idiotic!" Carol yelled. "Running around on live volcanos
is insane!"
"Look," Jason cried.
A shining apparition appeared a dozen yards away.
"What in God's name?"
"Aroon!"
"Janil!"
"Ja-Drun'!"
The apparition beckoned with a glittering arm and, in a high, thin voice,
called, "Come! Follow me!" It began to glide up the hill.
"Follow him!" Linda cried. "It's Ja-Drun'!"
"That's Janil!" John hastened after Linda.
"Surely we're not going to follow that thing," Carol yelled, as she saw
Martin start after it.
"Hurry," Martin called. "Aroon's nearly out of sight."
The apparition led them to the crater top at a point opposite the cleft from
which they had fled. When they looked down, they saw the caldera had nearly
drained. Through swirling smoke, they watched as a shimmering walkway,
suspended from long cables and complete with handrails, emerged from the
sintered ground. The walkway led into the fiery pit itself. Half way down the
walk, beckoning, the apparition waited for them.
"No! Absolutely no," Carol howled. "I'm not going into that furnace!"
Linda was already on the swinging path, John and Robert not far behind,
each moving gingerly, flexing their knees to absorb the rippling movement.
Martin followed Jason and Engar onto the narrow strand.
Bertha lumbered up to Carol. "Honey, if you stay behind, you'll be the only
one. I don't fancy strolling across a live volcano either, but I don't figure this is
a time for hanging back."
Carol shuddered. Susan took her hand and pulled her onto the swaying
walk. Cleats made footing easier than at first appeared, and as they adapted to
the jouncing swing, they made good time. A breeze began to blow, sweeping
the fumes from the caldera. Heat from red-hot rocks roasted them as they
hurried, held above the glowing volcano only by slender cables supported on
black pylons embedded in the melt.
Linda followed the apparition onto a circular platform. In the center, a
column of steam hissed upward. She looked back. "This is as far as we can

go!"
By the time the others swarmed onto the platform with her, the apparition
had disappeared.
"It's too hot to stay here." Rivers of sweat cascaded down John's forehead,
sopping his beard. As their armor absorbed heat, it began to burn.
"Where do we go?" Carol screamed.
Wind blew aside the central steam and revealed a broad, tubular opening.
"This must be the entrance to hell!" Bertha peered into the gaping opening.
"Where did our guide go?".
"Down there!" Linda gestured into the steam-wreathed opening.
"I see a stairway!" Jason was crouched at the edge of the platform, peering
downward through the steam cloud.
"Must be where Aroon went," Martin shouted. "I'll follow! The rest of you
go back!"
"Not on your life." John roared, and stepped into the howling wall of
steam. Passing through the veil of steam was like going through a superheated
sauna, but inside was cooler. Martin motioned the others back, but Jason was
already coming through. John and Martin were forced down the stairs to make
room. The staircase wound around the inside of a huge tube. A railing guarded
against falling into the center, which dropped away to unfathomable depth.
"It's made of glass," Martin said, stroking the wall. "It's warm, but not hot
enough to burn. Must be a marvelous insulator."
"Something's cooling the wall," Engar said.
"Probably water," John said. "That's the steam's source. It's rising from a
cooling-jacket, not from the bore itself."
As they descended, the air got cooler. Soft white light seemed to come
from the walls. Robert glanced at Bertha and said, "You know, if this is hell,
it's air conditioned." His demeanor was so serious, Bertha started to laugh.
Her laughter spread and soon everyone was laughing. They laughed so hard
they had to sit, clutching their sides, tears streaming down their faces. Even
Carol was swept with gales of laughter.
Jason wiped his eyes. "I haven't laughed that hard since before when."
"We must be going crazy," Bertha said. "My sides ache."
Engar got to his feet. "We better get going before our guide gets so far
ahead we never catch up."
***
It took an hour to reach bottom. The temperature had dropped to a

comfortable warmth and the heat-flush left their faces. They saw no sign of the
sprite that had led them. An empty level corridor stretched away.
"What direction does the tunnel go?" Jason asked. "I'm turned around."
Linda looked at her navaid. "This thing doesn't help. The arrow is bouncing
around, not pointing in any particular direction."
"We're deep underground," Engar said. "The navaid signal may not reach
down here. I can guess where we are, though. I suspect we angled outside the
zone of melted rock, otherwise no mechanism would keep this place cool. We-"
"Hey! I see something," Robert called. "Something bright ahead."
Everyone hastened forward, weapons drawn. Abruptly, the tunnel opened
into a large chamber. Their eyes bulged.
"Treasure! Mountains and mountains of treasure!" Jason knelt beside a huge
chest, its lid thrown back, and ran his fingers through heaps of jewels and gold
coins. Awed, the others walked into a vast cavern where gold and silver icons
stood by hundreds and dozens of chests, like the one Jason was rifling, lined
the walls, where life-size statues of Warriors, crusted with rubies, emeralds,
and sapphires, stood rank on rank and diamond encrusted swords and daggers,
even crystal hummers, festooned the walls. Everywhere they looked were
riches beyond imagination.
"This must be the mother lode of all treasure," John said. "I think we can
retire after this."
"Don't count on it," Carol said. "What do you want to bet we can't take any
of it with us?"
Martin looked around uneasily. "Where's Aroon?"
"Aroon?" John asked.
"Our guide, the one you call Janil," Martin said. "He isn't here. And
something feels wrong. I don't like it."
"Uh, oh!" Robert squeaked. "Look at my silver amulet! It's glowing!"
"Demons!"
"What? Where?"
"How should I know? But they're here somewhere; my amulet only gets
warm when they're close."
"Settle down!" Bertha brandished her mace. "We came for a gold key. Let's
find it and get out of here."
"Bertha's right. Keep on your toes," Engar said. "We all know the kind of
monsters that guard places like this."

Carol snorted. "Finding a gold key in here is like hunting a needle in a

haystack. We ought to get out while we can."
"Not to worry," Jason cried. "Look above!"
Fifty feet overhead, resting like a child's toy balloon against the ceiling,
was Martin's Mentat metal balloon with Bertha's gold key still attached.
"Can you get it down, Martin?"
"No can do. Something's blocking my Mentat power."
"We need a ladder, or a long pole," Bertha said.
Suddenly a wink of light flicked upward. The metal balloon exploded and
the key began to fall. Robert dove, snatching it and rolling, holding it safe
while he crashed into a stack of gold icons and sent them rattling across the
floor. He got up shakily, looking sheepish. "Nothing like a well-aimed
hummer," he said by way of apology as he held up the key, "though I should
have been more prudent when I threw it. Sorry about the balloon, Martin."
John laughed and thumped Robert's back. "Nothing like using your head,
Lad!"
Martin retrieved the fragments of Mentat metal and turned them in his
fingers. They looked ordinary, like scraps of crude pot metal. "I don't
understand."
"Look out behind," Susan yelped.
Everyone turned to see a glowing red wall advancing rapidly in the tunnel
that had led them to the room. "Lava!"
"We're trapped!"
"This way!" Martin darted toward a gold foil covering the back wall.
Through its shimmering translucence, he had glimpsed a stair. Stumbling over
heaped treasure, he shoved aside the foil curtain. Climbing quickly, he reached
another passage, and turning, saw the others scrambling up as lava belched into
the room, swallowing treasure, and sending waves of heat toward them. Hot
wind began to howl through the exit.
"Hurry!" First the children, then the adults rushed by him into the narrow
entrance. John ducked beneath the low door, the scabbard of his scimitar
clattering against the stones. Martin barely cleared the entry before a massive
stone dropped from above and sealed the opening. They were plunged into
darkness.
"My amulet's hot," Robert screamed.
"Light a lamp!"
Frantic fingers clawed at belt pouches. A lamp, then two, then half a dozen

flared.
"Come on," Martin hollered.
They rushed single-file down a corridor with walls of night-black
obsidian. Flakes of black glass, sharp as knives, tore at their flesh. The
passage widened into a curving tube.
"They're here," Robert screamed. "Demons are in here!"
An orange sphere, the size of a basketball, lurched out of a crevice in the
wall and rolled beneath his feet, sprouting legs even as he yelled.
"Spiders!" Susan squealed as a dozen more orange balls dropped out of the
walls, sprouting legs as they fell. The orange mechanisms rose up on jointed
legs and began to advance, each bearing a metallic proboscis tipped with
spinning blades. Bertha unlimbered her mace and reduced the nearest to a
tangle of scrap metal. The second she batted down the tunnel like an oversize
hockey puck shedding orange legs as it rattled along. Susan flailed at an orange
glob attached to her thigh. She emitted a thin, high scream, as the proboscis
penetrated her armor and began to rout out the bones of her thigh. John brought
his scimitar around in a whistling arc, skimming past Susan's leg and cleaving
the creature. Orange legs spattered like shrapnel. Blood spurted from Susan's
thigh as she wrenched the metal probe from her flesh. Carol clamped a hand
over the gaping wound. Positioning themselves to cordon off a section of
tunnel, John and Bertha formed a shield while Engar herded the children and
Carol within, then joined Martin to block the sides. More balls dripped from
the ceiling, extending whirling snouts, setting up a tooth-gnashing screech. The
clash of sword and mace on metal reverberated harshly in the narrow tunnel.
"How's Susan?" Martin used his Mentat voice to shout over the racket
"Stable, but we've got to get her out of here."
Lofting Mentat spheres fore and aft, Martin used mind-contact to relay an
overview of the battle to each fighter. He had regained some control over his
Mentat metal and formed half a dozen hooked missiles. Using them, he grabbed
and flung aside spider-legged machines, partially clearing the tunnel ahead.
Seeing the way open, John started forward, swinging his scimitar like a scythe,
shredding machines that had escaped Martin's Mentat hooks. Engar and Bertha
beat back those attacking from the rear while Jason and Robert used their
tagans to trash those that penetrated the adult defense. Carol carried Susan. She
had stopped the bleeding, but Susan's leg was mangled. Even frenwort had
barely stilled the pain, and the girl was whimpering.
"I see light ahead! We're almost out!"

The basalt tube disgorged into sun-dappled woodland. Carol stumbled to

her knees and laid Susan on the duff. "We need to get her to camp where I can
work on her."
"I'll go for the horven," Linda cried.
Bertha hurried with Linda through the trees.
***
The fire cast a warm glow over the campsite. They had built up a good
supply of wood and kept the flames high, with Susan bundled near. She was
weak, but no longer in pain. Carol had spent the afternoon reconstructing her
leg.
"We're lucky those things didn't get anyone else," John said. "We stopped
them, thanks to Robert's alertness."
"If they'd crippled more of us, we couldn't have gotten free," Engar said.
"We went through all of that just to get back a key we already had," Carol
said, her tone bitter.
"Not quite." Bertha was holding the key. "The part I made is the same, but
the amulet was replaced. It's whiter, probably platinum, and it's welded to the
key; not merely mechanically attached as the original was."
"The treasure's all gone," Robert said. "Buried under a sea of lava."
"As Carol predicted," Bertha reminded them. "We don't seem to fare all
that well as treasure hunters."
"Speak for yourself," Jason said. "I, for one, didn't intend to come out with
nothing." He opened a belt pouch and pulled out a fistful of jewels. "Rubies,
diamonds, emeralds, and I don't know what all." He held out the glittering
treasure.
John gave a low whistle. "Even that small handful must be worth thousands
of ralls in Forod."
"I brought something too." Linda pulled a bundle from her own belt pouch.
Wrapped in a piece of leather, she had secured three crystal hummers. "I would
have gotten more if the lava hadn't come so fast."
"Those are beauties." Engar took a hummer and tested its edge. "I've never
seen any like them. They look like they're made of glass."
After the evening meal, Engar posted guards and they took turns sleeping. It
was late the next day before the camp fully roused. Engar, Linda, and Jason
returned to the rim of the crater and saw it bubbling with lava once again. A
smoky swatch of lava had spread down the southern flank into a smoldering
patch of burned trees. The cleft through which it had poured had collapsed,

sealing off the caldera once again.

"That's why the underground chamber flooded," Engar said. "A slide
blocked the outlet, and when fresh lava erupted into the caldera it overflowed
down the entry tube."
"I'll bet it was planned that way," Jason said. "Else why a door to block the
lava in the treasure room?"
"You're probably right," Engar said "The treasure was a diversion. If you
hadn't looked up and seen the key, we'd never have gotten it in time."
"If Robert hadn't thought to throw a hummer, the key would still be there,"
Linda said, then added with a shudder, "and if Martin hadn't seen the way out,
we'd all have fried. I guess it doesn't pay to get too distracted by treasure."
For five days they stayed near the volcano while Susan's leg healed. In
spite of the severity of the wound, which had included loss of part of her thigh
bone, her limb regenerated with astonishing speed and she was soon her old
self. While she recovered, the others hunted, built up their supplies, rested, and
spent lazy hours swimming in the pool at the lower edge of the meadow. It
rained briefly on two evenings, but the weather remained mild with crisp
mornings and warm afternoons.
"We go southeast from here," Linda announced on the fifth evening. They
were making preparations to leave the next morning and she was laying out
their course. "East cave is still 460 legons south of here and another 215
legons farther east."
"Farther into the blank lands," Martin said. "I'll be completely out of
contact with the Mentat grid. I'm not getting much information from it now."
"We'd better bed down early," Engar said. "Our holiday is about to end."

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Coniferous forest gave way to deciduous as the partners moved steadily

south. For the first few days after leaving the volcano, Martin insisted they not
drift farther east. He wanted to stay near the Mentat grid as long as possible.
Every time he found a high vantage from which to look east, he saw the same
hazy indistinctness he had observed from the crater rim at the Well-of-Fire.
The forest grew drier and the trees less dense.
"We have to go east eventually," Linda told Martin as they sat their horven
on a high ridge and looked into a land growing increasingly hostile. "I think
we're far enough south now."
Martin squinted against the rising sun, shading his eyes with his hand as he
peered into the eastern wasteland. "I'm afraid you're right." The reluctance in
his voice was plain. He sent up a Mentat eye, but even Linda, who shared its
vision, could see nothing to the east.
When they left the eye, Linda shrugged and said, "We can get along without
the eye. We did when we first came to Faland."
"Right," Martin said, keenly aware that of all their talents, his alone had
diminished as they moved away from central Faland. What did it mean? The
puzzle nagged at him.
When they rejoined the others, Linda turned the group east. Soon the forest
gave way entirely, and they entered a badlands of eroded hills flanked with
brush-choked washes. Water holes became increasingly scarce, and Linda had
to ride long distances to find them. Martin's Mentat vision closed down, finally
becoming restricted to an area only a few hundred feet around. He could still
shape Mentat metal, but could not control it more than a few dozen feet away.
More troubling, even normal vision became obscured by a milky haze beyond
a legon or so, though the weather remained fair and the sky overhead blue. It
was as if they were traveling in a bubble of clear air that shrank steadily as
they proceeded east. If not for the wherstone and navaid, even Linda could not
have kept them headed in the right direction. Then a dark shape began to stalk
them, staying in the haze just beyond clear view. As the clear zone shrank, the
dark form crept closer.
"What is it?" Engar asked. "Could it be the Mentat you defeated on the edge
of Great Barrier?"

Martin squinted as the shadowy figure fluttered over a small hill across a
dry wash. "It is a Mentat, but not like Horath or any others I've met. It seems
empty - not hostile exactly - but disturbing."
***
Martin felt the strain. For five days, he had kept a Mentat shield around his
companions while the dark one flitted along its edge, probing, pushing,
searching for a weakness. Martin had been forced to draw the shield closer as
the omnipresent haze pressed inward, intruding most closely where the dark
form probed.
One morning Linda was scouting outside camp with Martin and Bertha
when she suddenly exploded with frustration. "I can't see anything, anymore!
We need water and I can't find it! What are we going to do?"
"The haze is so thick I can't even see blue sky overhead anymore," Bertha
said. "What's going on, Martin? This isn't natural." Bertha's voice held an
unaccustomed hint of fear.
Martin reined back Dusty. "Check your wherstone, Linda. How much
farther to East Cave?"
"About ten legons, almost straight east."
"I think that will be the end of Faland."
"The end? What's that supposed to mean?" Bertha asked.
"Don't ask me to explain. Have we enough water to make it?"
"Probably. But we'll be dry when we get there."
"We didn't find water yesterday, and we've been looking most of the
morning," Martin said. "We'll soon run out as things stand, and finding more
doesn't look likely. Let's head back to camp."
"What have you got in mind?" Bertha asked.
Martin didn't answer, but swung in behind Linda as she turned Dawn and
began to pick her way back toward camp. A squal broke cover, flapping
noisily upward. Bertha jerked a hummer from her belt and with a sweep of her
arm sent it skyward; a burst of feathers exploded around the squal and it
tumbled to the ground. "Yeah!" Bertha nudged Raven's flank. "At least our
scouting trip won't have been for nothing."
"I wonder," Linda said as Bertha retrieved the fallen bird. "How do squal
see where they're going in all this haze?"
Martin looked thoughtful. "Maybe they don't see the haze."
"Why wouldn't they?"
Martin tugged Dusty's head aside to start him into a small draw. "This haze

isn't natural, as Bertha aptly noted a while ago. Maybe it's a Mentat trick."
"Now you're giving me the willies," Bertha said. "Let's get back to camp
before this fog makes us all nuts."
That afternoon Martin pushed the group as they rode farther east. Haze
closed until they could see little beyond their horven's noses. Yet, in spite of
the dense overcast, the sun beat mercilessly upon them, drying them and forcing
them to use what little water they had.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Carol told Martin as she rode beside
him. "Just what are you doing?"
"We have to reach East Cave soon or not at all."
"Do you know something you're not telling us?"
Martin didn't answer. The pace slowed, though the horven moved steadily
through fog so dense the riders could barely see the ground. They sank into
glum silence, rocking blindly on their horven's backs. Only the sounds of
creaking saddle leather and the thump of hooves broke the stillness.
"Where's Darc'un?" Susan croaked as the sun began to ease its grip and the
fog grayed to the color of slate. She squinted nervously right and left, her green
eyes dark and her pupils widened. "Darc'un could come out of the fog
anyplace, or shoot a Mentat arrow at us and we wouldn't even see it."
Carol, riding alongside, said, "Martin's fighting him, I think. Martin's
holding him back. Darc'un is bringing the fog."
"But the fog keeps getting closer and closer. I--"
Linda sang out, "We're there! The wherstone says we're at East Cave!"
"Where? I don't see it."
"Here!" Engar's shadowy form was indistinct in the mist. They groped
toward him and gathered around a small opening, hardly more than a yard in
diameter, at the base of a hillock.
"Not much of a cave." John eyed the small opening with dismay.
"Maybe its bigger inside." Jason poked his head in. "Who goes first?
Please, can I? I'm thirsty and maybe there's water inside."
"There better be," Bertha growled. "I emptied my canteen two hours ago,
and in this heat we can't last long enough to get back."
Engar lit a lamp and crouched at the opening, Robert at his side.
"My silver amulet's cool." Robert held the amulet so everyone could see it
wasn't glowing.
"The bore's smooth," Engar said. "Angling downward but not too steep to
scoot down."

"Let me go," Jason pleaded. He had lit his lamp and was holding it next to
Engar's.
"Mentat pressure is weaker in the cave than out here." Martin's tone was
puzzled.
"I presume turning back is not an option," Engar said. "I'll go behind
Jason."
Jason promptly dropped to his hands and knees.
"Take my silver amulet." Robert hastily thrust the pendant into Jason's
hand. He slipped the amulet inside his armor and went in head first, crawling
downward over smooth stones, his lamp dangling around his neck. Engar
wormed in behind, his hands almost on the boy's ankles. Martin followed, then
John who banged his head and swore as he struggled into the narrow opening,
the scabbard of his scimitar clattering on the rocks. Bertha tethered the horven
and brought up the rear behind Carol and the rest of the children. A short way
down, the tunnel leveled and widened.
"There's a hole ahead," Jason called.
Engar and Martin squirmed up beside him and looked over the edge into a
three-foot bore that dropped into nothingness. Its walls were ridged, as though
to provide hand and foot holds. Beyond the hole in the floor, the horizontal
tunnel continued.
"Which way?" Jason asked. "Continue in this tunnel or climb down the
shaft?"
Martin gestured ahead. "Stay close," he called to the others. "There's a
downward tunnel. Don't fall in; we're going straight ahead."
Jason crossed the hole on all fours, like a crab. Engar and Martin followed
more awkwardly. The tunnel expanded, then ended abruptly at a solid door.
"I think it's made of gold," Jason whispered.
Martin tugged on a raised handle. "It's locked, but there's a keyhole like the
one on the black stone in the Well-of-Fire."
"Send up the gold key," Jason cried.
Bertha shouldered forward. She had worn the key like a pendant and now
removed it from her neck. The platinum inset began to glow with white fire.
"Uh, oh. Does that mean demons?"
"I don't think so. Robert's amulet is still cool."
"It's getting hot!" Bertha held the key away from her body. "I can't hang on
to it!"
"The keyhole," Susan cried. "It's glowing too!"

"Put the key in!"

"Stand back!"
Bertha plunged the key into the hole, yelping as a blast of heat seared her
fingers. The entire golden door began to glow and everyone fell back,
shielding their eyes from glare and their faces from heat. The light faded and a
cool breeze fanned their blasted flesh. The golden door was gone, replaced by
a gaping hole. The gold key lay at the lip of the hole. Jason shoved his lamp
before him into black emptiness.
"Hell of an entry." Bertha shook the tingle from her burned fingers and
picked up her key.
"Straight below there's a ledge." Jason was on his hands and knees looking
down. "I can't see bottom." His voice sounded hollow in the emptiness.
"There's no fog in here," Martin said.
Engar pulled a cord from his belt and tied it to his lamp, then lowered the
lamp to the ledge. They could see another ledge eight or nine feet below the
first.
"A giant's staircase," John said. "I'll go first on this one." He slid over the
edge, lowering himself on his arms, then dropped feet first. His head was three
feet below the top.
"Can you see bottom?" Jason popped his head over the edge.
"No, but ledges continue farther down."
"You think it's safe to go on?"
"Robert's amulet is still cool." Jason handed the silver pendant back to
Robert.
"We have to go on," Martin said.
"I hear water dripping," Linda cried. "We can get a drink."
They began to descend, dropping from ledge to ledge. Soon everyone was
strung out on the enormous staircase. Bertha remained at the rear, making sure
the children got safely down each step.
"It's going to be a lot harder going back up," Carol grumbled as she
dropped beside Linda.
Distant walls began to appear as they dropped lower.
"There's water below," Martin said. "I see the glint."
John had already dropped to the next ledge. "This is the last step. It's a
straight drop to the water from here."
"Shades of Blackwater Cave." Martin dropped beside him.
"A dozen feet to the water," Engar said as he clattered down. "I wonder if

the steps continue below the water."

"Looks shallow," Jason said. "I see white rock under the surface."
John swung Linda and Susan down while Robert bounced down like a
monkey. In a moment everyone was on the ledge above the water.
"We'll have to make boats again," Linda said, making a wry face. "It'll take
hours and we'll have to climb all the way back to the top where there's room
enough."
"I can see across," Robert said. "Isn't that a rock or something sticking up
out there?"
"You're right," Engar said. "It looks close enough to swim."
"Better check the water. No telling what's in it."
Bertha lowered a line with a cup. Robert lowered his amulet.
"It's not glowing," Robert announced when the pendant slipped below the
surface. "The water's so clear I can see the amulet all the way to the bottom."
Bertha raised her cup. "Water smells okay." She took a sip. "Tastes good
too."
"I'll slip out of my armor," Engar said. "I could do with a swim."
"Me too," Linda said.
"Hey! It's cold in here," Engar yelped as soon as he pulled off his breast
plate.
"You're right," Linda cried. "It's freezing!"
"Put your armor back on," Martin yelled. "Hurry! It's not cold. Our armor is
protecting us against a Mentat field. It'll drain your energy."
"Mentat field?"
"Yes," Martin said. "I didn't feel it with my armor on. That's the purpose of
the bronze amulets and lithan armor - to protect against a Mentat energy drain.
Without the armor, I doubt we'd survive five minutes in here."
"It's . . . it's . . .it's hard to get warm," Linda shuddered. "My armor isn't
warming me."
Engar was bouncing up and down, flapping his arms. "Exercise. You've got
to put back the energy taken out."
"I'll warm her." Bertha opened her arms and pulled the girl next to her.
"What next is going to happen in this weird place?" Carol moaned. "How
are we going to get across the water now?"
"It's less than three feet deep," Martin said. "We can wade."
John went over the edge and dropped with a splash.
"Is the water cold?" Jason yelled.

"Warm as a bath. Martin's right; it isn't cold in here, at least as long as we

keep our armor on."
Jason jumped, sending up a spout of water. Robert followed. John had
already started ahead, probing as he went, leaving behind a rippling wake. It
got shallower, and in a few minutes he was in water no more than knee deep.
The others followed and emerged from the pool near the white rock Robert had
seen earlier. The rock rose sheer, but around it passages branched in several
directions.
"Another mapping job," Linda said, still shivering from her exposure to
Mentat chill. "We need a way to make marks."
"I can take care of that." John swung his scimitar and sent a spurt of stone
flakes and bright sparks leaping along the blade. A three-foot slash appeared in
the stone.
Engar whistled. "Some blade!"
"It'll cut anything," John said. "It's not ordinary metal, that's for sure."
"Well, one direction is as good as another," Martin said. "We might as well
try the passage John just marked."
***
For hours they wound deeper into the cave, then camped on the shore of a
small clear pond. They posted a watch while they rested, but nothing disturbed
them, other than a slight feeling of chilliness unrelieved even by their lithan
armor. The next day, they came upon a vertical shaft in the floor of a large
crystal cavern. Within it, the muted sound of falling water created an eerie
warbling that brought a shiver.
Carol said, "I suppose we're going to climb into that horrible black hole."
Martin put his arm on her shoulder. "You see it in your mind, just as I do.
Horath is guiding us, I think."
"I feel it too," Jason said. "It's like talking in my head, but there's no sound
and not really any words, just a feeling that tells me when we're going the right
way."
"What does it mean, Martin?" Carol asked. "It scares me. It's like there's
somebody else in my head. Is this what it means to be a Mentat?"
"I never used to believe in telepathy," Engar said, shaking his head as
though to clear his vision. "But something's in my head too."
"It's eerie." Robert's eyes were large, and the color of dark sapphire. "We
must all be getting the same message."
"We're linking," Martin said. "Horath is pulling us together, using me as a

focus. It's been going on for a long time - maybe right from the first."
"That's why you could always detect our presence," Susan said. "I've begun
to sense when you're near too."
"I hate to break up this little conflation," Bertha growled. "But if we're
destined to crawl into this pit, I suggest we get started."
"I don't want to go down that hole." Carol shuddered. "Maybe we don't all
have to go - especially not the kids." There was pleading in her voice.
"Sorry, Carol, there's no option," Martin said. "The message is clear; we
must stay together. We won't return by this route, and Bertha's right, we should
get started right away. We'll need ropes and pitons. Bertha, did you bring
anything to make pitons?"
"Of course." Bertha opened her pack and pulled out a handful of spikes.
"You don't think I'd come unprepared, do you? I've been spelunking before, you
know."
"It's going to be a long descent," Martin said. "I've probed several hundred
feet with my Mentat sphere, and I don't see bottom. It's wet, too, so it won't be
easy."
"Have we got enough rope?"
"Not enough to leave in place." John shook out a bundle of cordage. "But
we can work in teams. The first team can place the pitons, the last can remove
them as we go."
"I can handle that part," Engar said. "I used to rock climb. I'll bring up the
rear."
"Sounds like a plan," Martin said. "John, you and I will lead and set the
pitons. Jason and Robert next, then Carol and the girls. Bertha will team with
Engar. I want everybody belayed while climbing. We've practiced this before,
so you all know what to do. Don't get careless."
"If you're leading, you'll need my silver amulet," Robert said, handing it to
Martin. "There might be demons."
"Maybe we should cut back on the number of lamps burning," Susan said.
"We don't want to run out of oil."
"Something tells me that's not going to be a problem," Martin said, adding,
"If we aren't out of here in two days, I've got a hunch oil will be the least of
our worries."
Engar hammered a spike into a crevice while Martin and John finished
adjusting their gear. They clipped their lamps to their helmets, hung a fistful of
spikes on their sirkeln belts, then snugged their packs securely against their

backs. Bertha handed them each an iron hammer which they attached to their
belts by a leather thong.
John doubled a rope over the first spike, wrapped one line around his
waist and belayed Martin over the edge. The Mentat Warrior backed down,
swinging in empty air where the cliff receded, then banged against smooth
stone. On a steeply canted surface, he hammered another piton, then signaled
John to begin down.
Alternately, they worked down setting anchors as they went. Soon bright
points of lantern light appeared on the cliff above as Jason and Robert began
their descent. The thunder of falling water grew louder, and looking across the
chasm, Martin saw water spurting from a crack in the wall. The torrent plunged
downward, spitting spray that wet the whole face of the cliff. A thin layer of
slippery brown scum had formed in the moisture. Working alongside the fall,
Martin descended a sheer face, sparkling with rivulets of water. Droplets of
spray, catching stray lamplight, streaked into the black abyss like falling
fireflies.
Angling into a space behind the waterfall, Martin groped into contact with
a small ledge. Easing off the rope, he signaled John to hold up, then swung his
lamp to study the silvery flash of the fall and the dark, wet rock behind it. A
passage entered the stone face, and he stepped through into a narrow room.
From the back side, a second passage circled again to the cliff. Walking to it,
he looked down a short, ragged cleft to another sheer drop. Returning through
the room, he belayed John to the ledge.
"Nifty!" The big Warrior swung into the carved space, shaking his huge
head to clear water from hair and beard. "Good place to stop for lunch,
wouldn't you say?"
Martin nodded and sent up his sphere. Jason and Robert were on the line
just above, and John went to help them down the last few feet. The others came
in, one by one, dripping and panting, and crouched in the crowded passage. In
spite of the damp, they ate and rested with good cheer, lulled by the roar of the
fall. Jason sat against the wall, chewing and looking into space.
"Penny for your thoughts," Carol said.
The boy's eyes had a faraway look. "I wasn't thinking much, just
wondering. This cave isn't like the rest of Faland. It
seems...somehow...disconnected. I can't explain it." Then he added. "I hope I
don't ever have Aids again."
Carol's brow furrowed. "Why would you think of that now?"

"The cave makes me afraid too," Linda broke in. "Not like ordinary fear.
This is deeper. Something is happening to us."
"It's like Faland is fading," Jason said. "I'm feeling sort of empty - like
something is missing."
"This place gives me the creeps," Bertha said. "You're right, Jason,
something isn't right. Only it isn't something I can put a mace on."
"Time to go," Martin said. "I'm getting cold." He tucked away the remnants
of his meal and headed onto the cliff. He worked down the short cleft, and in a
moment the dull clink of his hammer could be heard above the steady rush of
the waterfall. The cliff widened and became broken with crags and protruding
out-thrusts. Using his Mentat eye, he plotted a route away from the waterfall,
out of the heaviest spray.
They talked little as they zigzagged across the cliff, taking advantage of
ledges and alcoves to rest between pitches. Light began to reflect upward off a
lower surface, and they saw that they were climbing down to the shore of
another lake. The last bit was taken without ropes, over a broken pile of talus.
Looking up, Martin saw the others strung out above, each visible in the circle
of light cast by his or her lamp. Their spirits rose when he discovered a trail
along the lake, though the shore twisted in tortuous ways, and often the trail
climbed steeply away from shore, then returned equally steeply. The effort
began to take a toll.
"This is boring," Susan grumbled. "How much farther is it?"
"What's it? We don't even know what we're looking for."
"At least it isn't hard to keep track of where we're going," Linda said.
"There's only one way."
"We could cross the lake," Robert said.
"Why?" Linda said. "We've no reason to cross the lake."
"How do you know?"
"We're going the right way," Martin said. "You all know that as well as I.
We're coming up on a beach; we'll rest there."
***
The beach was broad, hard, and calcareous. High water had flowed
through the chamber and smoothed the rocks nearest the lake. They chose to set
up camp there. Everyone was wet and water dripped from overhead, so they
set up tents to keep from further soaking. Next to the shore, Engar and Martin
raised a tarp and arranged under it a cluster of four lanterns to serve, like a
campfire, as a focus for their camp. They distributed the other lanterns around

the periphery. Over the central lanterns, Bertha built a small sheet-metal stove
using supplies from her capacious pack. The lanterns provided the heat, and
Susan prepared a hot meal, which was greatly cheering. After dinner, Bertha,
Linda, and Engar took first watch, wrapping snugly in warm blankets. They
were tired, and the comfort of the blankets made it hard to stay awake.
Linda began nodding. She had almost fallen asleep when her head jerked
up, and she clawed at her nose. She could not draw a full breath. In panic, she
started to rise. It seemed darker. Frightened, she glanced along the lake toward
a peripheral lamp. It was burning with a feeble smoky flame, then she realized
she couldn't see the other lamps.
"Help!" The yell took her breath and she gagged trying to refill her lungs.
Something thick clogged her nostrils. "Wake up!" She bent double in a fit of
coughing. The nearby lamp grew dimmer, obscured by swirling, black mist.
She reached and felt as if her hand were moving through cobwebs. "Please!
Help me!" Shadowy darkness spread toward her. She shrank from it and felt
hands gripping her arms. She fought. "Get away!" A dull sound reached her
ears. Effort had taken the last of her air, and she struggled to refill her lungs.
"Linda!" She recognized her name.
"Stop fighting, Linda! I've got you!" The voice was Martin's. "I've got you,
Linda! You're safe now!" She stopped struggling. Air began to flow around her
smoothly and her lantern brightened. Martin's face swam into view, his nightblue eyes filled with concern. "You're okay now, Linda. Come on."
He picked up the lantern and guided her toward a blurred light patch. The
light clarified, and around it, their frightened eyes mirroring the light, were all
the others.
***
"What's happening, Martin?" John had his scimitar out, poised as though to
strike. Lamplight shone in his hair and made him appear gargantuan against a
blackness that went beyond dark. Scraps of black mist curled around his legs.
"Horath has gone," Martin said. "Darc'un is here."
"Darc'un," Jason squealed. "I can hardly see anything!" He had his tagan in
his hand, and like John, was poised on the balls of his feet.
"The Black Mist," Carol blurted. "It's Darc'un, isn't it?" She shrank as
tendrils of black reached for her ankles.
"Lord, a body can't fight cobwebs." The helplessness in Bertha's voice
made the others shiver. She gathered Linda and Susan to her and hovered over
them like a frightened mother-hen.

"Yes, we can," Martin said. "Horath is gone, but he told me how to fight
Darc'un. We've got to work together. Use your minds; hold back the dark with
your minds. Darc'un is pure Mentat force."
"I can't!" Robert had sunk to his knees near the lamps, his body wreathed in
black mist. "It's in my chest! I can't breath!"
Martin grabbed the boy's shoulders. "Link arms! Everybody! Forget your
weapons; they have no power here!"
John clasped one of Robert's wrists, while Martin swung a hand to clasp
Jason's arm. Bertha kept one hand on Linda, one on Susan. Carol and Engar
joined and everyone bunched into a tight, firmly closed ring. "Concentrate!"
Martin yelled. "Focus on me!"
Enormous force hammered Martin and his ring. It sent sharp tendrils
against its defenses. Martin focused the ring's force on the darkness that had
seized Robert's lungs. It yielded, leaving him gasping, then coiled inward,
reaching for John. Martin felt panic in John's breast as darkness gripped his
heart.
"Fight, John!" Martin used direct mind contact. "You, too, Robert! Fight by
imagining an impenetrable sphere around you." He flashed an image of a bright
silver capsule through their minds. Jason picked up the image, and Martin felt
his exultation as the boy used the image to drive darkness away from his body.
"Good, Jason! Help Robert!"
Martin concentrated on John. "Light, John! Imagine light!"
Engar caught the bubble of light, then Susan. A wail of anger echoed. Black
streamers lashed out of the darkness, but Darc'un could not penetrate the light
they had built around themselves. The black mist withdrew.
Martin felt himself shaking as the enormous tension Darc'un had exerted
began to ease. The others coalescing around him, their bubbles of light joining
his pushed back the darkness until even the peripheral lamps became visible
once again.
"We can't relax - not for an instant. Darc'un will pressure us relentlessly.
We must get back to the Faland Master, to the Mentat grid, as soon as
possible."
"The grid is the Master, isn't it," Jason cried.
"I believe in some way it is," Martin said.
"But we have to get the third talisman," Susan cried. "We don't know where
it is."
Martin said, "Horath told me where to find it; but it will take all of us to

get it. Listen carefully while I explain."

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

There was a scowl on Bertha's face as she leaned nearer the lamp, studying
a sheet of paper given her by Martin. "I drew it as best I could," Martin
explained. "I hope you can follow it."
"It's clear enough," Bertha said as she scanned the intricate diagram.
"Actually, it's a rather good schematic. You say Horath gave you the idea?"
"I followed his instructions," Martin said. "He got through Darc'un's
interference and activated my com-link while the rest of you were sleeping or
standing guard. Darc'un interrupted Horath before I finished the drawing, but
he had already given me the complete schema. I finished from memory. I think
it's all there. Can you make it?"
"Honey, as I've said before, I can make anything when I have the right
tools, and I don't travel without my tools." She pulled a second lamp near and
propped the paper between them. Then she unfolded her kit, pulled the gold
key from beneath her armor, and began reshaping it.
While Bertha worked, Susan rummaged through a bundle of herbs from her
pack. "Good thing I brought all of them," she mumbled as she laid out half a
dozen packets. "I didn't know what these were for. I collected them because
they were on Quenayla's herb list."
Carol, who was crouched beside her, grumbled, "I don't like this business
one bit." She chewed her lip as she watched the youngster open the packets.
"It's crazy and it's dangerous."
"You're right, of course," Martin said when he overheard her remark. "But I
don't think we--"
"Yes, yes," Carol said. "You don't think we have a choice. You've said it a
thousand times. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't know that." She reached
toward an open packet Susan had laid out. "The pellet's got to be exactly
right," she told the Provo. "Which of these do I use for the sheath?"
Martin saw Jason pacing nervously, his lips moving as he studied a scrap
of paper. "You all right?" Martin put a hand on his shoulder.
"I think I've got the notes right." Jason looked anxiously into Martin's eyes.
"Are you sure I can't practice out loud?"
"Sorry. Horath said you'll have only one chance, and everyone must be
ready before you start. It'll be your biggest challenge, but I know you can do it.

You're the best Song-master in Faland."

Jason flushed and turned back to his paper, resuming his nervous pacing as
he mouthed songs to which he could not yet give voice.
Engar laid out his weapons and began to spar with John. "I'll practice with
a tagan first. I don't often train with it and need to sharpen my skills."
"What are you going to do if you're attacked with a weapon you don't
have?" John asked.
"Improvise," Engar replied. "So far as the rules allow, at least."
He and John had borrowed tagans from the boys and squared off, circling,
making broad sweeps. "You can borrow Bertha's mace," John said as he
stepped inside Engar's swing and backhanded toward the Weapon-master's
shoulder.
Engar parried. "Yes. The rules allow me to use it against an axe as well as
another mace, and I can borrow your scimitar to use against a brodsrd."
"That leaves the spear," John said. "We don't have one, and there are no
good alternatives."
Engar stepped in, wrapped John's tagan and ripped it from his hand. "I'll
just have to duck." Engar straightened, a tight smile on his lips.
"You wield a mean tagan," John said, shaking his fingers.
***
Bertha finished and stood up, holding the golden key near the lamps,
turning it in her hands and stroking its polished surface. "It's good. If your
diagram was right, Martin, it'll work."
"Susan and I are ready too," Carol announced. She had spread her surgical
instruments on a ground cloth next to a blanket in a tent.
"I guess that means I'm up." Robert swallowed hard. "Is this going to hurt?"
"Give the word," Carol told him. "And I won't do it."
"What would happen then?"
"I don't know," Carol said.
"We would fail," Martin said flatly. "But Carol's right, Robert; the choice
is yours."
"You think I should, don't you?"
"I don't know another way. I'd do it myself if I could, but you're the only
one with the right knowledge. Horath thinks if we fail, Faland will fall to
Darc'un."
"What would happen to us?" Linda asked.
"Maybe we would wake up," Bertha growled, "and be done with this

nonsense."
"I don't want to wake up," Jason cried. "I'd rather be dead - for real dead than be like I was before. It might have been better for you, Bertha, but it
wasn't for the rest of us. I want to stay here."
"Honey, I know that," Bertha said. "But it seems whatever we do is like to
bring trouble."
Susan began to cry. "If I made the recipe wrong, Robert might die. What if
he dies and the rest of us don't?"
Robert's face blanched. "You mean I might die?"
"If you do," Martin said grimly. "You won't be alone. Horath made it clear,
this is an all or none proposition. It takes all of us to make it work."
"Let's put it to a vote," Engar said.
"No!" Robert said. "I've decided; I'll do it." He crawled into the tent
beside Carol. "I just hope it doesn't hurt as bad as when I was shot by the
renegade."
"It won't hurt at all," Carol said. "I'll use frenwort to prevent pain, but
you'll have to lie very still."
Robert took off his helmet and stretched on his stomach on the blankets. A
roll of blankets supported his chest, and he tilted his head forward, placing his
forehead against the blankets with his face down. Bertha knelt and put her hand
firmly on his shoulders while Carol and Susan positioned themselves opposite.
With an opalescent razor, Carol shaved a patch of hair from the back of
Robert's head. "I'm going to make a small incision," she said as she rubbed
Frenwort on the boy's scalp. "It won't hurt."
She drew a scalpel across the patch. A bead of blood appeared along the
cut, and Susan leaned with a cloth to mop it. Carol retracted the skin, exposing
the skull. "Now I'm going to drill a small hole," she explained as she pressed a
tiny drill to Robert's skull and twirled it rapidly between her fingers. While
she worked, Susan dropped frenwort into the wound.
The drill jerked slightly. "I'm through the bone," Carol said, a tremor in her
voice. "You okay?"
Robert nodded.
"Hold still," Carol warned. "For the next step you must not move at all."
Susan handed Carol an assembled syringe, like the one Robert once used to
treat an arrow wound in his chest. A tiny pellet, delicately crafted, floated in a
small dish of broth. The broth and pellet had been prepared by Susan from
Quenayla's herbs. Carol drew the pellet into the body of the syringe. "Hold

very still."
In spite of the chill, beads of sweat stood on Carol's forehead, and Susan
leaned to wipe them away. Bertha steadied Robert's shoulders as Carol
inserted the injector in the tiny hole in his skull. She took a deep breath, then
pushed the syringe into Robert's brain. Bertha's hand tightened on his shoulder.
Slowly squeezing, Carol withdrew the instrument, leaving the tiny pellet
embedded in Robert's visual cortex.
"It's done," she whispered as the tip came clear. Her hand was shaking.
"How do you feel, honey?" Bertha asked, her strained face bent near his
ear. "It's all over."
"Can I raise my head?" came the muffled reply.
Susan pressed an herbal plug into his wound.
Bertha helped Robert to a sitting position.
"Can you see okay?" Carol asked.
Robert blinked, settling his gaze first on Bertha's face then on Susan's. "I
feel great! You're beautiful, Susan!"
Susan hugged him.
***
"Is everyone ready?" Martin asked. "There is little time. The drug will
work on Robert for only a short while."
"I'm ready when Engar is," Jason said.
Engar flicked his sword from hand to hand as he went through final warmups. "You can begin singing whenever you want," he said. "I'm ready."
"We're ready too," Bertha said, speaking of herself and John.
Martin's eyes flashed. "Okay, let's do it! Good luck, everybody!"
Jason stepped to the edge of the dark lake, glanced at the great blackness
that hovered over everything, and shuddered. Then he lifted his head and began
to sing. From his lips came the strangest sound any of them had ever heard, soft
at first, with a plaintive wail that made them quake inwardly, then it shifted
into a series of staccato bursts, high-pitched, emitted with stunning force. A
rumble began, deep within the earth. The waters of the lake trembled, sending
ripples sluicing across its surface. Wavelets lapped the shore. As Jason's voice
rose, a great font of water suddenly leaped upward. Shining tendrils coiled
outwardly from the spout.
"Go, Engar," Martin shouted.
Engar leaped, his weapons bundled across his shoulder. He grabbed the
first strand and began to haul himself onto a gossamer bridge that arched

across the water. An island, shedding rivers of water, rose from the depths of
the lake.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Jason's voice shook with excitement. He raised his arms,
spinning around, shouting in triumph as Engar hurtled across the strand to the
island. An apparition rose on the island, humanoid, six-feet tall, clothed in
glowing red armor. It brandished a long dagger, and Engar's own shining
dagger met it, steel on steel.
Jason lifted his voice again, keening, and the great chamber was flooded
with brilliance as though the roof had burst and the sun had come through. The
lake turned the color of gold, and a walkway unfurled from the island to the
opposite shore. A gaping hole yawned in the cavern wall.
"John, Bertha, now," Martin yelled.
Walls of darkness rushed from both ends of the cavern. With a groan, the
Mentat Warrior collapsed. Carol rushed to his side as darkness reached for
him. John and Bertha ran toward the island where Engar was battling the red
demon. With the Weapon-master as their shield, they circled the island, then
hurried across the bridge to the far shore of the golden lake. Ducking into the
gaping wound in the cavern wall, they darted across a polished stone floor and
pulled up at the edge of a black pit that dropped away.
"Above!" Bertha pointed toward a small round hole in the ceiling. "That
must be the exit!"
"It's too far out over the pit! We can't reach it!"
Bertha saw a stack of huge metal bars near the wall. "Come on! We've got
some building to do!" She and John rushed to the pile of black-metal slabs.
"They're too short," John protested. "We've nothing to tie them together
with. Besides, they must weigh half a ton each."
"Quit complaining," Bertha growled. "Let's see how useful those muscles
of yours are. Come on, put your back to it." She tugged at a slab.
John took hold. His arms bulged and a thousand pounds of black iron slid
smoothly off the stack.
"Stand back!" Bertha yelled.
The slab crashed to the floor, tumbling over sideways. Before it stopped
moving, Bertha was heaving. "Slide it to the edge of the pit," she roared.
Working with feverish haste, they slid the massive slabs toward the pit.
When half a dozen were at the edge, Bertha directed, and John wrestled a pair
around until each jutted over the lip, teetering precariously. He and Bertha then
lifted a huge iron bar and set it crosswise on the projecting slabs. The bar's

great weight anchored the two lower slabs, creating the first stage of a
cantilever bridge.
"Just like stacking dominoes," Bertha said. "We'll build a cantilever bridge
far enough to reach under the hole in the ceiling. From it you can boost Robert
and Linda into the opening."
***
Carol sat on the shore with Martin's head cradled in her lap. She tried to
join him and strengthen him in his battle, but he had excluded her. He was
locked in combat with Darc'un and she felt the enormous tension in his body as
vast dark walls, roiling and heaving, reached toward him and toward the
island.
"I want to help," Robert pleaded, anguish in his voice.
He and the other children were crouched near the bridge, their eyes riveted
on the island and the battle between Engar and the War-Demons. The Weaponmaster had already defeated the red dagger-bearing demon, driving it over the
cable barrier and into the golden lake. Now he was fighting an even larger
creature, this one armored with silver and bearing a tagan.
"I could help. I know I could," Robert kept saying.
"It isn't allowed," Jason said. "Martin said Engar has to fight alone. We
have our jobs too. Just wait."
"I wish it was my turn now," Linda said, biting her nails. "It's hard to watch
and not fight."
"My job is already done," Susan wailed. "I have to wait for everything.
How are your eyes, Robert? Can you still see?"
"I'm fine, Susan. But I want to go. I want to go now!"
Just then, Engar stepped inside his taller opponents back-hand. The demon
teetered, off balance. With a powerful stroke, using the haft of his tagan, Engar
drove the creature backward. It flailed a moment, then toppled over the barrier
into the lake. Instantly another creature sprang up, this one taller even than
John, and armored in white. It carried a huge battle axe. Engar tossed aside his
tagan and scooped up Bertha's mace, barely quick enough to parry the first
blow. Dancing sideways, he circled. Hardly had he gone three steps, than a
golden demon, as tall and strong as the white one, sprang up at its side. It
swung a golden sword, flicking it from hand to hand, its armored boots
clacking on the stones as it advanced.
"It's two to one," Robert screeched. "It's not fair! They're both bigger than
Engar!"

"Too slow," Jason cried. "Engar's too slow! He was supposed to defeat the
white one before the gold one showed up. There's still another one to come."
"How do you know?" Robert moaned.
"From Martin. I saw it in his mind. Engar has five to fight."
"Look," Linda cried. "There's John."
The big Warrior had emerged from the cavern and was now on the bridge
between the island and the far cavern. He was shouting.
"He's calling for us," Robert yelled. "It's our turn, Linda."
"And my second song," Jason cried.
Linda and Robert darted toward the island, and Jason lifted his voice once
more. His sound echoed in the chamber as the golden-armored demon moved
to intercept the approaching children. Fingers of light reached down, blinding,
and Engar ducked under the white demon's axe. He rolled, dropping his mace,
and came up with his sword. The golden demon turned on him and the children
raced by.
"Behind you," Robert screamed as he hurtled by Engar.
Engar closed with the golden demon while the white's axe rose behind his
head.
Linda screamed.
A huge hand, reaching from behind, closed on the white demon's wrist; a
burly arm circled its neck. The white demon rose into the air, lifted on massive
arms that hurled it upward and outward. It crashed over the cable barrier and
into the lake. "This way," John yelled.
Robert and Linda galloped past the golden demon, ducking clashing
swords, and vaulted into John's arms. He scooped them to his breast and ran
toward the cavern.
"I thought Engar had to fight alone," Robert shouted.
"Rules are made to be broken," John bellowed. "Besides, when I took out
that white devil I wasn't protecting Engar, I was protecting you." He charged
onto the stone floor of the chamber where Bertha was waiting beside the
stacked cantilever bridge.
"Yikes! Are we going out on that thing?" Linda asked.
"Don't look down." John stepped onto the metal plates, carrying the
children, one balanced on each shoulder. "You must climb into the hole in the
ceiling," he told them, and boosting Robert by the seat of his sirkeln, lifted him
toward the opening. The boy glanced down and his face blanched. Balanced on
the end of John's long arm, there was nothing between him and endless depth

but the giant Warrior's strong fingers. Then he was in the bore and his hands
were clawing at the rungs of a ladder. He climbed upward and heard the rattle
as Linda scrambled into the opening beneath him.
The shaft led into a small circular room, weirdly lit by pale green light. A
dozen passages exited in every direction of the compass. Orange runes glowed
on the ceiling and Robert read quickly: "The way of first sun!"
Linda's head poked into the room.
"Where are you, Robert? I can hear you but I can't see you. It's pitch dark."
"No it isn't; I can see!" Robert grabbed Linda's hand.
"I'm blind," Linda cried.
"It's the drug-pellet Carol injected into my head," Robert said. "It makes it
so I can see in the dark."
"But I'm supposed to guide you. How can I if I can't see."
"You don't need to see. I'll be your eyes. You only need to point the
direction. The first clue is: The way of first sun. That must mean east. Do you
know which way is east?"
Linda groped in the darkness. "I can't see, but it's like I have a compass in
my head. This way. This way is east." Her arm swung like the indicator arrow
of a navaid.
Dragging Linda, Robert raced down a twisting corridor that wound and
wound until it brought them to another circular room identical to the first.
Glowing runes marked one wall.
"From Or'gn to the land of Aul'kalee," Robert intoned. "That means north.
We must go north this time, Linda."
Linda rotated, with her hand outstretched. "Straight along my arm."
Pain blossomed in Robert's head. The green image in his vision flickered.
"Come on, Linda. We have to hurry."
He half-dragged, half-carried her down the passage. The next chamber took
them northeast, the next south, then northwest. Lights began to flash in Robert's
eyes. Walls faded in and out of his view and his breathing became ragged.
"What's happening?" Linda cried. "What's wrong?"
"The drug is wearing off. We have to hurry."
They scrambled into yet another chamber. This time, in the wavering light,
Robert saw no runes, and there was no exit other than the one by which they
had come. "This must be it. Do you have the talisman?"
"Susan gave it to me." Linda pulled it from beneath her armor.
"My eyes are getting dim, but I can see a round pocket in the wall." He

groped with Linda to the creche. "Put the talisman in the pocket."
Linda reached and Robert guided her hand. The talisman fell from her
fingers, tumbling into the opening in the stone. Robert slumped, moaning, "My
head hurts."
"What is it? Please, Robert." Linda's searching hands found Robert on the
floor. "Robert!" He did not move. A light appeared, then grew brighter. A
crystal sphere, the size of Linda's two doubled fists, floated upward from the
pocket in the chamber wall. The light was coming from the sphere. It was so
warm, so welcoming, Linda reached for it.
***
With his head lowered, Engar charged the golden-armored demon. His
head-butt caught the creature by surprise and swept it against the cable barrier.
Engar coiled his arms around one massive leg and heaved. The golden demon
went over the barrier and disappeared in a swirl of froth. Sagging, his chest
heaving, Engar turned. "Four down, one to go." He checked the drip of blood
from his left arm, then exchanged his sword for John's scimitar. Facing the
center of the island, he stood ready. A dark lump appeared, then grew. Engar
gaped. The lump expanded, took on human shape, then turned the dusk-gray
color of lithan armor.
"Darc'un?"
Engar lifted his scimitar. The gray demon, the size of a small mountain,
hefted a huge brodsrd. The enormous weapon, glinting dully, began to swing in
slow arcs, controlled by a massive hand that looked powerful enough to crush
a human skull with a single twitch.
"Couldn't you have sent someone a little bigger?" Engar asked.
Swirls of black mist reached from above, conjoining with the demon as
though they were fingers of the latter, and suddenly the thing was moving.
Engar sprawled aside and felt the wind as the great brodsrd whistled by his
ear, then sliced through barrier cables like a knife going through wet macaroni.
Engar turned and saw nothing between himself and the lake but empty air.
Twisting, he tried to sidestep, but the flat of the gray demon's brodsrd caught
him a glancing blow on the left side. The huge blade batted him aside like a
gnat, and he cartwheeled across the island, his scimitar rattling from his hand.
Staggering to his feet, he briefly marveled that he was still intact. The great
strength of lithan armor had kept him alive, but the force of the blow had taken
its toll. He felt his right leg drag. Almost leisurely, the demon approached, its
blade raised. Engar drew his dagger, the scimitar was beyond his reach, and

braced himself as the creature moved in for the kill.

***
Linda's hand closed on the crystal sphere and her fingers locked. Light
flashed along her arm and she leaped back, but could not let go. She screamed.
"Bring it to me, Linda!"
"What? Who?"
"Bring the crystal outside - to me, Linda!"
"Martin?"
"Yes, girl! Run quickly!"
"But, Robert! I can't leave Robert!"
"If he is to live, you must run faster than you ever have before! Start now!"
Linda's legs began to move and she was suddenly flying down the tunnel,
the glowing sphere thrust before her. She flashed from chamber to chamber,
down twisting corridors, right and left then right again leaving a trail of blue
light behind her. Then she was falling, into the hole through which she and
Robert had climbed, not even grabbing the ladder. She dropped into emptiness.
Powerful arms grabbed her and set her on a polished stone floor.
"Go, child! Run," Bertha cried.
Linda went across the floor as if shot from a sling and was out of the
chamber in an instant.
***
Bertha tore off her armor and yelled, "Boost me, John! I have to get
Robert!"
John hoisted Bertha to his shoulders and carried her onto the cantilever.
The massive iron slabs groaned, but Bertha steadied herself on the overhead
ladder and hauled herself into the opening. She wriggled upward, forcing her
great bulk through the narrow passage, and popped out in the small chamber
like a cork popping from a bottle. Her heavy tread echoed as she pounded
down long, twisting hallways, following a glowing trail of blue light.
***
Linda hurtled onto the bridge across the golden lake. Hardly had her foot
struck the strand than fire, like lightning, crackled from the crystal sphere
clutched in her hand. An arc, brighter than sunlight, leaped across the lake and
touched Martin where he lay, cradled in Carol's arms.
"The third song, Jason," Martin yelled as he stiffened and came erect. "Sing
the third song!"
Jason sucked in his breath. The sound that left his throat shook even him,

for it was amplified a hundredfold, and filled the vast cavern, power on
power. Veils of light split the darkness, intertwining, spreading and dividing. A
deep lowing, as of a beast in agony, rumbled from the blackness.
***
Linda saw the gray demon, its enormous brodsrd raised. Dimly she saw
Engar hurling himself upon it. The demon shook itself, like a berven shaking
off a dugo, and Engar went flying. Transfixed, Linda watched the demon's arm
begin its descent, the shining edge of its huge blade aimed at her. Her heart
stopped. There was a sound like a giant hammer falling on steel. Sparks arced
and the great blade twisted aside. John's body collided with the demon, and the
creature fell back, toppled from its feet. "Run, Linda," John bellowed. "Get to
Martin!"
Linda was away like thistle-down blown on the wind.
"Engar! Help Bertha with Robert! This fight is mine now!" John faced the
gray demon.
"We'll fight together!" Engar yelled as he came to his feet, lifting his dagger
defiantly.
John's scimitar flashed, crackling like thunder as it deflected the demon's
blade. "No! You must help Bertha! In the cave across the lake!"
Engar heard the urgency in John's voice. Ignoring the wound in his leg, he
hobbled onto the bridge. The strand heaved as towering waves dashed against
it, and even the rock was trembling when he stumbled into the inner cavern. He
heard Bertha's voice, muffled and far away. He made for a stack of iron slabs
jutting over a dark pit.
Bertha's voice grew stronger. "John! Where the devil are you?"
Engar looked up and saw an opening in the ceiling.
"Bertha!" He stepped gingerly onto the cantilevered slabs. Tremors shook
the loosened structure. "Bertha!" Engar called again. Above him, in the
opening, he saw Bertha's face outlined with blue light.
"Engar? Engar, is that you?"
"I don't think I can get up there."
"I've got Robert. I've got to drop him to you."
"Better be fast," Engar shouted, taking one dizzying look down. "This junk
pile isn't going to hold together much longer."
Bertha slid Robert's skinny frame, feet first, into the hole. Sprawling on her
belly, she held him at arm's length by his wrists."You ready?"
Engar braced himself. "Ready."

Robert hurtled downward like a bundle of old rags. Engar took the boy's
weight and went to his knees, teetering on the iron plates. The impact drove the
plates farther apart. Rolling, with Robert in his arms, Engar wobbled on the
edge of the abyss. An iron slab dislodged from the top of the stack and
clattered to the floor, one end projecting over the edge. Engar grabbed for it,
shoved the boy onto it, then pulled himself to safety. He carried Robert back
from the lip, turned and saw Bertha's legs dangling below the opening.
"I need some help here," the big lady bellowed.
Engar sidled back onto the disintegrating cantilever. Maneuvering beneath
Bertha, he guided her feet to his shoulders and she let go. Engar felt his legs
yield under the great weight. The iron slab on which he stood tilted down.
Twisting, he fell forward and Bertha went off his shoulders, sprawling onto the
polished stone floor alongside the pile of iron plates. Engar snatched the edge
of the plate onto which he had boosted Robert. The cantilever fell apart. Engar
looked down. He was dangling by his fingers over a bottomless darkness
while the plate from which he hung bounced and gyrated, slowly working out
over the abyss. He tried to pull himself up and was astonished to find he did
not have the strength. The pale light in the chamber seemed to grow dimmer,
and he felt his fingers slip.
***
Linda thrust the glowing crystal into Martin's hands. Thunder reverberated
through the great chamber, and fire snaked outward in jagged tongues. Linda
fell away as the crystal expanded. Streamers of dark mist blazed like torched
gas. Flames reached the island where John and the gray demon clashed. The
flames fired John's scimitar. Glowing white, the blade curved through the air,
collided with the demon's brodsrd, and cleaved it at the haft. John swung the
fiery blade overhead and brought it down on the gray lithan body. With a sound
like shearing steel, the scimitar continued downward, halving the demon. An
empty shell of lithan armor clattered to the stones. The waters of the lake spit
up fountains of spray that caught the light, forming iridescent veils. A mighty
voice entrained the veils, guiding them, coalescing them into rain. They fell on
John, deluging him, then swept away the lithan wreckage of Darc'un's great
War-Demon. John turned toward the cavern where he had left Bertha. He saw
her coming toward him, Robert clutched to her breast. "Engar's dead," she
sobbed, her huge shoulders heaving.
***
Martin felt Darc'un's power slip away. He slumped, hearing the last notes

of Jason's most glorious song. With the remnants of his strength, he shaped
Mentat metal and hurled it outward. Guided by consciousness not his own, he
sent the metal across the golden lake, past John who stood in pouring rain, then
past Bertha and over a polished stone floor, then down. Martin became the
metal, dropping like a silver ball, then blossoming into a cloth-like mesh. With
the enormous Mentat power wrested from Darc'un, he willed the mesh to form
itself around a hurtling form.
***
Bertha stumbled off the strand, Robert still clasped to her breast, and saw
Engar lying on a blanket with Carol kneeling beside him.
"But, how? I saw him--"
"Bring Robert here," Carol commanded. "Susan, bring the broth!"
Everyone hurried, working in the light of oil lamps. The lake had subsided
and had lost its golden color. The lights had faded, and so too had the wall of
unnatural darkness. They were too busy to notice when the island and its
connecting bridges sank, and the cavern across the way closed up without a
trace.
Robert blinked his eyes open, then Engar moaned.
Jason held the crystal sphere. "Some talisman," he breathed. "Is our quest
over now?"
Martin put his arm around the boy. "Darc'un is defeated. We've done what
we were brought here to do."
"I thought I would be happy," Jason said. "But I feel sad. What will happen
to us now?"
"We've one more thing to do," Martin said.
"Yes. Back in Or'gn," John broke in. "We have to go back to Or'gn, don't
we?"
"To cut the lithan chains," Robert murmured. "We still have to cut the lithan
chains."

PART THIRTEEN: THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Unopposed by Darc'un, Linda discovered she could control a Mentat eye

on her own. When Martin trusted her to go out by herself, she swelled with
pride. Drifting through the cavern like a disembodied spirit filled her with
delight, and though she was not as good at it as Martin, she quickly discovered
a way out of the cave. The route led upward, through lovely caverns, and Linda
guided the others at a leisurely pace so that everyone could enjoy the natural
wonders that were everywhere abundant.
"A little farther ahead, a tunnel goes up through the ceiling," she announced
after several hours. "It joins the passage near the golden gate where we came
into the cave. Do you think you can make it, Engar, with your broken leg?"
Engar, hobbling on his bandaged and splinted leg, nodded in the
affirmative. "You needn't worry about me. Carol has done a fine job with my
leg, and I assure you I've no intention of staying behind."
"I'll follow you," John said. "You can rest on my shoulders if need be."
The crawl upward, as it turned out, was assisted by evenly spaced notches
and was no trouble at all. Jason, who had been first to enter the cave, was first
up, and when he climbed into the upper passage, he recognized it at once.
"We're nearly out! We've come a full circle!"
"None too soon for me." Bertha wriggled her bulk up behind him, scraping
her elbows on the sharp rocks. "I'm getting tired of these itty bitty spaces."
They crawled into the open in late afternoon and found their horven where
Bertha had tethered them near thorn bushes.
"It's so good to see you again, Redwing." Susan threw her arms around the
red mare's neck.
Linda mounted Dawn. "I can see everything now. There's a spring only
about a legon away with good grass for the horven and even a little waterfall
where we can get a bath." She galloped away leaving the others to mount and
follow as they could.
The haze, that had restricted vision to a few feet, was gone, and the hills

lay warmly under the sun. Using a Mentat sphere, Linda guided the partners
northwest to a spring that bubbled from red rocks and ran over a low
precipice, then watered a narrow, verdant strip. They found grass enough for
several days of camping.
***
In the warm, dry desert air, with water, food, and rest, the partners and
their horven soon recovered their strength. Engar's leg healed so rapidly that he
had only a slight limp by the third day when he brought a brace of squal to the
campfire and turned them over to Susan for the evening meal.
Later they were sitting near the fire eating roast squal, and Linda suddenly
said, "Darc'un must truly be defeated. It's beautiful here where once it was so
dreary. The sun is hot in the afternoons, but it's good heat and at night it's
wonderfully cool. How strange, that things could change so much."
"Have you been in contact with the Mentat grid yet, Martin?" Carol asked.
She was snuggled against him and tilted her head to peer into his face. "Is
Horath back?"
Martin settled her more comfortably against his side. "I think Horath has
been with us all along. I think Horath arranged our defense."
"Horath gave power to my songs," Jason said. "I felt strength flowing from
outside me. The songs are Mentat songs, aren't they?"
"Probably," Martin replied. "I think Mentat power makes Faland. We're all
in the Mentat grid - even you, Carol. Haven't you sensed it?"
"I suppose so," Carol said. "But I don't like to think about it. I feel you
somewhere in my mind - and the others - and that makes me happy, but I like it
better in the real world where I can enjoy the sun and smell the air and see the
land with my own eyes."
"I wonder, sometimes, what real is," Martin said.
"We're going to wake up some morning and be back where we were,"
Bertha predicted. "You'll see."
"Not me," Robert declared. "I'm going to live in Faland forever. Now that
Darc'un is gone, we can go back to the known lands and have adventures and
find treasure and be rich and live happily ever after."
"Honey, happily ever after is not here," Bertha growled. "I'll warrant it's
pleasant sometimes, but don't forget, we haven't finished our job. There's a
little matter of some lithan chains to attend to."
"Why?" Jason broke in. "With Darc'un gone, why do we need to cut the
lithan chains?"

"I'm surprised at you," Bertha said. "You're usually first to want to get on
with our so-called quest."
"I'd like to see Kilia again, and Ru. I'd like to take you all to Ruvendale,
and maybe even to Eyrie. The quest could wait a while, don't you think?"
"Well, whatever we decide," Martin said. "It's time to move on from here.
Engar's leg is strong and the horven are rested. Tomorrow, we'll start back
through the Snowy Mountains. Maybe we'll even see a snowy griven."
"Oh, can we?" Robert cried. "I'd love for everybody to see a snowy griven.
It would be so exciting."
"Oh, Lord," Carol said. "Here we go again."
But in the days that followed, they did not see a snowy griven, though they
climbed into the shining mountains and spent days traveling through country of
spectacular beauty, exhilarated by the high altitude and icy air. They circled the
headwaters of Fariver and visited the cliffs of Thun where Robert had once
nearly fallen to his death, then climbed down into the Glu'me forest.
Enfolded again by the Mentat grid, they traveled unbothered by enemies.
Renegades still prowled, but without Darc'un to coordinate their nefarious
activities, they drifted alone or in small groups, and none dared approach the
Mentat Warrior and his friends. Even hyen gave them a wide berth.
They came to Rooden on a rainy afternoon. It was the first they had seen of
other people since heading out on their search for the third talisman. They were
braced for the accolades they were sure would come, for by now everyone
was bound to know what they had done. But when they rode into the dreary
little town, hardly anyone took notice of them.
"It's even meaner than I remember," Robert said, hunching beneath his
raincoat as water sluiced from a gray sky.
"It's the rain," Susan said. "Everyone's inside."
"Feels different, though," Carol murmured as they guided their mounts
along the drenched street, their horven's hooves making thick, sucking sounds
in the deep mud.
"We've gold enough for a night at the inn," Martin said. "I'm up for a bath
and a place out of the rain. The horven might appreciate a stable on this night
too."
Inside Rooden's two-story log inn, a crackling fire had been laid in the
lobby fireplace, and the chill was off the room. Though it was near the dinner
hour, few were in the dining room. The proprietor, a thin native with the look
of a Forester, accommodated them almost indifferently. Yet, when they tried to

pay, he refused their money. "The Mentat Warrior has no need of money in
Faland," he told them curtly.
Martin frowned, but said nothing. When they were alone in their rooms,
however, he expressed his puzzlement. "I must admit the reception here has
been cooler than I anticipated."
"Surprises me too," John said. "Friendliness is the watchword of Faland
natives, or so I thought until now."
"What did we do they don't like?" Susan's voice was plaintive. "We got rid
of Darc'un. Isn't that what everybody wanted."
"I don't feel unfriendliness so much as apathy," Carol said. "Until the
innkeeper let us stay for free, I would have sworn he didn't even know who we
are."
"Our job's done," Bertha said. "I keep telling you that. We aren't needed
here anymore."
By morning, the rain ceased and they rode out early, pleased that it was dry
and glad to be shut of Rooden. With fine weather and the beautiful forest
around them, things returned to normal and their spirits rose. The second day
out of Rooden, after a pleasant night camping in the forest, they stopped briefly
at Sapro's Inn. The rotund proprietor was as jolly and friendly as Robert
remembered, but the boy was saddened to learn that his rune-mentor, Renri,
had died, and her young apprentice, Irn, was away on a journey of meditation.
The open farmland was a welcome sight, with its vistas of flowery
meadows and gently rounded hills, dotted everywhere with checkerboard
farms. Traffic picked up on the road and the natives seemed as friendly as ever,
nodding and smiling as they drifted by. They camped beneath an oaken tree
midway between the Glu'me forest and Or'gn. No travelers joined them and
they had the site to themselves.
"This close to Or'gn, I'm surprised we haven't picked up a bunch of camp
followers," Engar said as they finished their evening meal. "A few weeks ago,
I think we would have."
"You're feeling it, too," Carol said. "Something has changed in Faland."
"It's a kind of emptiness," Robert said with a slight quaver. "I felt it at
Sapro's Inn when I learned Renri is dead and Irn is away. It felt like something
is missing, and not just those two people."
"What do you think, Martin?" Carol asked. "What's happening? Is it just our
imagination?"
"Maybe it's disappointment," John suggested. "We expected to be treated

like heros after we beat Darc'un and it hasn't happened."

"Humph," Bertha snorted. "You're unhappy because people haven't shown
proper gratitude? Well, Honey, I've got news for you - gratitude has a short
memory."
"Carol's right, and so is Robert," Martin said. "I feel it, too, and it isn't just
lack of gratitude. Bertha's right; our job is done. I suspect we were not brought
here to be part of Faland. We're part of the Mentat grid. Other than Horath, no
one else in Faland is."
"What about Boro and Galendrall and Prothan and the other Mentats?"
Jason asked. "Aren't they all in the Mentat grid?"
Martin said, "You're in the Mentat grid, Linda's in the Mentat grid, so are
John and Carol and all of us. I feel all of us there, and I sense Horath, but not
the others; there aren't any others."
"The others were really Horath, weren't they?" Robert said. "Horath is the
Faland Master, isn't he?"
"I think so," Martin said. "I think in some way, Horath is Faland. We have
to go into Or'gn tomorrow and cut the lithan chains that bind the doors to the
black vault. It's not for the people or land of Faland that we must do this; it's
for ourselves."
"Closure," Bertha said. "It'll bring it all to an end."
Jason began to cry.
***
All the next morning they rode toward Or'gn in silence, each lost in his
own thoughts. They felt no great cheer when the walls of Or'gn came into view,
and when they moved through the gate into the familiar streets and saw the
things they had greeted with such wonder in the early days, they felt sadness.
"I don't suppose it would do any good to visit Trenel," Robert said as he
watched some small children playing in the shade of a tree.
"Honey, every good thing comes to an end," Bertha said. "We've
experienced something amazing here. I don't understand it, and most of the time
I've just wanted things back the way they were, but now I'm awful glad to have
been here with you and this motley crew."
Robert smiled thinly. "I'm glad too. But I don't want to go back. I never
wanted to go back."
"We'll eat at the village green," Martin said. "Then we'll get on with our
job before all of you get too maudlin."
"Why are we being so gloomy anyway?" Jason asked, suddenly

brightening. "We aren't going anywhere, are we? Aren't we just going to see
what's in the black vault? And isn't that something we've wanted to do from the
day we found it?"
"Yeah," Linda said. "It'll just be another adventure. Let's eat and sing some
songs and play some games, then we can cut those old lithan chains."
***
In spite of Jason's and Linda's attempts at cheer, it was hard to get
enthusiastic about songs and games while they were thinking about the lithan
chains and wondering what cutting them would truly mean. So they ate quickly
and prepared immediately to go to the black vault. Before leaving, on Bertha's
suggestion they took their horven to the stable and left them there rather than at
the green. "Just in case," the big lady said.
"In case we don't come back," Susan accused. "That's what you mean, isn't
it, Bertha."
"Now, Honey, I never said that."
"But you're hoping it's true, aren't you?" Linda said. "You think when we
cut the lithan chains you'll wake up back home where you've always wanted to
be."
"I don't know what's going to happen," Bertha said, a bit of snappishness in
her voice . "But dreams are dreams, and there's always a time to wake up."
"Well, we're soon going to find out," John said. "There's the black vault,
right ahead."
Almost reluctantly, they stepped onto the flagstones in front of the great
doors and looked again at the polished black stone they had first seen so long
ago. The huge wooden doors were closed as securely as ever, still bound by
their massive chains.
"What now?" Carol asked, John. "Do you just expect to hack through those
chains with your sword?"
"Doesn't look likely, I'll admit," John said, drawing his scimitar. "But
strange things happen in Faland. Stand back."
While John calculated the best place to direct his first blow, Engar took
Martin aside. "Have you noticed, there's no crowd here? No one followed us
when we came here, and there's not a soul besides ourselves anywhere
around."
"I've noticed." Martin took off his pack and withdrew from it the crystal
sphere - the third talisman - with which Darc'un had been defeated.
Engar's brow rose.

As John raised his sword, Martin stepped forward. Fire leaped from the
crystal and streaked to John's blade as it arced downward. With a sound like
thunder, the great blade cleft the chains as smoothly as sliding through sausage.
Everyone clapped hands to their ears and blinked away bright sparks that
dazzled their eyes. They watched in wonder as the great levers rose and the
massive doors swung inward. A swirl of flame, leaping from the crystal,
surrounded all the partners and they were swept forward, through the yawning
doors, into a plum-colored vortex. Out of the vortex, laughing gray eyes
appeared. "Welcome! Welcome, my friends!" Everyone was falling into the
purple vortex, spinning around, sliding downward, with Horath's voice ringing
in their ears.
***
Cold, gray concrete was under their hands. They were naked, their flesh
pressed to the concrete. "What happened?" Susan's thin voice sounded.
"We're still alive." Jason's voice was filled with wonder.
"We're home," Martin said.
"Home?"
A glowing sphere materialized, floating gently above the concrete floor, its
light illuminating a small, barren, windowless cell that might have been a
basement storage room in some Other World building. A single, closed door
occupied a central place in one concrete wall.
"What the devil is it?" John asked, staring at the small, hot sphere.
"Rather amazing," Martin said. "I'm not sure I know, but I've got part of the
answer."
"A spatial anomaly?" Engar ventured.
"Good guess. Horath is linking with me right now. The sphere is a phasespace. That's a term Horath has invented, I think, to describe something for
which we have no concept. He also calls it an exclusionary-space - a domain
from which normal space, the kind we are familiar with - is excluded."
"What are you babbling about?" Carol demanded. "Where are we? What's
happened to us this time? And where are my clothes?"
"My body feels strange," Jason said.
"What?"
"My body feels strange." Jason ran his hands over his chest. "I'm touching
myself, but it's like I'm not touching myself at all. And I think we're glowing!"
"Me too," Robert said a shiver of fear in his voice.
"We're spirits," Susan cried. "We're all glowing!"

"It's just the weird light from that sphere," Carol said. "It makes us look
odd." But as she spoke, the light of their skin shimmered and changed colors,
gold and silver, green and red.
"I'm scared," Linda said. "What's happening to us?"
"Don't be dumb," Carol said, her voice rising. "Spirits! Phase space!
Exclusionary space! That's all nonsense. We're having some kind of group
hallucination."
"No," Martin said with sudden realization. "Jason was right from the
beginning. We aren't dreaming, but Faland was only the beginning."
"Beginning? Beginning of what?"
"Something that has to do with the sphere, the third talisman." Martin's
voice had a slight quaver.
"It's not natural," John said.
"I think it is," Martin said. "But not like anything we've imagined. We've
only started to learn. Faland was our training ground, but it was only a start.
It'll take time to learn everything; Horath will teach us."
"What about the sphere?" John asked. "What does the sphere have to do
with us?"
"Horath is still talking to me," Martin said. "We're going to be all right."
Martin's face glowed brighter. "Horath says phase space is empty; it has no
internal properties. It manifests itself only through its interface with normal
space, an interface that has tension, like the surface tension of a soap bubble."
"Are you telling us this sphere-thing is a bubble?"
"Not an ordinary bubble," Martin said, "an exclusionary bubble. It
excludes everything in normal space. It can't be penetrated by any force."
"But how can it be glowing?" Engar protested. "If it's empty, where does it
get energy?"
"The surface tension," Martin answered. "Phase-space is empty, but it
interacts with normal space through tension that stretches the interface. The
stretching stores energy - energy that can be released by relaxing the tension."
"And that's what makes it glow?"
"Yes."
"But what makes it stretch in the first place?"
"Contact with normal matter. The interface pulls normal matter apart and
converts its mass into surface tension."
Engar whistled. "You're saying this object is a matter-energy converter?"
"Horath says so."

"Incredible. But how is it controlled?"

"Horath controls it. The interface forms loops when it stretches, and the
loops trap bubbles of normal space. The bubbles are attached to one another
by tubules of normal space. Photons travel along the tubules and interact with
atoms trapped in the bubbles. Vast numbers of tiny phase-space bubbles, each
with one or two atoms, are joined in an intricate complex that forms something
akin to a neural net. Horath is a manifestation of the neural net. Horath is the
phase-space interface."
"The Mentat grid?" Carol asked.
"Yes," Martin said. "Horath hasn't said so, but I think the phase-space
neural net created Faland. Faland is - or was - a virtual reality created by the
phase-space neural net. When we cut the lithan chains, we left the virtual
reality. Faland no longer exists."
"But . . . but," Jason's eyes had grown large, "if Faland wasn't real, what
are we? If there is no Faland, does that mean we're . . . we're dead?"
"In a way. I suppose we did die, but Horath trapped us in his neural net and
kept us as part of his own being."
Robert's voice squeaked. "Am I a ghost, then?"
"Oh, Lord," Bertha groaned. "I've heard enough of this. I'm not buying this
virtual-reality-ghost nonsense. We're all here, together, in this room. All we
have to do is figure out where this is and how to get somewhere we want to
be."
"If what you're saying is true, Martin," Engar said. "That would make this
room and everything in it part of the sphere's surface, wouldn't it?"
"But . . . but, it can't be," Jason sputtered. "We're out here, alive, separate,
each his own self."
"We're real enough," Martin agreed. "But this is a different reality; one for
which we do not yet know the rules. I don't know why, but I think Horath
collected our neural information when we died and downloaded us into his
own neural net. We never left earth. This room, I think, is real; that is, it's part
of the old reality, somewhere on earth. We, on the other hand, are part of the
sphere. We exist now only within Horath's neural net."
"But we're looking at the crystal sphere," Susan cried. "How can we be
part of it?"
"We see ourselves as outside," Martin said. "But I'm not sure in what form
we exist. The phase-space interface is extensible. The sphere may only be part
of the whole. Our bodies may be another part, or we may be some sort of

projections."
"That's why our bodies feel so strange, then," Engar said. "Our senses are
no longer biological, and what we're feeling now is not being simulated."
"Exactly," Martin said. "We're experiencing directly the interface between
our new phase-space selves and the world we came from."
"Darc'un must not just have been part of the simulation either," Jason said,
his voice rising with his growing awareness. "Darc'un must have had
something to do with our old world!"
"Right," Martin said. "You always were quick to see. Darc'un, I think, is
simply normal space with all its included matter."
"But we defeated Darc'un," John protested. "That doesn't make sense at
all."
"Maybe it does," Engar said. "The interface between normal space and
phase space must be difficult to control. I'll wager it isn't always stable; our
task was to stabilize it."
"But why were we needed? What's so special about us?"
"I can't answer that," Martin said. "But we were selected with care. Think
about it; four males and four females; four children and four adults; all of us
paired fortuitously in interlocking combinations - and none of us has seriously
quarreled with any other. We're compatible and complementary. Horath must
have had something very special in mind when he used the illusion of Faland to
incorporate us into his net."
"But what about Engar?" Carol objected. "He was here before us, and he
isn't part of any pair."
Martin shrugged. "I said I don't have all the answers. I don't know about the
other humans, either. I've never felt them in the Mentat grid. Maybe they
weren't part of the net; maybe they were simulations, as I'm sure the Faland
natives were."
"I always felt apart," Engar said, "until you came. When the opportunity to
be your trainer came, it seemed the right thing to do. And when the chance
came to join your partnership, I didn't hesitate. That may have been part of
Horath's plan from the beginning. By training me first, he may have found it
easier to reach the rest of you."
"Okay, so what's the point?" John asked with a touch of anger. "So we're
all compatible; so Engar was trained to be our coach; so we're all
complementary; that's all well and good, but why did Horath need us to
stabilize his neural net?"

Martin shook his head. "Maybe Horath needed us to give his neural net
purpose and coherence."
"Our neural net," Jason corrected. "We're the net too."
"Oh, Lord," Bertha groaned. With a whoosh, her legs buckled and she sat
down heavily.
"Bertha," Linda yelped and dropped beside the big lady. "Are you all
right? You look so pale!"
"My head's spinning," Bertha said. "Only I don't know if it's my head. What
is this body? Is it real?" She punched her meaty arm, then looked up with the
bleakest expression any had ever seen on her face. "I'm not going to wake up,
am I? But . . . but I wasn't sick. I'm not supposed to be dead."
"All people die," Jason said without a quaver. "Maybe you had a heart
attack. You were awful much overweight, you know."
"Jason," Linda said. "Sometimes you talk too much."
"Well, it's true. Besides, we aren't people now. If I'm dead and not beamed
up, I don't care. I just am, and I'm not going to feel sorry for myself."
"Honey, I know you're right," Bertha said. "But I don't find the idea as easy
to get used to as you do."
"Where does that leave us, then? What do we do now?" Susan asked.
Robert drifted across the room to the door. Reaching with a faintly
gossamer hand, he turned its tarnished brass handle and stepped through into a
narrow hallway. "What are we waiting for?" he asked. "I'd like to do a little
exploring."

Table of Contents
PART ONE: FALAND
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
PART TWO: THE PARTNERSHIP
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PART THREE: THE QUEST
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

7
7
17
26
37
43
53
60
68
68
78
88
95
104
112
120
127
135
145
155
166
166
174
182
197

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PART FOUR: THE EMERALD OF THUN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
PART FIVE: NORTH FORTRESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
PART SIX: SHENDUN'S EGG
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
PART SEVEN: MORDAT'S CASTLE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
PART EIGHT: THE HUNDRED RUBIES
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

207
219
229
239
239
249
260
269
278
291
291
302
311
319
325
325
333
341
352
361
373
373
383
391
402
416
416

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
PART NINE: HOLE-IN-THE-WALL
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
PART TEN: THE TOWERS OF EYRIE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
PART ELEVEN: AROON
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
PART TWELVE: DARC'UN
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

425
431
435
444
444
451
457
467
481
481
487
496
508
519
531
531
538
544
552
560
560
572
579
590
604
615
628

PART THIRTEEN: THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

641
641